Date: Tue, 28 Dec 2004 06:52:57 EST
From: PixaJax@aol.com
Subject: Made me do it Part 2

It made my arm ache. But he seemed to want me to do it more and more and
quicker and quicker and harder and harder, till I thought my arm would
drop off. And all the time he was holding  my arm by the wrist to force
my closed fingers up and down the length of his cock. He had covered the
head with his saliva so my little fist slid easily over it.

"Use both hands!" he whispered hoarsely. "I want both your hands round my
cock. Do it."

He grabbed my other hand to make sure I obeyed him. I noticed some wet
stuff oozing from the little slit at the tip of his engorged cockhead.
And the more I pumped his cock, the more stuff oozed from it.

He groaned. "Oh god! Harder, boy! Faster!"

Impatiently, he wrapped his hand over my two little fists and gripped
them tightly. And then he speeded up the movement. I watched fascinated
as the purple head bobbed up and down with each stroke, as if it was
bowing to me.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh fuuuuuuuuuuck!" A long moan escaped his lips as
I felt his cock judder under my fingers before it stood up rigid and then
released a spurt of milky stuff, and then another, and another. I could
feel the stuff surging along the underside of his cock before it spewed
out of him. It went all over me. Over my face, in my hair, all down my
pullover (the red one, the one my mother had knitted me for my tenth
birthday) and even some on my trousers. It was like he was doing peepee
all over me. By the time I broke free of him and ran out of the barn, I
was covered in it. As I sped out of the door, I heard him moan again.

"Michael! Come back! It's all right..."

As I ran, I tried to wipe the goo off my face. Some was on my lips. It
tasted.......funny. It was silky smooth, like melted icecream, but tasted
a bit salty. Yuck. I needed to get cleaned up. Knowing that my mother was
out shopping, I ran home and into the kitchen. The man's cock stuff was
drying now on my skin and on my clothes. I had to get it all off before
my mother came back. I went to the bathroom and started to clean up.

"Michael, what on earth...............?"

It was my mother. I hadn't heard her come in.

She ran her fingers over my hair. She looked down at the red pullover now
encrusted with the man's stuff.

"What IS this.............oh my god!"

She knew! I had no idea how my mother could know about a man's stuff, but
the look of horror on her face indicated that she did know.

"Michael.. who......? Where have you......... Who........?"

She was incoherent. Shocked. I burst into tears. It wasn't my fault. He
made me do it.

She grabbed me and cuddled me, as much to comfort herself as to comfort
me. I soon stopped crying and she calmed down.

"Let's get you cleaned up," she said in her practical mother voice. "A
bath for you, and let's put your pullie in the washing machine."

Bathed, hairbrushed and dressed in clean clothes, I sat opposite my
mother at the kitchen table.

"What happened, Michael?"

I blushed.

"He made me do it, mamma." My voice was a mere whisper.

"Oh my god," she said, her eyes wild with panic. "Made you do what? Did
he hurt you?"

"No, mamma, I'm..... all right......." I felt tears starting in my eyes
and I fought them back.

"Did he touch you?"

"Touch me?"

"Michael, you know what I mean. Did he touch you?" There was exasperation
in her voice now.

"No, mamma. He just made me touch his thing."

"Oh no!" She paused, gathering her thoughts. "What else? Tell me Michael.
You must tell me."

"Nothing, mamma. He held my hands on his thing and then it all spurted
sticky stuff and I ran away."

She ran her hands through my freshly shampooed hair.

"You poor darling," she murmured. "You must try to forget all about it."

"Yes, mamma."

She asked me all sorts of questions about the man, but I really had no
information of use to her. And all the time, I was thinking about his
cock, how it had felt in my hand, the fascinating way his cockhead bobbed
as I pumped it, and that series of spurts at the end. I knew I would
never "forget all about it."

"Promise me you will never go near that barn again, Michael."

"I promise, mamma."

"And, tell me again, the truth, did he touch you? Did he touch you down
there?"

"No mamma."

"All right, darling. I believe you. Off you go to your room."

As I sat on my bed, I thought about her question "Did he touch you down
there?" And as I thought about it, about the possibility that he might
want to touch me down there, my own cock started to twitch and rise until
I had a raging stiffy straining painfully in my underpants. I wondered. I
wondered what would happen if I slid my fist up and down it the way I had
done for the man. Would I make sticky stuff too? I lay on my bed and took
it out. Wrapped my fingers round it. And started to work my fist up and
down up and down. It felt good. Very good. Tingly. Exciting. Now I knew
why the man liked it so much. The image of his hard stiff cock came into
my mind, causing my own boycock to judder with excitement. I pumped a
little faster, desperate to see if I could spurt stuff as he had.
But I was only doing this to myself because he made me do it.

[To be continued. Comments to pixajax@aol.com]