Date: Fri, 27 Feb 2009 16:07:42 -0800 (PST)
From: Master Terra D <masterterradil@yahoo.com>
Subject: Home for Teenagers part 5

	The team was in the regionals, and looked like they were going all
the way.
	I'd hosted three huge parties for Marcus, and the house had become
Grand Central Station for planning and partying.
	I'd always been a known quantity in the community because of my
job, so everyone knew me, but I am not a social butterfly. I was now.
	I'd met every parent, sibling, grandparent and relative of each
basketball player, and all of their friends, and some people I think just
showed up to party.
	Oscar introduced me to Gavin at the first party.
	Gavin was Gavin. That's how everyone described him to me until I
met him. And then the description fit.
	He has that shimmering brown hair of which a model would be
jealous. Piercing green eyes grabbed your attention, but made you notice
his haunted face. Gavin was thin, not dangerously thin, but of the bones in
the human body, you could see most of his.
	He ate like a horse.
	"Hyper-metabolism," he said, wolfing down his fifth hamburger in 15
minutes, and reaching for a sixth. "I eat all the time just to maintain my
weight. If I miss a meal, I get sick."
	He appeared to be shy, a wallflower at the parties, always drawn
into a conversation by the others present. Well, a buffet-flower. He stayed
close.
	At that first party, no one mentioned Gavin coming to stay. He was
very articulate, intelligent, but reserved and quite. Gawkishly cute was
about the best description I could muster. Gavin was Gavin.
	I officially met all the coaches, teammates, and most of the
parents at that party, too. Marcus and Oscar worked together to get Oscar's
trust fund to carry most of the expense. The mothers arrived about 2 hours
before the party started and I got out of their ways.
	Then they started wanting to set me up with their gay brother, or
uncle, or nephew, or...
	Paul wasn't always at the house. He had holdings in a city about 3
hours away, and often stayed days at a time in the city. He made himself
scare when he knew the house would be crowded.
	The second party was a lot like the first, but this one was after a
winning game. The teenagers, at least 50 of them took the two upper boys'
bedrooms and the living room and dining room, while the adults claimed the
kitchen, library, and my bedroom. The master bedroom was like a hotel
suite. In addition to the bed, it had a couch, reading chair, television,
and a plush, custom rug because I just couldn't find the colors I liked in
any store or off the Internet. The basement was kept locked.
	The second party was winding down with most of the adults having
left around midnight. I knew about a dozen of the teenagers would be
sleeping over. The couch downstairs was already pulled out for a bed. Most
of them would pile into the living room to communally sleep. Joe would
probably go to his room, but Marcus and Oscar would end up downstairs; and
in the morning, I'd end up with a bunch of groggy teen boys.
	At 2 a.m., Rachel Carter and Randall Trudell were helping me clean
up the kitchen. Rachel's husband had left an hour earlier, and Randall's
wife and her minivan had become the "bus" to take home the rest of the
teenagers.
	Rachel was a perky brunette, firm tits, always showing a little
more than I think most people thought appropriate, but if you got it...
	Randall was a bit shorter than average, black hair, nice build. I
noticed tufts of hair sticking out of the top of his shirt.
	"Think it's getting late?" I joked.
	"I'm so glad tomorrow is Saturday," Rachel breathed. "Wait, it is
Saturday, isn't it?"
	"Don't you have a gallery showing today?" Randall asked.
	Rachel and a friend had opened a small art gallery about a year
ago. Today, they had a guest artist from Chicago. Okay, she was an
international artist Rachel knew from college and had agreed to reveal her
newest collection to the world from the small gallery.
	Every hotel had booked up in a 100-mile radius.
	"I'm glad Agatha wanted an afternoon reveal," Rachel yawned. "I
guess I am a little taxed."
	"What's left can wait until morning. I'll have the boys clean it
up," I said, waving her off. "They fear me."
	"They should," Rachel said. "After that show you directed last
year, you have a reputation."
	"Yes, I do."
	I'd acted, written and directed various community theater shows. I
was very authoritarian in my directing, bordering on dictatorial. Okay, I
was a dictator. Last summer, I directed "Bye, Bye, Birdie" with a cast of
way too many. I was a good director, and everyone wanted to do the show. I
had 60 teenagers and 15 adults; I was tempted to change it to "Music Man"
but I didn't have the budget for 1800s band uniforms.
	Needless to say, my dictator ways had stuck with that many teens
and adults, and the reputation began.
	Rachel nabbed her daughter and the last three teenage girls as she
left, leaving me with a dozen teenage boys and Randall Trudell.
	"Didn't Michael leave already?" I asked Randall, referring to his
son, one of the players.
	"Yeah, he has work tomorrow. I don't," he said. Randall was one of
those guys with looks and brains, a "boy genius." I wasn't sure exactly
what he did. Something in finance or investments or land deals or maybe all
of that or none of it.
	He'd followed me to the front door to see Rachel and the girls
off. We looked to the right, the living room. Barechested boys wrestled and
hit each other with pillows, having fun, but visibly tired. A couple of
boys were already snoozing. Most of them were from the team, but a few were
friends, all in various states of undress, from no top and nothing at
all. Gavin's scrawny body was among them. I noticed he was fairly smooth,
but had a treasure trail tapering down his rib-showing stomach into an
ill-fitting jock strap. Was he on the team?
	I was tired.
	"I hate to throw you out, Randall, but I'm ready for bed."
	"I think I left my coat upstairs," Randall said.
	Teens had taken the coat closet under the stairs, and I'd had the
adults use a clothes rack on the upstairs landing.
	"I'm heading up anyway," I said, clicking off the final lights.
	We trod up the stairs.
	Randall's coat was there.
	"Wilson, mind if I use your bathroom? I gotta go," he begged.
	"Sure, Randall, just make sure you get the door locked when you
leave. Sorry I'm not showing you out," I said. "I'm beat."
	I had my bed at the front of the house, with the sitting area next,
then the bathroom at the back of the house. Randall would leave without me
really knowing it.
	I was really tired. I shed my clothes, crawled into bed, and
drifted off.

	I woke to one of my favorite sensations: something warm and moist
on my cock.
	I lay there and savored the feeling, then I realized it was still
dark out. Had long had I been sleeping? Hour, two hours?
	Who was this? They were good.
	Crap, I hope it's not one of the boys downstairs. Some of them are
underage, and even the legal ones...I didn't want any upset parents.
	He pulled his mouth off my cock and started licking my balls. My
left foot felt a dick rubbing against it, leaking some precum.
	Horny teen, stripped naked and sucking some cock he knows will
appreciate it. This kid was good. I didn't think this was a beginner. I
hoped it was Joe. I could feel a hairy chest rubbing my legs.
	But this guy was leaner. Toned, but not bulked up like the
gym-built statistician. Joe had declined anything else since his first
encounter with Paul and me.
	The tip of a tongue dipped into my jizz slit, and poked around,
working out precum. It traced its way down the bottom of my stiff dick,
gently sucking in one nut, then the other, lolling them about, savoring
their flavor, then going lower, rooting around beneath my balls like a hog
after truffles.
	Firm hand stroked the insides of my thighs, coaxing them apart, a
seduction of knowing care, until he had access to what he wanted.
	A day's facial growth caressed my ass cheeks and exposed flesh as
the talented tongue found my favorite spot, sampling my pucker. The oral
muscle rippled around the rim of my sphincter, releasing endorphins,
arching my back, then plunged in for a ass eating I'd remember for a very
long time.
	I relished the work he was doing. I let myself be swallowed by the
sensations, the pleasure. I moaned and sighed, smiling and reached for the
head to shove it deeper into my ass.
	"What the hell?" I shouted, my hand recognizing that the head
between my legs didn't belong to a teenager; it was Randall!
	"Hey, Wilson," he cavalierly chuckled. "Nice dick."
	I gave him a withering look.
	"Come on, you were enjoying that," he smiled, fingers lightly
grazing up my cock, while the other hand politely rubbed my scrotum.
	"I thought you were someone else, Randall."
	"One of the boys?"
	"Not exactly," I bluffed. I could claim I thought he was Paul, but
barely anyone knew about Paul staying at the house, and Randall had shown
he wasn't to be trusted. "Felt like you were enjoying my dick and shitter."
	"I was," he purred, dipping his face down and making my cock jerk
with excitement from his stubble, as his chin found its way up my stomach
and chest until his lips were even with mine.
	"Wife know you like cock, Randall?"
	"Nope. Why would I tell her that?" He had a sly smile on his face.
	I shoved a big toe toward his shit hole.
	"Damn. There's some talent," he said, grinning.
	"Feels tight, Randall. Fuckable."
	I threw him back, off me, his head landing right at the foot of the
bed, his legs flipping out from under him and spreading wide.
	I pounced on top of him, pinning him under me, feeling his hairy
chest under mine.
	"Like it kinky?" I asked, reaching under the mattress for the cuffs
I kept there.
	"Oh, yeah, Wilson. Do me nasty!"
	"Be careful what you wish for."
	I had the left hand cuffed and over his head before he could react.
	"Ooooh, that's new," he snickered. "But I'm not easy."
	I kneed his crotch, grabbed his right wrist and had him cuffed to
the footboard of my 1800s iron-frame bed. I bought the bed frame
specifically because it could take some fun.
	Tears were in his eyes. He looked damn hot.
	"Fucker! That hurt!"
	"Don't worry, Randall. I think I can make up for that. Then again,
it's not my fault you weren't easy."
	I slapped his face with my hard dick, glossing his lips with
precum. He greedily licked them clean, then leaned up to try to take the
head of my cock in his mouth.
	"Not yet. Besides, you've already been sampling."
	I nabbed my leather blindfold and put Randall in the dark, then
slipped into a red terrycloth robe, and headed downstairs.
	Standing in the doorway to the living room, I smiled.
	Marcus and Oscar must have hand picked the guys staying over night.
	Marcus was in his favorite position: the middle.
	He lay on his back on the coffee table (it's really a fuck bench)
with a cock up his ass, one down his throat, and most of the guys standing
around, waiting their turns.
	I tapped Oscar on the shoulder, and whispered in his ear, then I
stepped back into the hall so as not to alarm the boys.
	A minute later, two teens came around the corner and whispered,
"Hi, Mr. Kerry."
	By now, I knew the team members.
	Miles Gable, junior, stood 6-foot, 2-inches tall, slender, naked,
hung, at least 8 inches.
	Thomas Eward, senior, stood 6-foot, a little bulkier, naked, with
at least 6 inches, and thick. His dick reminded me of a soda can sticking
from his crotch.
	Both boys were semi-hard, and smiling.
	"Follow me, boys," I said, leading the pair upstairs to my bedroom.
	As we entered, Randall started talking.
	"Dude, I thought you'd left me," he joked, still blindfolded.
	"Just thought I'd get you a little company, `dude'," he
jibed. "Thought you might like a bigger cock."
	"Bring it on!"
	"Mr. Trudell!" Miles gasped.
	Randall started struggling. "That's one of the kids." He sounded a
touch panicked and excited.
	"Oscar picked them out. They're good, and they're not going to
spread word about you, Randall." I turned to the boys, grabbing Miles tight
ass. "Have at him, boy."
	Thomas claimed Randall's ass. Miles actually waited a few seconds
as I massaged his glutes.
	"Pussy needs a shave," Thomas said, spitting into the hirsute ass
crack and rubbing the natural lube around the muscles.
	"Pussy needs to suck my cock," Miles grinned, smacking his rod in
Randall's face, then pulling Randall over the footboard, Randall's head
hanging over the end.
	"Don't snatch my pussy away, man," Thomas growled, knee-walking
down the mattress toward his hairy target.
	Miles shoved his cock past Randall's lips and down his
throat. "Breathe through your nose, cocksucker."
	His hips started a rhythmic movement, throat fucking.
	"Nice moves," Thomas said. "I'll get his ass open for you." Thomas
laughed. That soda can cock was going to rip Randall open.
	Thomas slid two fingers into Randall's hairy hole and started
massaging the sphincter. I made sure the camera was working and headed
downstairs. I hadn't seen Joe, so I figured he was in his room.
	In the living room, three guys were sleeping, apparently spent from
their turns on Marcus. Two guys were still going on him, and Oscar had a
guy, Trevor, on his knees, sucking Oscar's cock. One guy couldn't wait his
turn and dumped a white load all over Marcus' abs. He'd been the last guy
waiting.
	I scanned the rest of the room and spotted Gavin in the corner with
Robert Castleman, another team member. The pair were making out, naked,
fondling each other, touching each others' privates every now and then.
	"We're winding down, Wilson," Oscar whispered to me. "Everyone
knows you saw us, so they shouldn't jump if they notice you."
	"How's Trevor?"
	"Great mouth. He swallows," Oscar sighed.
	I suddenly felt something wet on my dick. Trevor had parted my robe
and devoured my pecker.
	"Wow, he does have a great cock!"
	"Don't try his ass. He's a top," Oscar warned, walking toward his
gangbanged boyfriend. Oscar stepped behind the guy, Reggie, who was working
his dick down Marcus throat. In one thrust, Oscar's dick slid up Reggie's
ass. A few seconds later, Reggie unloaded down Marcus' throat, pulling out
toward the end of his orgasm and semen coating Marcus' chin.
	"We need the key, Wilson," a voice whispered in my ear.
	Thomas' pecker was pushing into my robe and ass. "We want to do him
doggie; he is a bitch."
	"It's in my pocket."
	Thomas reached around and started fishing around in my pocket. I
bit into his neck, then licked. "When you're done, stay in my bed," I
whispered in his ear.
	He found the key. "I'd love to, stud."
	And he was gone.
	I worked a foot under Trevor's nuts and started a massage, rubbing
his sweet spot. He responded with an even better BJ, and a finger
massage. I stood in the doorway, enjoying the teenager's talents.
	He pulled off long enough to say "I swallow", then was back on my
juicer.
	A few minutes later, I let him, feeding him a pint of my best. He
took every last drop. Then he stood.
	Trevor Allen was an inch or two taller than I, but he obviously
spent a while in the gym. He was defined, with trimmed hairs on his chest,
then a pencil thin trail down to his pubes, trimmed to a triangle. Seven
inches protruded from there.
	I knelt, saying "I don't", then started savoring his pole.
	From the corner of my eye, I saw two guys clearing the coffee table
from the center of the room, and everyone tucking themselves in for the
night, in groups of twos and threes.
	Trevor pulled out suddenly, and gave me a facial, his body
heaving. He finally relaxed, then leaned down and started licking my face
clean. "More for me," he snickered.  The licking made me horny again.
	When he was done, I offered him my mattress. He accepted and
followed me up from the snoozing group.
	Thomas was waiting for me, but asleep. Randall and Miles were gone,
presumably into Oscar and Marcus' room. I nudged Thomas awake to move him
to the right side of the bed, then crawled in under the sheets with Trevor
following. I spooned against Thomas' back as Trevor pressed his hairy chest
into my back.
	Our trio joined the rest of the house in slumber.

To be continued


Men and boys, thanks for your comments.

I've received a lot of feedback, and I think you'll notice the stories have
changed to concentrate more on the "category" under which it is listed.

If you send something, remember to put something sensible in the subject
line (do not leave it blank), or I'll think it is spam and delete it. The
name of the story is a GREAT way for me not to trash it.

Master Terra D
masterterradil@yahoo.com