Date: Fri, 12 Nov 2010 09:15:47 +0000
From: Josh Long <joshcock@hotmail.com>
Subject: Circle of Hazel Trees   Paul

A collection of short stories, each complete in itself, but linked to the
others by a common setting and interwoven events.

Warning: these stories, all works of fiction and imagination, contain
graphic descriptions of sex between an adult male and teenage boys. If
reading such material is illegal in your state or country, or because of
your age, you are advised not to continue. For those who do continue, I
hope the time spent reading them is considered time enjoyably spent.


Paul


Almost sixteen year old Paul stretched luxuriously; awake, just, but his
eyes still firmly shut, long blond lashes curling kissably upwards. He used
to hate waking up on school mornings, having to force himself out of bed
after a hurried, but necessary wank, grunting sourly at Nick and pouting
his way down to breakfast, knowing that all that lay ahead was another shit
day at school.

That had been then -- this was now!

The stretch was a signal, a signal for warm hands to stroke and adore his
sleep warm and sleep soft body; hands that would start at his knees, ease
their way up his silky smooth thighs, over the hardness of his hip and the
softness of his stomach before returning to hardness again -- the five and
a bit inch hardness of his tight foreskinned cock, a cock that would be
stroked and squeezed, his sperm makers cupped and fondled before a
wriggling in the bed beside him was the prelude to a mouth engulfing his
cock and warmly, wetly encouraging his morning sperm to flow.

His hands would move, one stroking the hair of the head that owned the
mouth that was sucking him, the other going lightly up and down the warm
skin of the back of the mouth owner, gently scratching with his finger
nails to indicate how much he was enjoying his cock being sucked and
adored.

It would be, as it always was, a slow, unhurried suck; Paul woke earlier
now than he had in those other days, early enough to allow at least half an
hour for his cock to be worshipped, his approaching sixteen year old body
to be adored, his completely smooth skin to be stroked softly and lovingly
as his cock was treated to the best sucking that it had ever had -- it was
always the best, each day it was the best and it could never get better,
until it did the next morning.

A hand found his thigh, its very touch a statement of delight at the
bed-warm, smooth skin it found, skin that was pure silk, not a hint of even
the faintest roughness of hair to spoil it. The peach fuzz that had once
shown on the surface of that skin had long gone -- it had started to grow
longer, to turn into real hair, and that was not something Paul had allowed
to happen, no way could he allow something like that to detract from the
delight, the pleasure, his man found in his teenage flesh. A razor had
removed those first signs, but now more drastic measures were needed and
Paul willingly submitted himself to the not exactly pleasant experience of
regular waxing, the temporary discomfort a small price to pay for the
resultant pleasure for both Paul and his man.

His pubes had gone as well. David had been concerned about that, about Paul
appearing bald in the showers at school, but Paul had dismissed his
concerns. "Couple of other kids shave," he'd said, "Birds find it well sexy
apparently, so everyone'll just think I've found some kinky bit of cunt to
fuck." And when his new baldness had been noticed and commented on, Paul
had carelessly announced that he'd scored with a married woman a few years
older than himself who was into boys and got well turned on by the absence
of pubes. This bit of disinformation was believed without question by
jealous and sexually credulous schoolboys, and raised Paul's stock with his
peers to almost astronomic heights.

The hand moved upwards, softly stroking his smooth skin, making his hard
cock even harder. The hand ignored cock; instead fingers caressed his
smooth pubis, evidence enough that David found him erotically delightful
with no rough, pubic hair to spoil his smooth, silky perfection; his
soft-firm stomach was caressed and his hard, flat boy tits stroked and
squeezed, hardening his nipples, before movement in the bed indicated that
his cock would soon be in the wet, hot, cave of mouth and his morning spunk
slowly coaxed from his overnight filled balls.

A mouth only suck; David's hands and fingers never touched the boy's cock
or balls, they stroked, caressed and adored his smooth skin, David's head
resting on the boy's stomach, his lips sliding up and down the morning
solid boy shaft, bringing the boy off without any resort to frantic or
passionate sex. Paul lay, his eyes still closed, his face a copy of the
beatific image that had appeared to him in the tree circle so many months
ago. A long, satisfied sigh escaped his lips as his spunk rose and flooded
from him, filling David's mouth where it was swirled, tasted and slowly
swallowed.

"I fuckin' love the way you bring me off in the mornin's," Paul sighed as
David kissed his deflating prick, lips and tongue searching for any last,
slow oozings.

"Just as well," David smiled at the boy's cock, giving the tight foreskin
tip a final kiss, "As long as you live here, you've got to put up with it;
one of the conditions."

"Oh, shit," Paul mock groaned, "Won't I ever get the chance to wank again?"

"Not this," David kissed the boy's limp cock again.

"That's good," Paul opened his eyes, eyes glinting with merriment, "Much
prefer you suckin' me."

Paul lay back in bed, his hands behind his head, thinking on just how much
his life had changed since that moment at the tree circle. He had a good
five minutes before he had to move, David was still in the bathroom,
showering and shaving, before going downstairs to get their breakfast.

******************************************************************************



"What did you see?" Matt asked, blowing smoke rings from the spliff David
had so thoughtfully provided to help the lads discuss their experience in
the woods a day or so before.

"You'll think I'm fuckin' nuts," Paul blew his own, matching smoke ring.

"Others might, but I won't, you know that."

"Yeh, maybe;" even though Paul knew Matt wouldn't laugh at him, it was
still not easy to say out loud what he had seen.....or thought he had
seen........imagined was probably a better word, outside the tree circle.

"Promise," Matt urged, "It won't be anything near as way out as what
happened to me."

"Well," Paul started, relaxed enough by the weed to risk giving away what
seemed to him a moment that any psychologist would have had him certified
for, "It seemed like the fuckin' trees was talkin' to me." He waited for
Matt to laugh, but, instead, the older boy looked astonished.

"You actually heard them?" he almost gasped.

"Yeh," Paul said and then realised what Matt meant; "What? They talked to
you as well?"

"Of course," Matt sounded almost as though he was talking to an idiot,
"What else would they do to someone like me?"

"What you on about?"

"I'm Cornish," Matt explained patiently, "I think I've got a bit of what we
call `the sight', you know, can see stuff that most people can't. You're
obviously not a Celt," he said, dismissively, itemising Paul as a member of
some inferior race; "Not with that hair and those eyes, so how the fuck
could you hear the trees talk?"

"Fuckin' Cornish ain't the only ones who knows about that stuff," Paul
retorted, forgetting that what they were talking about was absolute
nonsense in the twenty first century. "Me name's `Shillson', in' it; pure
fuckin' Norse." The only thing other than Art that Paul had ever found the
slightest bit interesting at school was when their dickhead of an English
teacher had read them some Norse saga stuff, and Paul had been hooked
enough to find a few historical novels that dealt with the Vikings.

"So?"

"Fuckin' `Son of the Shield' mate," Paul boasted, having been interested
enough to actually look up the possible origins of his name; "Me ancestors
was Vikin's an' we knew about that sorta stuff as well."

"Ohh," Matt, nodded his understanding, if slightly reluctant to accept that
anyone not Cornish could possibly know about `that sorta stuff'; "Then I
spose that's how you heard them. You must have a bit of it as well."

"Fuckin' right, mate," Paul was almost triumphant because he had whatever
it was Matt had, and the older boy hadn't expected that, had he!

"So what did they say?"

"It was a bit sorta garbled, like," Paul struggled to remember exactly what
he had thought he'd heard, "But it was, like, if I went into the circle I
could be a real boy, an' if I stayed outside, nothin' would change, I'd
carry on bein' a dickhead, macho git, tryin' to pretend he was a man."

"Nothing to do with cock?" Matt enquired.

"Yeh," Paul grinned widely, "That was in the real boy bit." He took a deep
drag on his spliff and blew the smoke almost suggestively at Matt; "I sorta
got the idea that part of bein' a real boy was gettin' to have lots of fun
with me cock."

"And no conditions?" Matt asked.

"Yeh," Paul said thoughtfully, "That was the real weird bit; I sorta knew
if I went for the cock bit, then it meant," he paused for a second, looking
at Matt to make sure he wasn't laughing, "Well, I'd have to be serious
about stuff at school. Fuckin' odd; I fuckin' hate school."

"But you went in," Matt said.

"Yeh........you wanna know why?"

"Of course."

"It was `cos I knew it was weird. But in me head it was spelt different; it
was spelt w...y...r...d."

"You actually saw that, not heard it?"

"Yeh, odd really, `cos I sorta heard all the other stuff, but that was,
like, spelt out in me mind. An' you know the oddest thing," he didn't give
Matt a chance to interrupt but went straight on, "I knew that spelt like
that it was some sorta old word for `fate.' Fuckin' is too, I looked it up,
it's fuckin' Anglo Saxon what comes from Norse, and it does fuckin' mean
`fate' too!"

"I believe you," Matt nodded.

"An' then I went in there," Paul was getting carried away now, eager to
tell all; "An' you never guess what I saw!"

Matt just waited for Paul to tell, no point in interrupting.

"Saw meself standin' in there, bollock naked with a boner, an' then I
spunked on the grass without ever touchin' me cock!"

"I got wanked off by a sunbeam," Matt sniggered.

"You fuckin' what?" Paul gasped.

"Honest," Matt grinned, "I saw meself gettin' tossed by a sunbeam." He went
on to recount his experience, leaving nothing out.

"Fuckin' hell!" Paul commented when the tale was finished; "I knew that
place was well fuckin' strange, but..........fuck me!"

"I know it sounds real daft," Matt said, slowly but seriously -- but that
might just have been the influence of the weed, "But you know the old ones
are real."

"Yeh, I know that," Paul said dismissively, he'd worked that out for
himself, "But if anyone else heard us talkin' like this they'd think we was
fuckin' nuts."

"Too right," Matt agreed fervently, "But they are real, and if you keep
your promise to them, they'll keep theirs to you."

Paul nodded, thoughtful; "So I really do have to try at school?"

"You do, and I think you'll find everything just falls into place for you."

"Fuckin' hope so!" Paul really meant that: "Life's pretty fuckin' shit,
apart from you an' David."

"It'll get better, believe me, it will get better."



******************************************************************************



The changes had started almost immediately; the sex, obviously -- he'd gone
every break and lunchtime to David's office for his cock to be sucked, and
back to his cottage whenever possible for full on bedroom sex. But it
wasn't just the sex, though that did seem to underpin everything that had
happened.

Art had been the one school subject Paul had tolerated, being less of a
nuisance in Art lessons than he was in all the others. But that
understanding in the tree circle, his understanding that those trees were a
living, woodland sculpture of erect male genitalia had fired his
imagination, and he'd gone from tolerating his Art lessons to being
positively enthusiastic. And it wasn't just Art; he was still a long way
from being a model student, but he did try now in his other lessons, was
less of a pain, got into far less trouble.

A couple of weeks later David had been summoned to the Headmaster's office,
he'd recounted the conversation to Paul later that day.

"Ah, David," the Head had beamed his best `I want you to do something for
me' smile, "Come in, come in. Now, I gather you've been seeing a bit of
Paul Shillson recently, getting him do some work for you out at your
cottage in the wilds or something."

David nodded, wondering, and more than just a bit concerned, about what was
coming next.

"And, I believe, he's been coming to see you now and again at school, in
his lunchtimes, for a bit of extra help with his schoolwork."

"Yes," David had lied; Paul had certainly spent his lunchtimes in David's
office, but schoolwork was not the purpose of his visits!

"Well, it's obviously been having some effect on him," the Head had beamed,
"I'm getting reports that he's a changed boy; well, not totally changed,"
the Head corrected himself, "But certainly a start seems to have been
made. Don't know how you did it, but well done, David, well done!"

"Thank you, Headmaster," David had said.

"Now, David, I wonder if I could impose on you, ask you if you'd take the
boy under your wing, sort of thing. Miss Evans has no objections, in fact,
she suggested it to me."

Miss Evans was, as David knew, Paul's Year Tutor, the teacher ultimately
responsible for him.

David had, naturally, put up a show of reluctance, wondered about the extra
workload, but, finally accepted the task and left the Head's office
struggling to hide his glee. He now had unrestricted and official access to
Paul in all the boy's free time!

For Paul the arrangement meant he had to try even harder in his lessons;
Matt's words that he must never let David down echoed in his mind and so he
tried his best. Wasn't easy, it meant a complete change of attitude, but he
tried.

And then, of course, there was the business with Nick. Two days after that
weed inspired chat with Matt, he was moved out of the room he shared with
Nick. To be honest, he was a bit pissed off at the time; okay, getting
fucked by Nick was nothing like what he'd experienced with Matt, but it was
a regular fuck and he hadn't started doing that with David yet. When he
threw one and demanded to know why, all he was told that it was for his own
good, and Nick wasn't a good influence on him. Naturally, in an
establishment that had twelve teenagers living in close proximity, seven of
them being girls, it didn't take long for the rumours to start circulating;
someone had got wind of the real reason for Nick's excursions to
London. Paul had been quite panicky for a few days, but Nick, fortunately,
realised he was deep enough in the shit already and kept his mouth shut
about Paul, David and Matt.

Even so, the authorities decided it would be a good idea to move Paul out
altogether and foster him somewhere, an idea that Paul thought a great
idea......NOT! Fortunately for Paul, it proved impossible to find a
suitable placement for him that would enable him to continue at the same
school, and, with his recent improvement in behaviour, nobody thought it
was a good idea for him to change schools.

David was summoned to the Headmaster's office again, this time with a
senior Social Services officer present, and was practically begged to take
on Paul as a foster child.

"We appreciate it's an awful lot to ask, David," the Headmaster had
wheedled, "But we really can't leave Paul there, not under the
circumstances; and he's been doing so well with you, well, helping him; we
hoped things might get even better for him if we could manage to talk you
into doing this. We really wouldn't have asked if it had been possible to
find anywhere else for him to live, but it just hasn't been."

"Is that really a good idea, Headmaster?" David had asked; "I am a bachelor
and, well.....how can I say this.......rumours might start."

"It's precisely because of those sort of rumours that it is so necessary to
move Paul out from where he currently living," the man from the Social
Services interrupted; "To move him away from any possibility that he might
be, unfairly and utterly inaccurately, associated with the activities of
one of the other residents. You can be assured," the Social Services man
gave a smile a bit like a blunt razor, "That we have naturally conducted
the necessary investigations and are utterly satisfied that there is no
likelihood of any such rumours circulating should you agree to foster him."

 With suitable reluctance, David agreed, Paul moved in and serious cock
worshiping began.



"Can't believe they've actually sent me to live with you," Paul said when,
along with his few possessions, he'd been delivered to David's
cottage. "Moves me away in case Nick talks me into sellin' me bum an' puts
me with you what's up there all the time!"

"Is a bit difficult to get your head round," David agreed. He was fucking
this delightful, fair haired vision of a fourteen year old whenever he had
the chance, and now the boy had been officially sent to live with him!
Things like that just didn't happen, not in real life. But David's life
hadn't been all that real from the moment he'd come across Roy in the tree
circle and then cum in him almost every day for that summer holiday. David
had long since accepted that Matt's old ones were real, though, and that
they were doing a great job of looking after him!

He'd taken Paul upstairs; shown him the spare room that the Social Services
thought would be ideal for Paul.

"Your room, Paul," he said.

"Cool," Paul smiled. "Guess we'd better use the bed at least once," and
promptly started stripping.

The old ones hadn't done badly for Matt, either! He'd found himself a very
pretty thirteen year old a few days after he'd talked with Paul, and
rapidly introduced the boy to the delights of having cock in his arse,
whilst still giving everyone the impression he was the same old Monk. Well,
he'd introduced the boy to the delights of his cock, but it wasn't the
first one the boy had sampled! Matt had taken the pretty little thing to
the circle, where the boy had apparently said that, since he was a poor,
helpless little boy, all alone in the woods with big, bad, Matt, there was
no point in him trying to defend his virtue; and, as he couldn't run away,
they might just as well get on with it. He'd dropped his trousers on the
spot and bent for Matt to take him, and, since Matt found him already lubed
up, the boy obviously hadn't gone there with any intentions of running
away!

That one and only time in the bed that was supposed to be Paul's had been a
revelation. He'd done stuff with David before, of course he had; he'd
thought he'd done everything there was to be done: he was wrong!

It had started ordinarily enough, bodies clasped together, mouths glued and
tongues twisting, the hardness of cocks pressed against stomachs. David
pushing his cock between Paul's thighs, close up to his balls, wasn't that
unusual; Paul liked that, just as he liked it when the positions were
reversed and the kissing became more passionate.

It wasn't unusual when the kissing ended and David started using his lips
on Paul's neck and then his tits; Paul loved that, loved the almost
unbearable intensity of the feelings he got when David kissed and nibbled
his nipples. He never tried to work out why his tits should be so
sensitive; he was a boy, not a girl, and he'd never realised before David
first started kissing his nipples that boys were sensitive there as well;
he didn't know why it was, he was just happy that it felt so incredible.

He had his arm round David's shoulder while he was getting tit sucked, and,
for no obvious reason and with no warning, David left his tit and shoved
his mouth under Paul's arm instead, licking and kissing his pit! That had
never happened before! Though, about ten seconds after it started, Paul was
wishing it had! It wasn't as intense as having his tit chewed, but it was
still fuckin' amazing! Paul somehow got hold of his brain enough to make a
mental note that he must always have a fuckin' good wash under his arms
before they went to bed in future, and not spray with deodorant either,
`cos that'd be bound to taste pretty horrid!

He hadn't really got to grips with all these feelings when his cock and
balls were started on. David had been there many times, of course, but this
was different as well. David always sucked him beautifully, but this was
even more so. The slow licks, starting under his balls and going on, up the
soft underside of his prick till they reached the very tip of his tight
foreskin were incredibly intense, even more so because it was only David's
tongue that was touching his cock, hands were kneading the hard bones of
his hips. And then the tongue started poking into his foreskin when it
reached the top of its travel up his cock, poking gently, but probing,
trying to get inside and lick his slit, and when tongue alone couldn't do
that, David used his face to nudge Paul's cock into a more upright,
suckable position and lips eased his skin gently back, just far enough to
expose his slit so tongue could tease him almost unbearably.

A long, slow, root to tip sucking followed, David's hands now stroking
Paul's thighs, something else that Paul loved David doing, even more so
because he knew David found his legs irresistibly delightful. When the
sucking on his cock ended, Paul knew David would transfer his mouth to his
legs, treating his thighs to a licking and kissing of their own, and that
was something Paul was prepared to put up with for as long as David had the
strength to continue doing it! He'd never be able to put into words just
how sexy it was to have a tongue go from his knee to his groin, into the
crack between his thigh and balls, and then down the inside of his leg,
back to his knee, only to start all over again, time after time.

After every getatable inch of his thigh had been treated till he thought
any more would lick his skin off, he was turned so mouth could get to
arse. He adored being rimmed and moved himself onto his knees and forearms,
eyes peering down between his parted legs so he could try to see an upside
down David working on him; though all he could really get a good view of
was his own, upright cock, but that was okay `cos he liked looking at that
as well! His crack was licked, his still tightly closed pucker teased by
tongue until it began to pulsate, wanting to open, and then, when tongue
pushed at it, clenching tight so tongue had to fight its way in, a fight
that didn't last long because his pucker turned into hole after only token
resistance.

And tongue went into him as it always did when David rimmed and ate him,
but it went in deeper this time. "Fuck knows what its doin' to his mouth,"
Paul found himself thinking, "Feels like he's got fuckin' inches of it in
me!"

It was a mouth and tongue stretcher for David, but he tried, he tried so
hard to reach the boy's sweet spot with his tongue, but he couldn't make
it. No matter, his cock would get there in a bit.

And it was his cock that went there next, no finger stretching, Paul's hole
was used enough and wet enough from David's tongue, and a smear of the
pre-cum that was oozing from him was enough to lube up his prick so it
would slide easily inside the boy once its entry had been made., and David
wanted the boy tight so he felt every single bit of that entry.

And Paul loved it like that, loved every moment of it. He felt his hole
first resist and then yield to the pressure of cock tip pressing against
it. He felt it slowly open and stretch as cock tip was followed by the ever
increasing size of the mushroom head behind it, he felt the sudden shock as
the thick ridge broke through his ring, and he felt the reaction of his
bowels as, having been penetrated, they sucked in the invader, as unwilling
to release it as the invader was to withdraw.

He felt the sudden, pulsing surge as his body dragged cock inside it and he
sighed with delight at that sudden burst of intense pleasure, and then the
sigh turned into pants and moans as David began to move inside him and his
bowels were reamed, his sweet spot brushed and his body used as a boy's
body should be used, for that was what Paul had learned that time inside
the tree temple, that a boy's body, his body, was designed for pleasure,
his pleasure and the pleasure of the man he gave it to.

It was a slow, soft, gentle fuck; it was a frantic, hard, pounding fuck; it
was a fuck that Paul felt every moment of, every movement of the cock
inside him as his fuck tunnel moulded itself to the shape of that cock, a
mould that was constantly changing and reforming as prick slid in and out
of him.

His mind went to the tree circle, he imagined the countless boys who, since
time began, had given themselves to the joy only a man can give a boy;
given themselves to a man, not for the man, but in worship of the gods who
lived there, just as the man was worshiping those same gods by worshiping
the body of the boy he was fucking. Just as David was worshiping both him
and those old gods now, and just as Paul's pleasure in being so worshipped
was an offering to those gods as much as it was an offering to his man.

It had to end, of course, David had to sperm inside him, and he did, but
not before he'd fucked two intense loads from Paul, loads that were an
offering to those old gods, and although Paul had no conscious thoughts as
his spunk burst from him, it was an offering that was accepted and two
crudely carved stone figures moved closer together under the grass covering
inside the circle of trees.

"Fuckin' magic!" Paul sighed, and snuggled in so as much of his naked flesh
was in contact with his man as he could possibly get.

"David," Paul, struck by a sudden, worrying thought, whispered about an
hour later, "You don't fuckin' love me or nothin' does yer?"

An awkward moment for any man who has just fucked the boy who asks that
question. Some will answer `yes, of course I do', and in a few cases they
might actually mean it; others will try to be evasive because the truth is
that their favourite way of spunking is inside a boy's hole, but if they
said that then they'd probably not get the opportunity to spunk in that
hole again. For some reason, David felt compelled to be honest;

"No," he said thoughtfully, "I'm not in love with you, Paul; but I am, very
much, in love with your flesh."

"Thank fuck for that," Paul sighed with relief, "Cos I ain't in love with
you, but I do love the stuff you does to me." He looked at the ceiling,
trying to find the words he needed; "I do fuckin' like you, though," was
what he'd settled on.

"I suppose," David tried to explain, "I just love boys."

"Love fuckin' boys, you mean," Paul giggled.

"True," David smiled, "But I love feeling them, wanking them, sucking them
and kissing them as well."

"Noticed," Paul sniggered, "That fuckin' temple thing was probably made for
you."

"Well," David observed, "Boys really are beautiful creatures."

"Tell you what," Paul was briefly serious again, "What is fuckin'
beautiful, is bein' a boy."

"A boy like you, anyway;" David was thinking of a delicious, fair haired
and very available fourteen year old; Paul was thinking more that it was
simply because he was fourteen and available that he was delicious and able
to enjoy all the benefits that came with having his deliciousness
appreciated.

"What you want me to wear; now I'm livin' here?" Paul asked when he felt it
was time to move off the bed; the possibility of food was beginning to
appeal. "Don't spose you want me wearin' jeans an' stuff; you go for me
legs too much for that."

"Legs like yours should be on display at all times," David grinned, "Bad
enough having to put up with you having them covered up in school."

"Ain't covered up all the time, are they," Paul retorted, "You gets me
fuckin' trousers down often enough!"

"I wouldn't say `often enough'," David grinned.

"Bollocks," Paul snorted.

"Mmmm, they're best uncovered as well!"

Fuck off, you pervert," Paul cheeked back, and then admitted, "Yeh, I like
`em hangin' free as well!"

"Why don't we settle for a tee shirt if you really feel you've got to wear
something," David suggested.

"Why not just say you want me bollock naked all the time?"

"Okay," David grinned, "Naked it is."

"Might stick some shorts on when me cock needs a rest," Paul teased.

 "Shorts can look well sexy as long as they're short enough," David mused,
which caused Paul to giggle;

"They're runnin' shorts, well loose an' me cock hangs out if I don't have
nothin' on underneath."

"Sound ideal for formal occasions," David grinned, earning himself a "Fuck
off," from Paul who was now standing in front of the bed, presenting David
with a full frontal view.

"Now," Paul threatened, hands on hips, "Get some munchies or I'm gonna put
me jeans on!"

Life for Paul now became a fantasy dream world: he got slowly sucked off in
the morning, went to school and did all the things he now had to do in
lessons; went along to David's office at break and lunchtimes for a kiss
and cuddle, there being no need to involve his cock now because, the moment
he got back to the cottage, he stripped off his clothes so David could suck
out the day's accumulation, and David liked the extra big load that gave
him. Homework completed, he'd cuddle up to his man on the sofa and be
cuddled and fondled while they watched the telly and talked dirty. David
had warned him that, as far as boys were concerned, he was a greedy
individual and that suited Paul just fine, the more his body was enjoyed
the happier he was. And then it was off to bed for some proper sex;
sometimes they fucked and sometimes they didn't; sixty nine sessions were a
lot of fun, Paul enjoying cock and the stuff that came out of it almost as
much as David did; and when he found that he was not just allowed, but
expected to fuck David as well as be fucked by him, his boy's world was
complete.

It wasn't long before he started on what he'd already decided was `his
project'. Being a wet, cold, windy winter, he couldn't actually start the
physical work, but he could do the drawings that were vital if he wasn't
going to cock it up. The imaginative image his naturally artistic mind had
conjured up when he went in there that time with Matt had taken root --
even Paul had the grace to snigger at the unintended pun -- and he wanted
to restore that circle to what he was sure it must have once looked like.

He never mentioned his idea to David; he knew what he'd seen, but he was
still not quite fifteen and young enough and innocent enough in just about
everything except sex, to not want to risk being laughed at. Matt hadn't
laughed, of course, but Matt had weird stuff happen to him as well, so it
had been just about safe to tell him. David wouldn't take the piss, he knew
that, but even the most gentle hint of disbelief would have been like a
slap in the face, so he took no chances and kept his idea to
himself. Anyway, until he'd done the drawings, even painted a final
picture, an `artist's impression' he slightly proudly thought to himself,
he couldn't be really certain, could he? And even when he was certain, he
still wasn't at all sure about actually doing it; drawing and painting,
that was a piece of piss, but sculpture? Different altogether, and if he
made a fuck of it he couldn't just throw it away and start again, could
he.....they were real fuckin' trees, not just some lump of old wood!

David never interfered, never asked to see what Paul was drawing; he
assumed it was work for Paul's examination folder, and any hint of teacher
or quasi-parental interference would almost certainly be
counterproductive. Gentle encouragement could seem like nagging to any
almost fifteen year old, so David did the same as he always did with all
Paul's other schoolwork, enthused, encouraged and helped when he was asked
to, and stayed well away when he wasn't.

Doing the drawings was easy. Paul sneaked down to the circle one afternoon
when it wasn't actually raining and David was out shopping, and took
several pictures with his phone, he had the sense not to trust his memory,
and he needed to know what they actually looked like now before he started
sketching. A little research on the internet was useful as well, finding
pictures of boys with boners, lying on their backs, the camera angle being
between their legs so he got a good idea of what bollocks looked like from
that angle. That was a surprise for him, he'd never realised before that
bollocks aren't symmetrical, that one always seems a bit bigger than the
other and that they hang as individual items, not as a pair.

Armed with this information he did a sketch of one tree and then made the
alterations to make it seem less tree like and more cock like; a simple
matter of making the old, pollarded mounds look more like balls and getting
rid of much of the new growth so what was left was clustered around the
front of the main tree trunk, not just sprouting at random from everywhere.

"Fuckin' magic," he congratulated himself, and then started work on
sketching out the entire circle, the finished product being a circle of
trees that needed almost no imagination to see as a circle of huge,
arboreal cocks, each tree complete with its own, slightly individualised,
accompanying set of balls.

The only problem was that Paul's trees didn't match the real ones; in his
eagerness to turn his trees into cocks, he'd ignored the fact that none of
the trees in the circle had a single, main trunk; they all had a central
one, but they were more like huge bushes each with several thinner trunks
growing from the mounds that Paul could now think of only as bollocks.

"Why the fuck didn't they use fuckin' pines instead?" Paul cursed, "Fuckin'
hazels!"

More internet research was required, this time into the nature of hazel
trees.

That hazels grew naturally as part of mixed woodland was a plus -- the
circle was definitely in mixed woodland, even Paul's very limited knowledge
of tree types was sufficient for him to distinguish between his hazels and
the other stuff that grew in David's bit of woodland; but the fact that a
hazel only lived for about sixty years was a definite downer! Until he
found a picture of a hazel growing out of a mound just like the ones in the
circle! Eagerly Paul read on; "Hazel is most commonly seen as a shrub
because of its lack of a main trunk. Hazel woodlands are usually managed by
regular cutting known as coppicing so that each hazel sends up a large
number of near vertical branches from ground level. If coppiced in a
particular way, hazel trees can grow to a height of 8-10 metres and produce
a trunk."

 That was it then, "They were fuckin' coppiced!" Paul announced gleefully
to himself when he'd looked up the meaning of `coppiced'. That might
explain why Paul was so certain that there had once been a main trunk to
represent the cock he had seen in them, but it failed to get anywhere near
solving the age problem.

"The growth of successive new stems leads to the formation of a large base,
which can be up to two metres in diameter, and in this way coppiced hazels
can live for hundreds of years." That bit did, though! And, it seemed,
after reading on, that the coppicing could be natural, that older trunks
could fall and new ones grow in their place, especially if man had started
the process and then just left the trees to their own devices. And if the
place was sorta magic, then `hundreds' could easily be `thousands',
couldn't they!

So he was right! Clear away all the scrubby little trunks except for the
newest little ones that he wanted to use as pubes, and his drawings would
be right! He couldn't wait to start out there with saw and chisel!

He tried, but he couldn't do it alone, it was just too much heavy work and
eventually he had to ask David to assist and between them they chopped,
sawed, cut and dragged away the unwanted branches and minor trunks until
each tree stood with just one, main, upright trunk rising from its mound.

The mounds were easy to shape, the wood being old, rotten and soft, and the
new yellow gold sapling growth simple to remove or trim until Paul had the
circle looking just like his painting of it, looking just like he knew it
must have looked so long, long ago.

Happy with the work that had taken from early spring until midsummer to
complete, Paul led David down to the circle, both naked in the summer sun.

"Unbelievable," David breathed when he set eyes on the completed work, "It
really is a temple again, now."

"Pretty obvious what it's a temple to," Paul sniggered; "You reckon we
ought to re-dedicate it, sorta thing?"

"That," David said, putting an arm round the boy's shoulder and turning him
so they were face to face, "Is just what we ought to do."

Face to face became lip to lip and mouth to mouth, and long before mouths
parted their cocks were solid and probing each other.

"Just love havin' cock in me mouth," Paul couldn't help thinking as he
slowly and softly sucked his man while his own, now fifteen year old
erection was being similarly treated. He'd have loved to have his man spunk
in his mouth, eat his cream, but that could happen some other time, just as
it had happened many times before; now he would spurt into David's mouth,
have that wonderful moment of knowing that it was his cream being eaten,
that he was feeding essence of boy to a man, and that, soon, he would be
filled by cock, by man cock, a cock that would spurt inside him, injecting
him with the life force that is spunk.

Around them the trees sighed and parted their leaves to allow sunlight into
the circle, sunlight that found the coupled bodies and stroked and warmed
the mingled flesh as Paul, on his back now, legs joined by interlocked
ankles around David's waist, took the man deep inside him. He'd made the
necessary preparations before they went down to the circle, his hole well
lubed before David had laid him on his back and worked him open with his
fingers while their mouths were again glued together.

He made his arse worship the cock inside him, gripping it tightly in his
bowels, allowing it to almost leave him and then tensing so it had to
almost force its way back in, maximising the sensations he was able to give
to the thick six inches of man flesh that now owned his body.

His eyes were closed as he was fucked, the image in his mind was of man
cock reaming boy hole, the cock of every man, the hole of every boy who had
ever fucked in this circle.

David's two statues were next to receive Paul's attentions: he had some
problems with getting the colours right because he obviously couldn't use
his own watercolour paints, they'd never last out in the open, but once
more, the computer came to his aid. All he had to do was find a suitable
image of a naked boy, no trouble at all for Paul who spent a fair amount of
time looking at such images, download it, put it into Photoshop and simply
list the pantone numbers of the shades he required. The D.I.Y. store in the
nearby town mixed the basic colours for him and, in a couple of weeks,
David's statues were transformed from dull, grey concrete into full,
glorious flesh colour. At first glance, they were no longer ornamental
garden statues; they were two living teenagers in their full, naked glory.

The temple to cock was complete!

"No boy coming in here now would be left in any doubt about what he was
gonna be doing next," David commented when he saw the finished article.

"Don't spose the very first ones in here were in any doubt, either," Paul
grinned lewdly, and, imagining himself as one of those ancient boy
offerings, added, with a distinctly dirty minded giggle, "Bet the buggers
couldn't wait till it was their turn!"

"Wonder how many boys have been shagged in here since it was first made,"
David mused; he was still somewhat in awe of the fact that he actually
owned, as part of his land, a cock temple.

"Wonder how many fuckin' gallons of spunk have been squirted onto that
grass?" Paul was becoming increasingly obsessed with cock, still mostly his
own, but the possessions of other teenage boys were the subject of his
increasing speculations.

"Average squirt is what, about a teaspoonful?" he wondered out loud.

"Bit more than that, I should think."

"Nah, I mean for a kid my sorta age, or a bit younger; boys wank loads
remember, so they never got really full balls. Unless they're Monk," he
added with a giggle.

"Okay," David agreed, "About a teaspoon; so what?"

"So, teaspoon's about five millilitres.......so
that's.............somethin' like....over two hundred wanks to the litre!
Or somethin' like that."

"The point being?"

"Fuck me!" Paul had a sudden, distracting thought, "That means kids at
school spunk up `bout seven litres a day!! Fuckin' hell!"

David couldn't stop himself from laughing quietly, "And just how do you
work that out?"

"Obvious," Paul sniggered, "Give `em three a day each."

David had to laugh again, the image of the boys at his school spurting a
gallon and a half of cum a day, not being one that had ever occurred to him
before.

"No wonder the grass is so fuckin' lush," Paul sniggered, all that cum
fertilisin' it!"

"Population wouldn't have been that big when this place was started,
though," David pointed out, "Probably the whole community only numbered
about a hundred and fifty or so, so there wouldn't have been that many
spunking boys."

"Don't matter," Paul was well into his idea now, "How many boys you brought
here what's spunked on the grass?"

"Five," David said, then thought again, adding Roy, Matt and Paul to the
list; "No, sorry, eight," he corrected.

"See," Paul declared triumphantly, "Eight; an' that's just you in, what,
six, seven years?"

"Around that," David agreed.

"Just imagine how many have spunked up in here since it was first made,"
Paul breathed, wide eyed and wide mouthed, "Must be thousands an'
thousands."

"Hasn't been, shall we say, `in use' all that time, though," David tried to
curb Paul's growing enthusiasm for matters ejaculatory. "It's been known as
the witches coven for goodness knows how long; kids would have been scared
to come anywhere near it, especially in the days when people really did
believe in witches."

"Nah," Paul dismissed the attempt at logic, "Little kids, maybe, but not
older ones, teenagers. They'd have found it by accident when muckin' about
in the woods, or even come in here `cos they got dared to; an' once they
got in here, wouldn't have had any choice, would they........cock out and
wank."

"You might be right," David was forced to agree.

"Bet there hasn't been one single year when at least one boy has tossed off
in here," Paul affirmed.

"If that was the case," David still trying to calm Paul down, "Why has it
taken till now to bring it back to life?

"Hasn't has it." A statement, not a question. "What's the first thing you
did when you first come in here? When you first bought yer cottage."

"Wanked," David said weakly.

"There you are," Paul declared triumphantly, "An' you're a man, not a
boy. Think what it'd have been like for a boy; no way he could have left
his cock alone."

"Probably true," David agreed, thinking just how easy it had been to get
cock from the boys who had come into the circle with him. "But
it's..........much.....stronger now than it was, somehow. And all that
stuff Matt said about the old ones, and how they'd protect the people who,
well........accepted them," David finished lamely.

"Well?" Paul demanded. "Fuckin' have, haven't they? How else could I have
got to live with you an' not one single hint around school that you're
gettin' at me arse? No way is that normal; kid gets a lift home from a
teacher `cos he lives next door to him an' it's pissin' down with rain, an'
next day everyone reckons he's his bum boy."

David nodded, feeling he was getting a little out of his depth here and
wishing he'd brought his cigarettes with him, but, being naked, he hadn't.

"An' Monk;" Paul went on, "You shagged him for months an' now he's up the
arse of some pretty kid on a daily basis, an' everyone still thinks of him
as Monk; probably wouldn't even notice if they walked passed them snoggin'
in the corridor."

"Okay, Paul," David admitted defeat, "You're probably right."

"Fuckin' know I'm right," Paul declared, and then added, "Anyway, Monk
didn't bring this place back to workin' order, but he did wake the old ones
up again; him and you."

"What?"

"Temple's a thing all about cock, `specially boy cock," Paul said, knowing
he was right, "The old ones is about what men an' boys does together." Paul
hesitated, looking down and not wanting to sound stupid; "But only if the
boy does it `cos he loves cock and the man's doin' it `cos he loves boys."
Paul looked up, half expecting David to be laughing, if not out loud, then
at least with his eyes.

"There I think you really could be right, Paul," David said slowly instead
of laughing, "It all only works if it's happening for the right reason."

"Yeh," Paul said with finality. "Now, I fuckin' need a wank."

"Be glad to help," David smiled.

"No," Paul corrected him, "I wank, you watch."

"You what?"

"You realise I ain't had a wank since I come to live with you?" Paul asked.

It wasn't something David had thought about, but, since Paul had mentioned
it, he realised the boy had had neither the opportunity nor the need to so
indulge himself; and it had been a condition, David had, half humorously,
imposed on the boy.

"I want you to watch me wankin'," Paul insisted, blushing for the first
time in many months at something to do with sex, "Want you to sit down and
really concentrate on me enjoyin' me cock. Yeh, I know," he grinned, red
faced, "It's well kinky, but I reckon we both gonna love it."

"And if I get well turned on by watching, can I wank too?"

"No," Paul said, deadly serious, "You're a man, an' the grass needs boy
spunk. You can save yours to pump in me when we gets back up the
cottage.......'less you brought some lube down here with you," he added
with a cheeky grin.

David found a spot to sit and watch while Paul stepped, almost delicately
to stand between the two statues. Just in itself it was incredibly erotic,
David thought, the naked, living boy between the painted, concrete
representations of sculptured art that, for whatever other reasons lay
behind their original creation, were made to glorify the beauty that is a
boy.

Sunlight filtered through the hazel leaves, highlighting Paul's pale, blond
hair and sending rippling shadows over his naked flesh.

The boy stood, feet just apart, eyes firmly closed, and slowly raised his
arms sideways to shoulder height, one hand pointing at each statue.

Deliberately, Paul had recreated that image of himself he had seen when he
stood outside the circle that time with Matt, and now his cock slowly began
to inflate and rise to complete that image. He stood, unmoving apart from
his rising cock, until his erection was complete.

Hard now as he would ever get, he carefully positioned himself on the
grass, lying sideways on to the watching, entranced man and reached for his
erection with his right hand, the hand furthest from his watcher, so that
David could clearly see the cock as it was wanked.

Paul gave himself up to his wank, it wasn't a quick, `need to spunk' wank;
it was a long, `I love my cock and I love dealing with it' wank; the sort
of wank a boy has when there is no need to rush and he can milk every drop
of pleasure from his flesh; the sort of wank when he stops his spunk from
flowing as many times as he can before he can hold it back no longer.

David watched: he watched the tensing and relaxing of the boy's stomach,
the hardening and softening of his thigh muscles, the short panting breaths
and the long pauses when the boy's entire body was rigid as he held his
breath and rubbed himself furiously that were followed by slow sighs as
breath was replaced and fingers gently teased foreskin as the almost
erupting sperm were allowed to return to their base, only to be called
forth again when the boy's hand once more wrapped round his shaft and moved
with blurring speed.

He watched the changing expressions on the boy's face; the teeth gritted,
eyes clenched concentration as he rubbed himself rapidly; the soft
expressions of pleasure that parted his rose lips as an almost orgasm was
avoided; the intense delight as he adored his tight rosebud of foreskin.

He heard the moans and whispers of the boy as he worshiped himself, the
barely audible, "I fuckin' love cock," that escaped the boy's lips as he
wanked. He heard the sharp intakes of breath when an orgasm was denied, and
the following sigh of relief when that denial was confirmed and wanking
could begin again.

When he did spunk it was with a great shout of "YES," as his sperm shot
from him, landing on the grass in the middle of the circle. Eyes still
closed, his fingers searched for the later sperms, the ones that oozed not
shot, and those were carefully wiped on the grass beside him; and only when
Paul was convinced not one last drop remained, did he open his eyes.

"Enjoy that?" he asked David, a wicked grin on his face. "Bet that's the
first time you've kept your hands to yourself when you seen a boy wankin'."





Ah well, David was finished in the bathroom now; time to get out of bed,
shower and go down, still naked, for his breakfast; and then it was clothes
and off to school for his last exam. And the bright side of that was that
it was his last exam, and therefore his last day at school! Ten weeks of
holiday to follow; and only two weeks to his sixteenth birthday and then,
he thought with a giggle, David could fuck him...........legally! He
wondered, because it was the sort of thing Paul wondered about, if it would
feel any different, being fucked legally?

"I should think it'd only feel different if you felt different about it,"
David said when he mentioned his thought at breakfast.

"Yeh, but I'll be a man then, technically, anyway."

"Still look very much like a boy to me," David grinned.

"That's just `cos you think I'm lush `cos I'm smooth all over," Paul, who
liked being smooth all over just as much, sniggered; "But shouldn't you be
lookin' for somethin' younger; you know, `cos of the temple?"

"I don't know," David confessed, "I don't think so, but I guess if that's
what they want, then they'll organise it somehow or other."

"Yeh, spose," Paul agreed, pushing his cornflakes around and summoning up
the courage to make a confession.

"I been thinkin' about boys a bit lately."

"No reason why you shouldn't," David accepted, "Sixteen in a couple of
weeks, after all; probably having a few girl thoughts as well."

"Nah," Paul pushed a few more cornflakes around, "Bit like you, I guess;
like cock too much; boy cock, anyway."

David couldn't help thinking how sexy Paul looked when he was naked and
blushing; it was as though, despite all the stuff they'd done, Paul was
still an innocent little boy. Except that he wasn't a little boy anymore;
he was nearly sixteen.

"Urges getting a bit strong, are they?" David asked, kindly.

Paul blushed a bit more; "Yeh, kinda" he muttered to his cornflakes.

David understood those urges; he'd suffered from them since he was even
younger than Paul was now, and, if Paul was anything like him, he knew
those urges wouldn't go away; Paul needed some young cock to play with!

"Guess we'll have to start looking for something tasty for you to play
with," David grinned at the boy, an understanding grin that made Paul's
face go a slightly redder shade of deep rose and brought a smile to his
face.

"You don't mind?" Paul wanted to know, "I mean, that I wanna do it with a
boy?"

"Of course not," David dismissed the idea. "Remember that time you made me
watch you wanking?"

"Yeh," Paul couldn't stop blushing for some reason.

"That was well horny," David smirked, "Think how much more horny for me if
I get to watch you at it with some tasty bit of fourteen year old fuck
flesh." He kept his words deliberately crude to keep Paul away from
thinking of the deeper implications of his desire for a boy.

"Yeh," Paul grinned, his mood lightened.

"Now get your school stuff on; you got an exam to pass."

The school day and Paul's final exam over, the pair were about to leave the
school buildings, in Paul's case for the last time for at least ten weeks
-- whether he returned in the Autumn was, of course, entirely dependent on
his examination results.

"Ah, David, just the man," the Headmaster's voice stopped them; "Ah,
Shillson," he acknowledged Paul's presence, "Last exam over, went well did
it? Yes, of course it did, well done, well done; now pop along, would you,
I need a word with Mr. Masters."

"Yes, Headmaster," David said as Paul disappeared in the direction of the
car park.

"You've done wonders with that boy, absolute wonders," the Headmaster
gushed.

`Done a lot more wonders with him than the one's you're thinking of,' David
thought, but naturally, did not voice that thought!

"Now, as you know," the Headmaster gushed on, "We have this most
prestigious exchange visit in two weeks time."

David did know, it had been the subject of the Headmaster's daily
perorations to the staff for almost two months. A group of students from
Florida, from Orlando, were, coming to the school for a two week stay as
part of an educational research project funded by the Government. Six
schools in Britain had been chosen to receive students from six different
schools in the U.S., and David's school had somehow or other got to be one
of the chosen six host establishments. The visiting students, from Grades
8, 9 and 10, roughly corresponding to the U.K. Years of the same numbers,
would sit in the appropriate classes and sit the same end of year
examinations as their hosts. The following year, the process would be
reversed. As far as David was concerned, it was going to be a major pain in
the backside!

"Yes, well," the Headmaster continued, "Unfortunately we have encountered a
small snag."

`And,' David thought, `Since you are talking to me about it, you expect me
to sort it out for you!'

"Yes, just a minor thing, really; well, perhaps not quite so minor, but
nothing, I'm sure, that we can't sort out."

David waited patiently for the Headmaster to get to the point.

"Yes, well, it, er, seems that Andrew Watson's people, you know Watson?"

David did know Watson, a pimply, mousy individual in Year 8, not at all the
sort of boy that David would wish to have any contact with!

"Yes, well, it turns out his people can't host a student after all. Not
their fault, really, I suppose; it seems his mother's been taken ill."

David looked suitably upset.

"Yes, well, been taken to hospital, I gather; biopsy sort of thing."

"That does sound like a valid reason for having to back out," David
sympathised.

"Yes, well, only leaves us a couple of weeks to sort something new out, and
I'm not at all sure we can manage; and I was rather hoping that, if the
worst came to the worst, we could, well, rely on you to fill the gap."

"You want me to look after an American kid for two weeks?" David's voice
rose in disbelief and horror.

"Yes, well, that's the nub of it, I suppose; we thought, that since you've
done such a wonderful job with young Shillson, you've, er, well, got the
gift for it, shall we say. Only in the final emergency, of course; we
naturally will pursue our best endeavours to find a suitable alternative."

"I only have a two bedroomed cottage, Headmaster, not a hostel," David
pointed out, a little frostily.

"Yes, well, I'm sure you'd be able to sort things out. You're so very good
at that, sorting things out. So, I can take it that it's alright, can I?
You'll be our fall back in case of emergency. That is so good of you, thank
you so much, David; great weight of my mind."

`And onto mine!' David thought, but again, did not say.

"Seems like we're gonna have some American kid, foisted onto us," David
told Paul when he joined him in the car park

"What, one of them that's comin' for that research crap?" Paul asked.

"Yeh, one of them!" David sighed heavily.

"They arrive on me birthday, don't they," Paul groaned, "Fuckin'
ace....not!" A sudden thought struck him; "How old's he gonna be?"

"Thirteen, I guess; he was supposed to be going with Andrew Watson, so I'm
guessing he'll be the same age."

"Thirteen," a little light glowed in Paul's mind and reflected in his eyes;
"Hope he's fit!"

Out in the tree circle the sunlight filtered through the hazel trees,
lighting the two statues that Paul had so carefully painted. It was only a
trick of the light, but both statues seemed to be smiling.



joshcock@hotmail.com