Date: Mon, 26 Apr 1999 12:09:38 -0700 (PDT)
From: bpell@anon.nymserver.com
Subject: Chronicles of St.Barnabas chapter16a
16. Bacchanalia
After the affair with Georgie I sat down and reviewed the
past year.
First and foremost, of course, there had been Ronnie. I
thought back over my seduction of him, and of how I had
finally taken his posterior maidenhead with the help of a
screwdriver or two. And then there were those halcyon days
in New York during spring vacation when we had the
"hideout" all to ourselves. I went over all the details of our
lovemaking. Those had been among the happiest days of my
life. I remembered the good times in Central Park, at Coney
Island and Jones Beach, and it occurred to me that the sex
wouldn't have been nearly as good without all the rest of it,
having a boy for a companion and doing things that were
fun together, and that here at school sex always took on a
more or less sadistic flavor, probably because of the struc-
ture of the school itself and the boy-master relationship that
exists in all traditional boys' schools. My rather bizarre
experiences with Georgie were completely contingent on
school regulations against small boys going off into the
woods and having a bit of fun and games together.
I admit I was pretty nervous for a while after the Georgie
business, and I had taken the precaution of keeping one set
of prints, to be used as blackmail should I have to. But
fortunately I didn't have to.
There was still a lingering, bitter taste of disappointment
at not having enjoyed Georgie's lovely bottom to the fullest
extent, and I fantasied that I had been able to hold back my
orgasm until I had thrust all the way in and totally possessed
his behind. But you can't win them all, and I hadn't done too
badly-probably better than any of the other masters, as a
matter of fact.
I didn't know exactly what went on between Max Sailer
and little Everett Harrison, for Max and I never discussed
boys. As for Clive Lambert, I knew he liked to blow the
older kids, the ones who really had a load to shoot into his
mouth. I'm sure he serviced half the eighth grade, but as this
wasn't my particular bag I felt no jealousy.
As for Percy Plimpton, I doubt whether he went much
beyond kissing and bottom-patting. I never discussed any-
thing with Percy.
Ron Randall seemed as straight as Jack Armstrong, but
then he was the type that fools you.
Old Joe Cardwell had seen his day, but no doubt he had a
lifetime of boy-poking memories to sustain him as he beat
his leathery old meat in his shack out there in the vegetable
garden. Or, who knows, maybe he had trained that dog of
his to do a few tricks.
Van Dennis, the assistant choirmaster, seemed content to
play his sadistic little games like flicking bare boys in the
showers on their legs and buns with the little switch he
carried, making them dance as little wet marks appeared on
their wet skin.
Mr. Winters was another matter. He lived alone in a house
half a mile from the school, and there were rumors about
wild goings-on at his place. During vacations he always
seemed to have a half dozen young house guests, boys of
fifteen or older, some of them St. Barnabas alumni. I guess
he liked older boys. Maybe he liked younger ones, too; but it
was pretty hard for him to make out with them, living apart
from the school as he did.
Anyway, as I said, I had done pretty well, and I had
resolved to give up sex for the rest of the school year, which
wasn't too great a sacrifice, as there were only a couple of
weeks left to go. I would have stuck to this resolve, too, if it
hadn't been for the eighth grade dance.
T'heir spring dance was always the big event of the year for
the eighth grade boys, and this year they had outdone them-
selves decorating the gym to suggest Dionysian orgies and
bacchanalian revels.
Alas! The dance itself suggested anything but. Boys in
blue suits and girls in dresses of respectable length danced
chastely together whilst faculty and ladies from the church
watched from the sidelines. A nauseating pink punch was
served. The only concession to the times was the music; the
boys were allowed to choose it, so it was loud and
contemporary.
At eleven-thirty sharp the dance ended, and the boys
reluctantly said good-night to their girls, some trying to steal
a kiss from under the watchful gaze of the chaperons. After
everyone had gone, the boys, after changing into old clothes,
returned to the gym to clean it up. This made for a pretty late
night, but it was only once a year; besides, most of them were
no longer singing boys.
I was in charge of the clean-up, and after they had finished
one of the boys said, "Sir, could we take a quick swim to cool
off.?" It was a warm night and the boys looked sweaty.
"It's pretty late-"
"Oh, sir, could we, just a short one?"
"Just a quick dip, sir?"
"Yes, sir, our last swim, sir?"
And, seeing me weaken, they began shedding their clothes
and running toward the pool, thanking me profusely even
before I had granted them permission. Some of the boys
were pretty steamed up after having spent a couple of hours
with girls, so it was therapeutic to let them rid themselves of
some of their pent-up feelings by cooling off in the pool. This
at least was the official explanation I gave to mysell You
know my real motive.
I followed the boys into the pool. Some were already in
the water. Some were standing on the sidelines bashfully
covering their privates. Charlie Wright showed a good cock-
stand as he dived into the water. So did Jim Dodge. These
were horny boys, most of them over the brink into adoles-
cence. Only a few, like Ericson and Branson, remained on
the little-boy side of the fence, their smooth, hairless bodies
and treble voices contrasting markedly with the mature
bodies and deeper voices of their classmates, so near in age,
and yet so far apart in every other way.
As I watched the older boys, like Jim Dodge, Oliver
Crowell, Charles Wright, and Don Brinkley, they seemed
like restless young jungle cats, circling their prey, in this case
Bruce Branson and Ericson. Branson was not aware that he
was a target, never noticing the eyes on his smooth body, nor
the hands which grazed his naked flanks. Ericson was quite
the opposite. He played the coquette, teasing Dodge by
imitating his girl, mincing and swishing his hips as he did so,
or playing little games of tempting the boys to catch him,
then wriggling out of their grasp with the agility of a young
animal.
"Ericson," I said "you'd better stop parading your rump
around, or you may get more than you bargained for."
There were giggles from those who heard me. Ericson didn't
heed my warning, however, but went right on being the
coquette. It was the only way he could relate to these older
and more mature boys. Furthermore, he really enjoyed his
role. Branson, on the other hand, didn't like being cast as the
object of male sexuality; he didn't like still being a little boy
in their eyes, and couldn't wait until he too sprouted hair
and a big cock like the others.
After I let the boys splash around for a while, playing their
little grab-ass games, watching me out of the corners of their
eyes, I blew the whistle and called "Everybody out!"-
which of course was echoed by cries of "Oh, sir, just five
more minutes!" It took me a while, but I finally succeeded in
getting all the boys out of the pool. Locking the pool, I
herded the naked boys into the shower room and left them
there, telling them not to dawdle too long. Then I went to my
spying post in the crawl space.
It was pitch dark in the crawl space as I crept forward on
my stomach. The boys and the showers were making enough
noise so that I wasn't worried about being heard. Very soon
I was in position to look right down into the shower room.
If you want boys to dawdle, tell them not to. By the time I
had reached my post, the fun-and-games had already begun.
At first it wasjust grab-assing, with Branson and Ericson the
chief targets. Then Charlie Wright soaped up his sizeable
whang and began gleefully jerking himself off. Charlie had
the longest cock in the school, a wand any man would be
proud to call his own. Ericson had a ringside seat, so to
speak, and giggled girlishly, his supple hips writhing in
expectation as he watched the bigger boy pulling on his
shaft. No doubt Ericson was imagining what it would feel
like to have that great thing snaked all the way up his behind.
There wasn't much'chance of his finding out, as Charlie was
terribly straight, though I had heard that he sometimes let
younger boys jerk him off when he was feeling randy; and
it's quite possible he allowed them to take his fine big cock,
which they admired so much, into their sweet little mouths.
However, I think he would have drawn the line at anal
intercourse, even when offered such a delightful behind as
Ericson's.
Ericson was coming in for a good deal of goosing and
bottom-patting, and of course he was nice and hard in front,
his well-shaped piece of meat, still without a trace of hair
around it, pointing up toward his smooth belly.
Jim Dodge had taken Bruce Branson over in one comer, I
noticed. Jim was embracing the boy from behind. Then he
began pushing his well-soaped cock, which was thick but not
very long, in and out between Bruce's very fleshy buns.
"Hey, look at Dodge!" someone said.
"Not so loud!" said another. "You want Murch coming
back and catching us?"
"Oh, Murch wouldn't mind. He does it to all the kids in
his dorm." This was Brinkley speaking. I had never liked
Brinkley, and I liked him even less now, as he stood apart
from the others, watching the proceedings. No one paid
much attention to his remark, however. Either they didn't
believe it, or, if they really thought I was having sex with all
the boys in my dorm, it didn't shock them.
Bruce Branson was pretending to enjoy the passive role as
Dodge drove his soapy cock in and out between the cheeks
of his plump ass. I don't think Dodge was penetrating the
boy's rectum; he didn't have to-there was enough flesh
between the boy's cheeks to enclose Dodge's organ snugly.
It was like watching a three-ring circus. I was watching
Dodge pumping away between the chubby buns of the
reluctant Branson when there was a cry of triumph from the
other end of the room, and I saw Charlie Wright spurt a
great geyser of boyish sperm high into the air. Ericson the
acrobat quickly positioned himself to catch the stream in his
mouth as it fell. His long red tongue stretched out and
caught a blob of the slimy white stuff and drew it back into
his pretty bow-shaped mouth. He licked his lips.
Some of the boys expressed disgust at this act, but this
didn't bother Ericson. "And now, for my next trick-" he
said.
"For your next trick," echoed Oliver Crowell, a dark-
haired boy who was already well into adolescence, "how
about a taste of this?" He came over to Ericson, who was
now sitting cross-legged on the wet floor of the shower
room. Crowell waved his erect cock in front of the blond
boy's face. Ericson suddenly got coy, and turned his back on
-Crowell.
"Come on, Ericson, as a special favor," Crowell coaxed.
But Ericson was suddenly playing hard to get. He got up and
went over to Tommy Wilson. At the beginning of the year
Tommy had been a solo boy in the choir, and he and Ericson
had sung some memorable duets together. Then, overnight,
his voice changed. Now he had a bunch of dark hair around
his cock. He would never sing soprano again.
"Let's dance," he said to Tommy, taking the girl's part of
course, and the two boys, wet and slippery bodies pressed
close together, did a few turns around the shower room.
Meanwhile, off in the corner, Jim Dodge was quietly coming
between the rubbery cheeks of Bruce Branson. He held the
reluctant boy tightly, while shooting his load into the boy's
crack. I really couldn't tell from my angle whether he was in
the boy or just coming between his cheeks. If he was really
inside him, then Bruce must have had a very supple ass, for,
as I said, Jim's cock was very thick.
Having pleasured himself with Bruce Branson, Jim
washed himself and left the shower room, as did Charlie
Wright and some others. Soon no one was left but Crowell,
Ericson, Tommy Wilson and Don Brinkley, the prefect, who
was watching everything with a feigned air of distaste which
was belied by his rampant hard-on.
Crowell "cut in" on the dancers Ericson and Wilson, and
waltzed Ericson around a few turns. This time, when he
repeated his request, Ericson complied. Sinking to his knees,
his arms around Crowell's waist, he took the older boy's
hard cock into his mouth and began sucking it. All four boys
were as if frozen in a tableau: Oliver Crowell standing, his
head thrown back in ecstasy as the younger blond Swedish
boy moved his mouth along the smooth shaft of his eager
cock, his blond hair moving back and forth against the older
boy's loins; the two others watching, Brinkley with arms
folded, his cock pointing toward the two boys, Tommy
Wilson standing on one leg, gently fondling his cock. Then
the tableau was broken.
"Wait a minute, Ollie, let me get in on the fun." This was
Tommy Wilson. He came over behind Ericson, who was still
diligently sucking away at Ollie's cock, his mouth buried
deep in the boy's hairy crotch. Ericson was sitting on his
haunches, his heels under his buttocks, his graceful back
arched upward to allow his mouth to reach the older boy's
cock. Tommy Wilson apparently thought he could bugger
Ericson in this position, for he soaped up his cock, and,
sitting down behind the Swedish boy, tried to work his cock
into the blond boy's bottom. Of course it was futile in that
position, and I felt like telling him so. I didn't have to,
however, as I had an unexpected ally in Brinkley.
"Why don't you change positions?" he suggested. It was
so like Brinkley to be the voyeur, willing to watch anything,
but qfraid to CoMproMiSe his reputation by joining in the
fun-and, I might add, not above informing on those who
did. Nevertheless, his suggestion had merit, and Oliver lay
down on his back with Ericson kneeling between his thighs,
his girlish rump waving in the air and presenting a perfect
target for Tommy Wilson's eager young prick.
Tommy rimmed Ericson's ass with a bar of soap, and,
kneeling behind him and grasping his hips, pulled the boy
back onto his hard cock. From my angle I couldn't actually
see Tommy's cock go in, but from his groans of delight, and
from Ericson's own writhings and groanings, there was no
doubt that Tommy's cock was well-embedded in young
Ericson's supple and willing behind. Both orifices of the
pretty Swedish lad were well-plugged.
While the three writhing boys acted out their elemental
drama of lust on the slippery shower room floor-Oliver
Crowell thrashing his arms from side to side in ecstasy as the
artful Ericson mouthed his organ; Tommy Wilson pushing
like an eager young puppy having his first real fuck, trying to
get his not-yet-man-sized prick as far as possible into the
wriggling, squirming bottom of the willing Swedish lad-
Brinkley was standing apart from it all, quietly, surrepti-
tiously beating his meat. I wasn't far from coming myself.
Oliver Crowell was the first to come. With a cry of
anguish-such is the intensity of an adolescent's orgasm-
his hips jerked and he shot his hot load into Ericson's eager
mouth. The boy swallowed it all.
Tommy Wilson was not far behind. "I'm coming! I'm
coming," he cried as if he were the first boy ever to come. His
contracted buttocks moved faster and faster as he pumped
his youthful come into his school-chum's bum. As he jerked
his hot sperm into his young friend's behind, Brinkley, off in
a corner, quietly shot into his own hand.
Watching the ecstatic Tommy Wilson enjoying his little
friend's bottom to the fullest extent, I asked myself why
every young boy couldn't enjoy his friends' pretty bottoms
like this. Why couldn't all cute twelve-year-.olds enjoy each
other's behinds openly and freely? What a shame that the
golden years of boyhood should fade before each and every
chubby bottom had felt the eager young prick of his best
friend? After all, wasn't that precisely what being "best
friends" meant? That you shared everything, including each
other's bodies? And since the nicest part of a twelve-year-old
boy is his behind, this meant sharing each other's cute round
behinds.
But I didn't have time for much speculation. I knew I had
to get out of there before the boys did, so I beat a hasty
retreat back to the eighth grade dorm. Clive Lambert was
out for the night, and I told him I would bed down his dorm.
I'm very generous that way, as you have noticed-always
willing to sacrifice my own free time to help out a colleague.
When I reached the dorm things were pretty quiet, but of
course there were three empty beds.
"Who's missing?" I asked, as if I didn't know.
"Ericson, sir, and Brinkley and Crowell."
"Where the devil are they?" I demanded in mock anger.
Just then they came in.
"Sorry, sir," said Brinkley, all proper prefect, "these two
were dawdling."
While you watched, beating your meat, I thought. "All
right, get to bed, all of you, and fast." Then, as an after-
thought: "Oh, and Ericson, I want you down in the infir-
mary tonight. I think you're a bad influence on the others."
"Yes, sir," said Ericson, amid giggles all round. "Shall I
get my pj.'s?"
"No, you can use the infirmary p.j.'s," I said, escorting the
boys out the door and flipping off the lights as I went.
Most of the boys had put on their oldest clothes for the
gym clean-up, but not Ericson, who was always the fashion
plate. He had on a navy blue turtleneck and a pair of white
bellbottoms with no back pockets. He looked the perfect
cabin boy. As I watched his lithe buttocks moving under the
thin material of the tight-fitting trousers, no pockets to mar
the outline of his smooth round orbs, I reflected that a mere
ten minutes ago this lovely bottom had been plugged with a
raging boycock, and that his rectum was no doubt still
slippery with the boy's sperm. I wondered if he could feel the
squishy sperm in his bottom as he walked.
I put my hand on the nape of his neck as we went down the
corridor. My fingers toyed with the tuft of silky hair. I
looked sideways at his face-the high cheekbones, the
slightly almond eyes, the thin skin stretched tightly over his
fine features. He darted me a sideways glance.
"Sir, what will I tell Miss E., when she finds me in the
infirmary tomorrow?"
"Don't say anything. Just roll over on your side and she'll
give you a nice warm enema!"
"Oh, sir," said the boy, smiling and blushing. "That
would be too embarrassing!"
"Well, it wouldn't be the first time, and a nice hot water
and soap suds enema is probably just the thing you'll need
tomorrow morning. Besides, I haven't noticed any excessive
shyness on your part when it comes to presenting your
nether cheeks. After all, one nozzle is much like another,
wouldn't you say?"
"Sir," said the boy, looking at me with just the trace of a
smile, "I'm not sure I know what you mean. All those big
words."
"I think you get the drift."
"But what are 'nether cheeks'?"
"These," I said, caressing his buns through the thin cloth.
By now we were at my door.
"But sir, I thought we were going to the infirmary."
"Notjust yet," I replied, usheringhim in. "Havea seat." I
opened a beer and sat down next to him on the couch.
"Yes," I said, fondling the hair at the nape of his head again.
"As I said, one nozzle is much like another."
He darted me a somewhat fishy look, then smiled coquet-
tishly. "What's all this about nozzles, sit?"
"I think you know."
"Sir. Really, I don't."
"Well, I said," ever the patient pedagogue, "you know
what a nozzle is, don't you? What is a nozzle?"
"Well, like on the end of a hose. You attach a nozzle to
water the garden."
"And Miss E. attaches a nozzle to her tube for a slightly
different purpose. Right? Now, what part of the human
anatomy most resembles a nozzle?"
"Oh, yes, sir. I see what you mean."
"Tell me."
"Well, sir, the penis, I suppose."
"I suppose. And now are you going to sit there and tell me
you are shy about presenting your nether cheeks-you
remember what they are-and receiving nozzles, be they
thick, thin, short, or long?" The boy was suffering from
acute embarrassment.
"Are you making fun of me, sir?"
"Not at all. I am merely suggesting that you stop being
quite so coy with me and admit that you like having nozzles
stuck up your bottom."
"But I don't, sir!"
"You didn't seem to mind it in the gym a little while ago."
The boy flushed a deep red.
"But, but, sir! How did you know? Who told you? I bet it
was that ratter Brinkley."
"No, It wasn't Brinkley. I saw it with my own eyes."
"You couldn't have!"
"But I did." And to prove it, I recounted the entire scene
in great loving detail, all the time caressing the boy's neck
with one hand and rubbing his thigh with the other. After a
while I placed my hand on his thigh. I felt his erection
through the pants.
"You seem to enjoy hearing me describe your little
games," I remarked, rubbing his prick through the cloth.
"At least, your nozzle does!"
The boy smiled prettily at me. He didn't seem to know
what to do with his hands. I paused to take a sip of beer.
"Oh, sir, can I have some? I'm awfully thirsty."
"No doubt from all that salty stuff you've been swallow-
ing. Here, have a sip." The boy tilted back his head and took
several swallows; I watched each gulp go down his smooth
throat."You can finish that one," I said. "I'll get another."
By the time I got back with the fresh can the boy had drained
his. I gave him some of mine. Nothing like a little beer to
make a boy feel like sex.
"There," I said, putting down the beer and wiping off his
lips. "That should get you good and refreshed for round
two!"
"Round two?" The boy cocked his head and looked at me
inquiringly.
"Sure! I intend to get in my licks. I don't mind sloppy
seconds."
"Sir, you're joking!"
"Do you call this a joke?" I took his hand and placed it on
my fly. I felt his fingers exploring the dimensions of my stiff
shaft.
"No, sir, that is no joke."
"You're blushing! How pretty you are when you blush!" I
caressed his face. "Such pink cheeks! Such red lips! They
don't get that way from eating bananas. Nor from sucking
on lollipops. Still, if you crave a lollipop, my pretty one, I
have one you can suck on to your heart's content."
The boy was confused by this sort of talk from one of his
masters. I took a certain cruel delight in confusing him. I
placed my hand in his fly again. If my talk was confusing
him, it was also arousing him, for his cock was very hard. I
played with it some more, until pretty soon he was squirm-
ing around on the couch.
"What's the matter, boy? You got ants in your pants?"
"T'm still thirsty," said the boy.
Instead of giving him the can of beer I leaned down and
kissed his mouth, thrusting my tongue inside it. He contin-
ued squirming around under my feeling of his crotch.
"You really have an itchy behind, don't you? Well, I've
gotjust the tool to scratch it with! Those otherboys'nozzles
just can't do the job, but mine can reach way up there where
the itch is."
"Sir, why are you teasing me like this?"
"I'm not teasing you. Or maybe I am. Maybe it's because
you've been teasing me all year, parading your rump around
like a simpering catamite, as if to say, 'Look all you want,
but don't touch.' I know half the eighth grade has gotten
into your pants, but how many masters have? Don't answer
that! I'd like to think I'm the first. Though I certainly won't
be the last! And now, my pretty, let me help you out of your
things."
"Sir, what are you going to do?"
"Do? Why, lay you, of course. Didn't I make myself
clear?"
"I thought you were just making fun of me."
"Of course I wasn't, you silly boy," I said, raising his
turtleneck and slipping it over his head. "Why would I do
such a cruel thing as that?"
The skin on his chest was incredibly smooth as I ran my
fingers over his nipples. I rubbed them until they got hard,
then kissed his mouth again. His slippery tongue darted
around, playing little games with mine. I let my hand stray
down to his fly. His cock was still hard as a rock. I unzipped
the fly of his bellbottoms and opened it up.
"Ah, I see we're not wearing any underpants these days!"
I said.
"I was in sort of a hurry," he said.
"Yes, I can imagine. And besides, it makes undressing so
much easier. Just drop your pants and there you are, ready
for anything."
"You're teasing me again, sir."
"Just a bit," I admitted, giving him a kiss. "But I never
meant to make fun of you. You see I'm something of a
connoisseur of pretty boys, and for my money you're the
tops."
This seemed to please the vain child, for he was like putty
in my hands as I slid his pants down over his milky thighs
and drew them off, tossing them on the floor. I drew him
onto my lap and put my arm around his waist.
"It's just that I too want to taste the delights of your pretty
behind," I said, slipping my hand under his soft warm
buttocks. "Of course I have no illusions about deflowering
your posterior. I imagine I am several years too late for that.
But better late than never. And now, let me just stick my
finger in your pie."
So saying, I pushed my finger deep between his buttocks
until I found his hole. I drove my finger right into his
slippery hole. The boy moaned as my finger thrust deep into
his bowel.
"No need for KY," I said, "for you are awash with
nature's own lubricant. Yes, the road to bliss has been paved
by lusty adolescent boys whose youthful seed is still swirling
and frothing in your innards."
I was engaged thus in finger-fucking the delightful boy on
my lap, probing his hot juicy interior with my middle finger,
when there was a knock on my door.
In a trice my finger was out of the boy's hole, and he was
off my lap and on his way through the bedroom door with
the whispered words, "Go into the bathroom," in his ears. I
went to the door and casually, I hoped, opened it. It was
Clive Lambert.
"Oh, Colin, sorry to bother you, but-"
"I thought you were out for the night."
"Oh, well, things didn't work out, so I came back."
"Oh. I hope things are quiet in your dorm. Some of them
were feeling their adolescent oats earlier tonight."
"Well, there was a bit of hanky-panky in progress, not
what you'd call a gang-bang, but not all quiet on the western
front either."
"Sorry about that. I should have checked again. Boys will
be boys, I guess."
"Yes, and some of them will be girls. Which is why I came
to see you. They told me Ericson was in the infirmary, but
he's not. I'm worried. There's no telling where he might be."
I hadn't invited Lambert in. I stood there leaning my arm
on the door, trying to think fast. I looked at Lambert, but he
wasn't looking at me; he was looking over my shoulder, his
eyes fixed on something in the room. I didn't dare turn
around and see what it was. But then I didn't have to, for
suddenly I knew exactly what he was looking at: Ericson's
bellbottoms and turtleneck, on the floor where I had tossed
them.
"Ericson's here," I said. "He was kind of upset. Seems
they got a bit rough with him after the dance."
"He's goose-bait, all right."
"Yeah. So I brought him in here and talked to him for a
while. Got some things off his chest." (Like his turtleneck.)
"Where is he now?" Eyebrows arched slightly.
"He's taking a cold bath. I thought it would calm him
down." Lambert's brows arched higher.
"A cold bath? At this time of night?"
"Cold baths are very soothing, you know."
"Uh huh. Say, speaking of cooling things, you don't have
another beer, do you? " He apparently had seen the two
empty cans on the coffee table.
I gestured helplessly. "Wish I did. Just finished the last."
"Maybe I have a couple. If you'd like-"
"I really have work to do. Make up exams. Look. Don't
worry about Ericson. I'll take him down to the infirmary
later, so as not to wake your dorm."
"He really is a little fruitcake, isn't he?" Lambert seemed
in a talkative mood, but I still hadn't invited him into the
room, and I was hoping he'd take the hint.
"I suppose he is," I answered, yawning. "Though perhaps
he'll change as he gets older."
"I doubt it," said Lambert. "'I think he has all the ear-
marks. There's something about him. You can tell. And the
other boys know it. They know, intuitively."
It didn't take much intuition, I thought, wishing to hell
Clive would leave. Was he stalling on purpose, waiting for
Ericson to come out of his "bath"? Whatever his motive, he
stayed and stayed, talking about what was going to happen
to Ericson next year at prep school-how all the boys would
be after his ass, and so on. I agreed with everything he said,
in order to avoid getting a discussion going. Under other
circumstances it might have been interesting to talk about
these matters with Clive Lambert, but right now I just
wanted him out.
Finally he left. "Well," he said, glancing once again at the
boy's clothing lying on the floor, "I can see I'm keeping you
up. Take good care of pretty boy, as I'm sure you will."
"I'll see he comes to no harm," I said, closing the door on
Lambert at last.
I sat down on the couch for a second. My heart was still
beating fast. Maybe I should just send Ericson down to the
infirmary. Maybe Lambert would be waiting to hear him go
down. Maybe he would check the infirmary later. Maybe he
was outside my door right now.
Oh, screw Clive Lambert! I thought. He wasn't going to
squeal on me even if he did smell a rat. Seize the day! Or, in
this case, the night. School is almost over. To hell with the
consequences!
In the bathroom I found the nude boy crouched miserably
on the edge of the bathtub. As he got up I saw his cock had
gone limp.
"It's okay," I said. "Just Mr. Lambert, wondering where
you were."
"What did you tell him?"
"That you were here, taking a cold bath."
"Sir! Why'd you tell him that?"
"I couldn't deny that you were here. He saw your clothes
lying on the floor. I thought the cold bath idea was an
inspiration. I told him you were so sexed up you needed a
cold bath to cool you down."
"You didn't!"
"Something of the sort. Anyway, don't worry. He won't
be back. Come on, let's go back into the bedroom and
continue what we were doing before we were so rudely
interrupted." My fingers strayed down his back and over his
soft rosy bottom as I ushered him back into the bedroom
and closed the door to the study. I pulled back the covers,
and he climbed in between them and lay down on his belly. I
shed my clothes, doused the lights, and crept in next to him.
For a long time we lay there without speaking as I stroked
him from the nape of his neck to the base of his thighs. Each
time my fingers slid over his smooth buttocks he arched
them somewhat, the way a cat does when you stroke its
back. Sometimes he gave little shivers of excitement at my
tender touch.
I kept up this gentle up-and-down massage for several
minutes. Then, when I let my fingers stray between his
supple thighs, he parted them obligingly, nor did he protest
when I poked around his hole with my finger. On the con-
trary, he wriggled his bottom, thrusting it up, inviting me to
fuck him. I was tempted to climb on him immediately, he
looked so cute and vulnerable with his pink bottom thrust
up, his thighs apart, and his little pucker just itching to be
penetrated. But I wanted to try a different position.
When my backrub had gotten him sufficiently aroused, I
turned him on his side facing me and pressed our bodies
together, fingering his moist hole.
"In a minute," I said kissing him and fingering his silky
hair, "I'm going to give you what you need and crave-a
good fucking. What do you think of that?"
The boy smiled at me and sort of shrugged. Then, as my
finger pushed deep into his hole, he clenched his teeth and
gripped me tight, giving some indication of the height of his
passion.
"A good fucking. Yes, that's just what you need," I went
on. "It's not only what you need, it's what you want-a
good hard man-sized cock rammed all the way up your
pliant ass." Now the boy was groaning in anticipation of the
fucking he was about to receive.
"As you can feel, my cock is ready. You can feel its
hardness against your stomach. It's ready for your ass. But
since it's pretty big, bigger than any cock that's been inside
you before, perhaps, I want you to lubricate it first, with
your mouth, so as to make it easier when I stick it in your
bottom."
Before I had even finished these words the boy had curled
his face down and was taking my cock in his mouth. I
mussed his silky hair as he sucked my cock, while my other
hand toyed with his bottom. When he had sucked me for a
while I raised his head.
"All right. That's fine. Now let's get down to business. I
want you to lie on your back and wrap your legs around
your head, the way only you can do."
The boy, who was in a state of passion, hastily complied,
and though I couldn't see much in the darkened room, I
could make out his smooth legs and thighs as he raised them
up and literally wrapped them around his head. I felt down
his smooth thighs, feeling the skin stretched tight across his
bottom as he presented his moistened hole most advanta-
geously for penetration. I got above him and aimed my cock
down at his hole.
Some of nature's lubricant having been absorbed during
the finger-fucking I'd given him, I found that despite the
boy's willingness I could not enter him. So, spreading his
anal muscles even further apart with my fingers I tongued
his hole, copiously lubricating it with my saliva.
I mounted him again, and again I found it was not easy. I
didn't want to resort to artificial lubricants, however; I
wanted this to be a "natural" fuck. Once more spitting into
his hole I climbed onto him and pushed down. This time I
felt the pucker give way and my cock sink in. Once past the
gates it was easier, and down and down I sank until I hit
bottom. The boy gave a groan. Pain? Pleasure? A mixture of
both? I didn't know or care. All I knew was it seemed to me I
had never penetrated so far into a boy's behind. With his legs
wrapped around his head affording maximum penetration,
every bit of my cock was buried deep inside the hot moist
bowel of the lovely Swedish boy.
"You okay?" I asked.
"Yes, sir. Oooh, sir!" This last was a response to my
pressing down as hard as I could.
"Does it hurt when I do that?"
"Yes. But it feels good." I did it again. "Oooh! I think I'm
going to come."
"Don't come yet. I haven't begun fucking you yet."
"I can't help it!"
In the contorted position the boy was in, his prick was
only a couple of inches from his face. It occurred to me that
here was one of those rare boys who could actually suck his
own cock.
"Can you put it in your mouth?"
"It's harder, with you on top of me."
"I'll help you," I said, grabbing his head and pulling it
down toward his throbbing cock. With some effort the boy
managed to close his lips over his own prick.
"Now I'm going to start fucking you," I said. Drawing
out almost the entire length of my cock I pushed in hard and
fast. As I hit bottom the youngster gave a cry and I felt his
limbs jerk as he spurted his own come into his mouth.
After waiting for the boy's orgasm to subside, I kissed
him, tasting his young sperm, then slowly began fucking
him, delighting in the smoothness of his pretty face almost as
much as the hot tightness of his rectum.
I soon found out the boy knew a thing or two about
fucking. Each time I withdrew, he tightened his anal mus-
cles, squeezing my cock with a pulsating action, then relax-
ing them for the inward and downward stroke. At the same
time he gyrated his hips, causing me exquisite pleasure.
Fucking him in this position, I could kiss his mouth as much
as I liked, and soon his arms were around my neck and his
tongue was in my mouth, and all he time I was lunging in and
out of his elastic ass, which he was tightening and loosening,
twisting and turning, in the most expert and practiced
fashion.
My passion mounted. My strokes grew faster and shorter,
his gyrations more violent as he felt my orgasm coming.
Even though he had already had his orgasm, he was intent
on helping me enjoy mine, as any well-trained catamite
should be.
I lunged in and out of the boy's hot rectum, my juices
rising, until suddenly I saw stars as my loins unleashed their
pent-up supply of love-juice; and as our mouths pressed
together I boiled over, pumping a huge load of spunk into
the already sperm-washed channel of the thirteen-year-old
choirboy's hot slippery rectum.
I lay there on top of the boy, who for the second time
tonight had just been given an injection of hot semen. Then,
without withdrawing, I rolled onto my side, pulling the boy
with me. With my cock still buried deep in his rectum, I
stroked his hair and kissed him.
"Now I understand why everyone wants to lay you," I
said. "It's not only your pretty bottom, it's what you do with
XXX
it. You're a real expert."
"Thank you, sir," said the boy demurely.
"Tell me, how did you ever learn such tricks?"
"My uncle taught me."
"Your uncle? How depraved! Was he the first?"
"No, the first was our gardener."
"Tell tne about him."
"Okay. But first I have to let my legs down. They get to be
sore if I keep them in this position for long." So the boy
brought his legs down, and of course my cock plopped out of
his nice warm bottom. I was sorry about this. I would have
liked to keep my cock permanently encased in a boy's bot-
tom, but there was nothing to be done. The boy contor-
tionist deserved a rest. I pressed our bodies together, my
slippery cock rubbing against his crotch, his own cock
against my stomach.
"Tell me about the gardener," I said.
"Well, he was an Italian man, very good-looking, I
thought, and I used to watch him work. I used to like to see
his big muscles rippling under his bronze skin, and the sweat
pouring down his back. He was a beautiful man, and I used
to watch him a lot, just standing there like the stupid little
kid I was. And of course he noticed me watching him."
"I'll bet you were cute."
"Mr. Angelini thought so, I guess, because one hot sum-
mer day he took me by the hand and led me down to the tool
house and, well, without saying anything to mejust took my
pants down and did it."
"Not so fast," I said, fondling the boy's naked behind, "I
want all the details. What were you wearing?"
"My sailor suit, I think. It was white with navy blue
trimming."
"Short pants or long?"
"Short. Well, he just took me in the tool house and sat
down on a stool and drew me between his legs. I could smell
his sweat and the garlic on his breath. Then he began feeling
me all over."
"Like this?"
"Yes, sort of. Then he undid my pants and I just stood
there, afraid and at the same time kind of excited."
"Didn t you ask him what he was doing?"
"I knew what he was doing! He was taking my pants
down. And my underpants, too. Then he felt my behind with
his big hands. Then he took out his thing, and it was the
biggest one I had ever seen. I began to get frightened, then,
because the way he was feeling my behind I had a pretty
good idea what he was thinking of doing."
"And still you didn't object?"
"No, I just stood there. And then he took some tool grease
or something and smeared some on my hole, behind, and
put some on his cock, which was very hard now, with all the
veins standing out. He pushed his finger into my behind-"
"Like this?" I asked, shoving my finger up the boy'sjuicy
hole.
"Yes, sir."
"What then?"
"Well, he turned me around and lifted me up and just sat
me down right on top of it. I was too scared to do anything
then, and so I just let him. It hurt a lot, but he put his hand
over my mouth and pulled me down on top of his thing. And
pretty soon I felt it going in me. I thought I was going to
burst, and it hurt terribly, but he held me tight and raised me
up and down on his thing until he was finished. Of course I
didn't know about orgasms then."
"Could you feel him coming inside you?"
"Yes, but I didn't know what it was. Then he took it out
and wiped me off and pulled up my pants and gave me a kiss
and a quarter not to tell."
"Did you tell?"
"No, of course not. I liked Mr. Angelini."
"Even though he hurt you?"
"Yes, but afterwards, thinking about it, it felt good and I
wanted him to do it again."
"Did he?"
"No, he went away soon afterwards."
"How old were you at this time?"
"Seven."
"Seven! I don't believe it' He would have ripped you
open"I said
"Well, he didn't, and I really was only seven. I guess I was
just easy to screw."
"I guess you were," I said, feeling my cock grow hard
again as it pressed against his scrotum.
"Sir, you're getting big again. I guess I shouldn't tell you
about my early life."
"You just go right ahead," I said. "I want to hear about
the uncle. How old were you then?"
"Eight. He used to take me out for drives. One day we
found ourselves by a stream and we went swimming. You
know, skinny-dipping. He held me under my belly because I
couldn't swim very well, and his fingers kept brushing
against my prick."
"Did you like it?"
"Sure. It felt good. I wanted him to keep on forever, but it
was my behind he was after, just like the gardener, because
after our swim he took me on his knee just like Mr. Angelini
had done, only frontwards. I mean so we were facing each
other. And he stuck it up me."
"Didn't he use any lubricant?"
"Oh, yes. He had a little tube of Vaseline in his pocket."
"Did it hurt when he put it in you?"
"Yes, but not like the first time with Mr. Angelini. And it
felt good, too. Afterwards he sucked me for a long time and
told me I was a good little boy."
"Did you do it again?"
"Every day all summer."
"What about your parents?"
"They never found out. They knew I loved Uncle Tommy
and that he loved me. They didn't know how well he loved
me! Every day we went to a different place. Once he fucked
me in the bottom of a rowboat. I can still see the chipped
green paint on the deck planks. Sometimes we did it in the
car. Sometimes he would lay me on the grass with my legs
over my head, but usually he sat me on it, with me facing him
go he could kiss me at the same time he had it in me."
"And you really liked it?"
"I loved it. Couldn't get enough of it. I guess I always will:
Uncle Tommy used to say I was a natural. Do you think I
am?"
"I guess so. Although people change as they get older.
How long did you and Uncle Tommy carry on like this?" I
asked, my finger still probing his bottom.
"Until I-oooh, sir-came here, when I was almost
eleven." Ericson had come to the school as a fifth-grader.
"Do you ever see your uncle any more?"
"Yes, but we don't do anything. I don't know why. Maybe
he's scared to. But I think it's because he really likes only
very little kids of eight or nine, the kind he can put on his lap
and screw that way."
"Don't you miss doing it with him?"
"Sure. Once I suggested it, but he said he was too busy."
"Let's play a little game. Let's pretend I'm Uncle Tommy
and you're eight years old. Do you want to?"
"Okay, sir."
"Good. Now, I've just taken off your little sailor suit.
Come sit on my lap." I sat on the edge of the bed and patted
my lap. The boy straddled my thighs and slid up until he was
even with my hard cock.
"Now, ups-a-daisy, there we go," I said, lifting up the boy
and settling him down on my cock. After a bit of trial and
error I got his bottom hole right above my cock, and, letting
his body sink onto me, I felt my cock slide right up his
behind. It was great, I twisted his hips and played with his
behind, feeling at the base my own balls pressed against his
bottom, my cock embedded inside him.
I could see us in the mirror over the bureau, could see my
cock appearing and disappearing like a piston as his bottom
moved up and down. Wanting to get in even deeper, I raised
his legs and put them on my shoulders, so that he was
jackknifed on my cock. We put our arms around each other
and I gently raised and lowered him on my shaft, while he
twisted his hips this way and that in an agonizingly delicious
way.
"There's my little boy," I said, trying to sound avuncular
as I fucked his succulent bottom. The boy was thoroughly
aroused, too, and I took hold of his warm cock from time to
time to help him along. He didn't need much help. The
sensation of my cock riding up and down his sensitive anal
passage was enough stimulation. As my strokes became
faster and more frenzied, his cock bobbed up and down, and
when I finally felt Old Faithful about to erupt I held the boy
tight, and as my spunk shot straight up into his already
well-laved rectum, his own cock went off and he shot sweet
sperm all over my stomach.
My orgasm lasted a long time, and I spurted wave after
wave into his bottom while his hips jerked with pleasure.
After we had cleaned up and dressed, I led him down to
the infirmary, where I tenderly undressed him again and put
him into one of the infirmary gowns which open at the back,
giving easy access to boys' bottoms. As I turned him around
and tied the little string, which only partly drew the cloth
over his thrice-buggered bottom he looked so like a cherub I
swear I could have put him over the examining table and
fucked him again.
I tucked him into bed and kissed him goodnight. He
turned over on his belly. I kissed him again, and with one
final feel and pat of his soft round behind I turned to go.
Before leaving, however, I penned a note to Miss E.:
"Ericson had some tummy trouble. Too much cake and
soda pop, I expect. C. Murchison."
It tickled me, the thought of one more nozzle being
pushed up his behind the moment he opened his eyes. I knew
he wouldn't mind. A boy who loves to be fucked so much
couldn't possibly object to an enema. Besides, it would wash
out all the tell-tale evidence!