Date: Wed, 4 May 2005 22:26:10 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Labourer, Part 7

THE LABOURER  by Pete Brown.  petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

Read all of Pete's stories in
groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories

Part 7

I was so humiliated, having to follow Sean out of the
room and back towards the barracks block - I stank of
shit, and I knew that anyone seeing me would know what
had just happened to me.  Look, it wasn't my fault;  I
didn't ask for it;  I didn't want it to happen;  I
fought against it as best I could.  But the fact
remains that I'd had a dick - no, two dicks - forced
up my ass.  And anyone seeing me would know that had
happened.  I almost couldn't bear it.  But what could
I do?  Running away didn't seem to be an option, from
what I'd heard - not that I'm one to quit, anyway:
stand and fight it out is always the way I've
approached life, and I wasn't going to chicken out of
something now.  So I just followed Sean, hoping that
none of the other servants would see me in this state,
and soon  I was standing there under the showers, the
hot water streaming over me and washing away the cum
and shit.

There was a problem, though - my ass felt so stuffed
up and full, and I just had to stop the water and go
off to one of the lavatory bowls.  I've told you that
I wasn't used to doing stuff like that in public -
well, none of us are, are we, really - and Sean just
stood there and watched me as I squatted down and let
go.  It wasn't so much crap as a horrible slimy
mixture of cum and juice that oozed its way out of me,
and after a couple of minutes ,when I felt empty, I
cleaned myself up with some of the toilet tissue -
blushing furiously as I did so:  somehow wiping my ass
with another guy watching was even worse than
crapping!  I'd heard it was like this in army barracks
and places like that, with all the facilities open,
and I wondered how guys coped with doing these totally
intimate things in front of their buddies. Sean didn't
seem to mind as I went back under the shower - perhaps
he wasn't such a bad guy after all, and knew how
traumatic it was to have been through what I'd been
through.

He carried on watching me as I towelled off, his eyes
seeming to follow the movements of all my muscles as I
rubbed myself down, as if he was critically examining
me somehow.  Then he led me off into the dormitory,
and showed me my bed - well, it was easy to see as all
the others were occupied.  I slid in under the thin
blanket, and just lay there.  I heard Sean go out and
the door locked behind him, and then the noise began
- little cries and catcalls:  "Hey, fuck boy, or is it
fuck toy...?", "Want it again up your ass tonight,
boy...?", "Rooney take your cherry, did he....? Come
on and I'll show you what a real stud can do....", and
all kinds of stuff like that.  I sat up in bed,
feeling the blanket slide over my torso, and shouted
"The next guy that says something like that will get
my fist down his throat...."

"Oh, big tough guy, you terrify me....", one guy
called out.  "Be careful it isn't a fist up your ass!"


I sprang out of bed and stood there in the middle of
the room, and saw them all looking at me.  "So who
wants a fight then?", I demanded.  "I'll take any of
you pussies on..."

"Get back into bed, you fucking idiot!", came the
reply.  "The Overseers watch us on TV, and if they see
you waving your dick around like that they'll be in
here and will punish us all.  Mister Rooney doesn't
allow us out of bed at night...."

"For fuck's sake, do as he says!" someone else called
out, and so I went back, and pulled the blanket up
over me to cover my nakedness again.  Still, at least
they all went quiet now, and I soon heard snoring and
all those other noises guys make when they're asleep.
  I didn't do as well, though - although Sean had said
I would sleep deeply, I lay awake - not "tossing and
turning" as they say you do, conventionally:  For one
thing, the bed was too narrow for my big body, and for
another if I moved around, my butt hurt  from Mike's
spanking.  I just felt awful - depressed,  I suppose -
with that sick realisation that things were not at all
as I'd expected.  I suppose that in my mind's eye I'd
kind of pictured this band of strong, tough men all
working away together, using their muscles, enjoying
the feeling of power in their bodies, knowing they
were working hard, and kind of enjoying really doing
what men were supposed to do with the power they had.
Sure, I'd expected the use of the cane and the tawse
to 'encourage' me and make it all happen properly.
But I'd never thought that I'd be brutally fucked -
and that this seemed to be some sort of norm that I'd
have to learn to live with, as I guessed that Mike
didn't confine himself to just using a man's ass once.
 And I'm not like that, as I've told you - straight as
a die, me:  a dick's just for one thing, to fuck women
(well, I suppose I'd better add in to jerk off with,
for fun, and to get sucked, too);  and a man's ass is
for one thing and one thing alone:  to crap from!  How
was I going to get through all this?  I couldn't bear
the thought of being fucked again and again.

I lay there turning over my options - I could run, I
suppose.  If I managed to get back to my folks, dad
would give me enough money to get to Canada or
somewhere: I'd listened to Mike talking about that
whipping, and I didn't doubt it was true that I
couldn't do anything in the USA.  Or perhaps I could
somehow contact Rob and plead with him to take back my
indenture from Mike, and let me go free.  But then,
he'd joined in, hadn't he?  He'd fucked me, his best
buddy.  Jesus, there didn't seem to be much chance of
him letting me go - I might end up as his fuck toy,
rather than Mike's.  But then Karen would never let
him do that.  But then, Karen had never liked me, for
some reason.... perhaps she'd enjoy having Rob fuck
me, rather than her:  it didn't sound as if she
enjoyed sex much.  The more I thought about it as I
lay there sleeplessly, the wilder and wilder my
thoughts got.  There seemed to be no way out.

As often happens, not having been able to sleep all
night, I must have fallen into a deep, deep sleep just
before dawn.  Instead of waking up bright-eyed and
bushy-tailed as I usually did, I was woken up as
someone pulled the blanket off me and slapped my bare
butt.  I sat up in alarm, as you do when you're
suddenly pulled from sleep, and was embarrassingly
aware that I had my normal morning erection.  As I
looked around at the other guys, though, I needn't
have worried - at last half of them were wooded up as
well.  Welcome to the world of communal living, I
thought to myself - I mean, everyone knows guys have
erections, don't they?  But you don't go around
showing them to other guys - if you feel yourself
starting to wood in the locker room and places like
that, you hide it, not flaunt it as some of these guys
seemed to be doing.

We were all silent as we trooped off into the showers
- Mike insisted on silence in the morning, I was later
to learn.  And there I got another shock - you only
went to one of the lavatory bowls if you wanted to
crap:  you got rid of your overnight piss as you stood
in the showers with all the other guys.  I didn't know
this on that first morning at first, and when the
yellow stream from the guy standing next to me
splashed onto my foot, I almost attacked him.  Then I
noticed that everyone was doing it - and the air was
full of the pungent smell of piss, being made stronger
and more piquant as it mixed with the hot water of the
showers.

You had to queue to use one of the wash basins so that
you could shave - and that's another thing:  using
another guy's razor seemed gross, but they were
evidently "communal" as there was only one per basin.
And then I could hardly believe it - and it made me
choke as I had to do it like everyone else, as one of
the Overseers was supervising everything:  there was
one toothbrush per basin, too, and I had to use it
immediately after the guy in front of me.  I mean, I'd
never done that before, not used someone else's
toothbrush;  not even when I'd stayed over at some
woman or others place and needed to clean my teeth
before going off to work - even when I'd fucked her,
there was no way I was going to use her toothbrush!

Breakfast was one of those awful bars of chow, still
nastily greasy all over with the rancid vegetable
taste, and then we pulled on the polos and shorts -
from a big pile of clean, pressed ones that were
obviously communal, too.  There was a slight delay
then as the Overseer fussed around finding me the
right sized boots from a store cupboard, and that was
that:  just as dawn broke properly, all sixteen of us,
shitted, showered, shaved and neatly kitted out, were
lined up outside the barracks.  I looked at all the
others, and like them I moved my feet apart, clasped
my hands behind my back, and bowed my head.  We
shuffled closer together then, and I saw that it was
the habit at Mike's for the servants to stand so close
tat your shoulders touched your neighbour, not like in
the forces when you stand decently apart.  I wondered
if it was to make us feel part of a "team" or some
such crap - I mean, you don't usually get so close to
other guys that you're invading their physical
"space", do you?  Mind you, I began to see the point
of uniforms and why they put soldiers in them -
standing there with my fellow servants, all
identically dressed, I did begin to get some sense
that we were all together, all had some common
purpose.

We all stood there, and it was faintly cool in the
post dawn stillness, almost chilly.  I could feel the
hairs on my arms and legs standing up, but perhaps
this was just from the anticipation of what was to
come, rather than from the cold.  No one spoke, no one
moved, and the overseers walked up and down the line
of us, playing with their tawses in their hands,
clearly looking for some excuse to get in the first
blow of the day.  I almost started to tremble:  this
was my new reality now, this wasn't playing, this
wasn't imagining, this was my life.  Make a mistake,
do something wrong, fail to obey, not work hard enough
- and there would be the tawse, or the cane.  My dick
began to go hard, pressing against the tight shorts,
and I got that wonderful feeling that goes through
your dick when it wants to straighten out, wants to
grow to its full length, wants to reach for the sky,
but is prevented by your briefs or Speedos or
whatever.  Normally I'd just reach down and free it a
bit, but there was no doing that now - I had to stand
there, perfectly still, with that sensation running
constantly through me as my shorts tented to their
full extent and then started to really excite my
trapped dick.

After what seemed like ages, Mike came out, and simply
told the overseers - there were  two others besides
Sean - how many men were needed for which jobs, and
then they simply took the next so many men off the
line and marched them over to a truck.  There didn't
seem to have been any attempt to line up with special
buddies - the other guys had all come out of the
showers and just lined up - so I guessed it either
wasn't allowed, or it didn't matter who you worked
with.

I was with the largest group, with six other guys, and
an overseer named Ryan.  He was a big, tough-looking
guy - dark black hair, swarthy complexion, and one of
those physically big bodies, almost running to fat.  I
sensed that he had a lot of power in his body, but no
stamina - you wouldn't want to be in a fight with him
where he got to throw the first punch, as it would
probably be the last;  but after a couple of minutes
he'd be exhausted, and if you're actively fit, like
me, you'd easily then win.  He pointed us towards one
of the gleaming trucks and we all got in the back,
sitting there as I had that first time against the
sides, my arms resting along them as we sped along.

I remember that first day  - it was a perfectly normal
housing development, one of those that spring up like
mushrooms everywhere with vast great places on tiny
plots, with a yard only a few feet wide at the back,
and with the houses almost touching each other at the
sides.  Because of the very, very cramped site, the
usual heavy machinery couldn't work properly once the
houses started to go up, so all the "finishing work"
like digging the trenches to hold the pipes to connect
the plumbing to the main sewers, laying the paving
slabs in the yards, pouring the concrete for the
drives, and digging the holes for the fence posts out
the back, all had to be done by hand.  And if all that
heavy work has to be done by hand, it was now
obviously easier, and cheaper, to hire a gang of
indentured servants from Rooney's Contracts than it
even used to be to use gangs of Mexicans and other
immigrants.

We all just stood around a bit as Ryan spoke to the
site foreman, then he came back and told us to take
our polos off - it was still chilly at first, but as
soon as he told us what to do, we were expected to
begin work immediately, and then, of course to work
on, hard, without stopping at all.  I was assigned to
dig trenches for the drains, and soon sweat was
pouring off me in spite of the sun only shining weakly
from behind thin, high cloud.  Of course I made the
mistake of resting for a moment, as you do, and it was
as if Ryan had been watching and waiting:  I actually
shouted out, and jumped with the shock, as the tawse
came down on my bare shoulders and stung like hell.

The only respite I got all morning was about half way
through, when, in turn, Ryan allowed each of us to go
to a stand pipe at the edge of the development and
drink down as much water as we could.  And there was a
brief respite when I'd finished the ditches for one
house, and moved on to the next - but even this was at
a brisk pace, and when I tired to saunter a little, to
get a bit of a break, Ryan's cane slashed at my
backside to hurry me up.  I was teamed up with Danny,
a guy about my age, but slighter than me and not as
tall.  He didn't seem capable of working away at the
same rate as me, and at first  I thought I'd be
"carrying" him a bit, doing more than my share of the
excavation.  But his lean, sinewy body seemed capable
of almost as much as I was, and in some places, like
right next to the house, or up against a fence, his
smaller frame was at a positive advantage.  I soon
learned that you relied on your co-workers in the way
that Mike chose to run things:  if Ryan was going to
lash out with the tawse, all the guys in that party
got it.  So you needed to keep working, and working
hard, not just to avoid the lash for yourself, but to
prevent it happening to your buddies.  And likewise,
you were keen to ensure that your buddies never
slackened, because if they did, you got punished, too.

We only stopped for about ten minutes at lunch - that
damned chow bar again - and some of the other guys on
the site clearly felt sorry for us - I guess I must
have been lucky when I was working not to have been on
these developments where indentured servants were
used, so I hadn't been conscious really of what a hard
life they had.  But these men seemed used to it, as
several of them gave us scraps from their lunch boxes
that they didn't want to eat - the crusts form
sandwiches, half an apple that was a bit soft, a fruit
pie that had fallen into the sand, that sort of stuff.
 And one really nice guy had some cheap candy bars,
and casually tossed one to each of us.  Look, I don't
even like sweet things usually - I'm a steak and
potatoes kind of guy - but I was actually hungry and
the chow bars were really foul.  I found myself
tearing the wrapper off the candy and almost cramming
it into my mouth I was do desperate for something
else, and I saw that all my fellow servants were doing
the same thing.  We all waved and nodded our thanks to
the guy - it had become clear that we were not allowed
to speak during working hours - and he called out
"It's OK, guys, glad you liked them....".  It had ever
struck me before that some small, simple act of
kindness like that, something that had cost him a
couple of bucks at the most, could make such a
difference to the recipient.  And, I thought to
myself, what the fuck is happening to me?  Half a
day's work as a servant, and already I'm scrabbling
around, grateful for scraps, just as if I was some
street urchin in some vile foreign country.

In the afternoon it was digging post holes and
erecting fences, and this was at least a bit more
interesting, or, rather, there was more variety and so
my tortured muscles had some relief as we could task
switch a little.  We had to dig the holes - and just
under the surface layer of topsoil there was a lot of
rock and stuff, so it wasn't easy, then carry the
posts, mix the cement, pour it in, tamp it down....
And all the time, do it silently, and without a break,
or Ryan's tawse or cane would set into us.  I could
see the other guys - the carpenters and such -
looking at us from time to time, and it was almost as
if I could feel a wave of pity flooding down on them
as they watched Ryan setting about us.  "Poor
bastards", it seemed as if they were saying. "Still,
it serves them right for being criminals."

If you've never been there, you probably don't realise
that there are two main "components" of really working
hard.  One is the amount of actual physical energy
that's needed for the task in hand - for example, it's
much harder to carry a one hundred pound bag of cement
that a fifty pound one.  And the other is the effort
you need to put in just to "keep going" - most of us
are better at working in short bursts than over long
periods, and an everyday experience is to see just how
hard it is for a marathon runner who has to keep
turning out the work for so long, with no possibility
of a break.     Well, on this site I had a bit of
both:  the afternoon's work of doing all the different
tasks for the fencing wasn't actually as "hard" as
digging the trenches in the morning.  But I did need
to keep at it absolutely constantly, not even pausing
between digging a post hole, and rushing off to mix
cement and so on.  By mid afternoon  I was really
flagging,  and I'd have given anything to be able to
take a rest, even if only for a few minutes.

Ryan's tawse an cane saw that there was no possibility
of even the tiniest break, though - the moment Danny
or I showed any sign of slacking, he seemed to be
there, to "encourage" us.  I don't know how he managed
it - keeping his beady eyes on all of us on the site
must have been almost as tiring for him as the actual
work was for us.  But monitor us he did, and once more
I began to feel that this is what it was all about - I
forced my body to continue working, I made it jog
between activities, rather than just walk;  and as I
tired, and it no longer wanted to respond as eagerly
and completely to my commands, there was its nemesis:
the cane.  Time and time again, just as I was about to
slacken, there would be the unbelievably sharp, hard
slam of the thin cane across my butt, followed by the
flood of icy sharp sensation as the initial stinging
pain spread throughout my rump, and then the
longer-lasting solid afterglow, hot and fiery, as its
memory lingered on in my muscles and reminded me what
would happen if I dared slacken once more.

By the time the site began closing for the evening, I
didn't really believe it was possible to carry on
working at all.  But somehow, my muscles, under the
harsh tutelage of the cane, did the seemingly
impossible.  Nevertheless I was suffering from almost
total exhaustion when Ryan at last allowed us to climb
back into the truck, and like all my fellows, I sat
there slumped, too tired even to hold my head up and
watch the town streaming past.  I suppose I was aware
that life was going on - as we drove past the shopping
mall and were stopped for a moment at a light, I saw
all the folks going about their normal business,
getting in and out of their cars, streaming in and out
of the mall.... Was it really possible that only two
days before I'd been like that?  I'd have been a bit
pissed off at having to waste time on my way home from
work to go into a food market, but at least I'd been
free to do so, and had had the energy.  Now, I was a
total physical wreck, and even if I had managed to
find some strength from somewhere, I couldn't do those
things as I had no money, and no freedom.  As my
asshole complained from the pounding it had had the
day before, I began to seriously doubt that I' done
the right thing:  being forcibly fucked was bad
enough, but this incredible total exhaustion and sheer
physical weakness that was permeating my whole body
was in some ways worse.  I just wasn't used not to
having control of my body - I could feel my muscles
almost trembling with the tiredness I was
experiencing, and as so often happens, my physical
condition had an effect on my mental state:  as my
body lapsed into oblivion, so my thoughts became black
and depressed.

I still can't believe that in spite of the shape we
were in we were made to clean the truck when we got
back.  And then before we were fed and allowed to
shower, we all had to stand there and clean our work
boots, and polish them to a bright shine ready for the
next morning.  And if the overseers weren't satisfied
with the glow on them, you had to stand there and do
them again, as well as getting another cut of the cane
across your rump.  It was a real relief to finally be
given the chow bar - I almost didn't notice the vile
texture and taste - and then to stumble into the
blissful warm shower.

It's funny, isn't it?  Somehow, hot water cascading
over your body kind of revives you.  We all stood
there and it was like one of those "stop action" movie
sequences of a flower unfolding:  as the water
cascaded over us we all unbent slightly, stood up a
bit straighter, and began to flex tired muscles.
There were some difficulties, though:  the overall
ache in my body had to a certain extent masked the
pain in my shoulders and butt from the actions of the
tawse and cane.  But as the hot water worked its
magic, this all came flooding back - I looked around
at the other guys and could see them, like me,
gingerly feeling the fresh red stripes across their
butts, and the dull red patches that delineated our
shoulder blades.  One good thing, though - the start
of the showers evidently signalled the end of "formal"
things that day, as we all began to talk to each
other.

Danny was next to me, and as we companionably pissed
together, he half smiled.  "Not bad for a first day,
Steve!  I was dreading being assigned to work with you
today, as on the first day most guys are so fucking
useless that it's almost a continuous rain of blows."

"I did my best", I replied, returning the smile.

"You're pretty strong, and you're tough - what did
they get you for?"

I was about to say I was there voluntarily, then the
thought struck me that this might not be a sensible
thing to do!  I mean, I was going to be living with
this bunch of criminals for a long time, and if they
thought I was "soft", it might make it more difficult
for me.  And, anyway, as I thought about it, it did
now seem utterly ludicrous that I'd even have thought
that I'd have wanted to be kept like this - I mean, a
light caning every now and then was one thing, but
this reign of terror, these utterly dehumanisng
conditions... Even as I thought this, I realised I was
pissing on Danny!  So I just mumbled "Fighting."

"Who did you do over?  Some guy after your old lady,
or something...."

"No, I wasn't with a woman permanently.  And I'd
rather not talk abut it."

"Pretty bad, huh?  With muscles like yours, I bet the
other guy was pretty much of a pulp when you'd
finished..."

"I don't boast about things like that.   What about
you, Danny?"

"Drunk.  Persistent.  Lost everything - job, wife,
kids.  Tried to dry out, but it didn't work.  Until I
was sentenced, that is, and was sold here.  Then I
dried out - well, there's no choice, is there?"

"So you're not sorry?"

"Well, Steve, it's a good thing in one way - I'd have
been dead by now with a fucked up liver or something,
I suppose.  But it's tough in another - I'm here for
another nine years, unless Rooney sells my contract.
Why the fuck did they have to sentence me for such a
long period?  A year or two would have been enough to
dry me out, and sentencing is supposed to be to 'help'
the criminal adjust, not to punish, isn't it?"

"I don't know... I'd never thought about it."

Several of the other guys had been half listening to
this, and one cut in "Hey, Steve - I'm Craig. Don't
listen to Danny - he's always going on with his
theories about this and that.  Everyone knows that
they pay lip service to 'reforming' cons, but really
what the public wants to see is good, hard punishment.
 That's why this indentured service thing is so good -
the government can tell the bleeding heart liberals
that we're being taught new, useful trades and stuff,
and to respect work;  and the others know our butts
are being whipped!"

There was a lot of laughter then, and I suddenly
realised that Danny's hands were starting to run over
my body.  "Hey!", I snapped.

"Oh, sorry Steve.  I forgot you're new."

"I'm not a fag!"

Craig pushed me away from Danny as I'd taken up a
rather aggressive stance, automatically.  "Watch it,
Steve!  You may be in here for beating guys up, but it
won't wash with us.  You might be able to rough Danny
up, but when you're asleep, and several of us leap on
you, you'll wish you'd not started it..."

"It was him who started it, touching me up..."

"Cool it, Steve!  He didn't mean anything by it.  We
all look after each other here - the showers are
crowded, and it's easier to wash another guy.  And
when you've been here for any length of time and
you've realised that some nice silky girl's hands
aren't going to feel that body of yours, you'll even
look forward to mine!".  As he said this, Craig
stupidly slapped me on the back in a kind of "good old
boy" gesture, and I winced  - no, I almost jumped as
the slap of his hand against the inflamed skin of my
back was actually hurtful.

When the water was turned off, though, I suddenly went
tired again, and all I wanted to do was climb into my
bed.  I noticed that about half the guys, like me,
were just as bone-weary that they did the same, but
the other eight hung around for a bit at the far end
of the bunk room.  I'd sort of imagined that I'd fall
asleep immediately, I was so dog tired, but the
combination of the general aches from my body from
working so hard and the additional hurt from my back
and my butt if I turned over conspired to keep me
awake.  I lay there, willing myself to sleep as I knew
I needed all my energy for the next day, but it just
wouldn't come.

The problem was of course that I was conditioned to
jerking off before I went to sleep - shooting a load,
then drifting off with my head full of erotic
thoughts.  But the beds on either side of me were only
about eighteen inches apart, barely far enough to
stand in, and I only had the one thin blanket to cover
me, so I knew that if I started to play with my dick
the guys on each side would certainly know - however
careful you are when you start off, I find that as I
build to a climax I can't help but make a low "slap,
slap, slap" sound as my hand hits my dick head.  And
there was another problem too - at home I'd used
yesterday's boxers to catch the cum;  but here I had
nothing like that, so what was I to do?

The first problem was solved when I head the guy on my
left begin to beat his meat, as if he was totally
unconcerned by having me lie there and hear him.
Well, if he could do it, so could I.    And I suppose
I could solve the problem of the cum just by letting
it spurt onto the sheet and blanket - but then I
remembered how it would stick to me, and how difficult
it would be to get clean.  As I was thinking about it,
I heard the guy next to me give a loud kind of
grunting sound, so I guessed that he'd shot his load,
then after a couple of minutes, as I lay there and
watched, his hand came up from under the blanket and
he licked his palm and fingers.    How fucking gross,
I thought!  I mean, licking your own cum up like that
is hardly natural, is it?  I didn't like the smell of
the stuff, and even when I'd persuaded some of the
women I'd been with to give me a blow job, none of
them had ever agreed to swallow my cum and I'd always
had to spurt onto the bed.  It seemed to be the "done
thing" here, though, as in the relative stillness I
then head the guy on the other side of me go through
exactly the same process.

My dick was twitching with frustration now - you know
how it is, jerking up and down by itself as you thing
sexy thoughts, and with the whole thing throbbing and
starting to be really uncomfortable.  And you know
that you're starting to leak pre-cum all over the
place.  Hearing the other guys jerking off and eating
their cum had got me worried, though:  I remembered
that in the morning the beds were left with the bottom
sheets tightly stretched over the mattress, and the
thin blankets neatly folded at the foot - if I shot my
load all over the bed, it would be seen.... and
perhaps this was something you got punished for.  But
now I had a real problem, as I knew I wasn't going to
be able to get to sleep with this raging wood, and if
I didn't do something about it, I might cum all over
the bed anyway!   So there was only one thing to do -
if all these other guys could do it, so could I.

As carefully and quietly as I could I started to jerk
myself off, sliding my 'skin over my dick head slowly
at first, relishing the feeling as my head sent little
shivers of excitement through me.  But of course I
soon speeded up as the excitement built in me, and
almost as soon as I'd begun, I felt my balls begin to
contract, and I forced my dick down towards my other
hand.  It's not all that easy, though, is it?  For one
thing, you can get more than a palm full.  And for
another , cum seems to spread everywhere - I'd kind of
thought that I could get my palm up to my mouth
without spilling any, but it's just not that easy,
especially if you're lying there.  I knew that my cum
was trickling out, covering my hand almost totally,
but I had to continue - I daren't risk getting it on
the sheets now.  My nose caught that characteristic
smell, a bit like ammonia, I always think, and I
almost gagged at the thought of putting that in my
mouth.  But when I steeled myself and put out the tip
of my tongue to my hand, I was so surprised to find
that there wasn't any taste at all - well just that
odd faintly salt, faintly sweet kind of slimy taste
all you guys know about anyway.  I licked at my palm,
and then cleaned my fingers, and it just wasn't that
awful - just to think that I'd been avoiding doing
this all those years - even when we started jerking
off and the other kids at school had been talking
about eating their cum I'd only just joined in and
said I'd done it, as I didn't like to be the "odd man
out":  and it wasn't a problem after all.

I drifted into sleep, a smile on my face, and wondered
how I would get through the next day.

End Of Part 7