Date: Tue, 30 May 2006 22:24:14 -0500 From: Herb Cat <herb_cat@lycos.com> Subject: Mr. Kent's Boys Pt 6 - Homework! Copyright 2006 Herb Cat. Do not reproduce or distribute this story without the author's permission. Please note: this story depicts oral, anal, sado-masochistic and group sex between males. If any of these offend you or are illegal to publish in your jurisdiction, or you are under the age of 18, read no further. The characters, locations and incidents in this story are fictional. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. As an author, I welcome feedback on my writing. Please send any comments about this story, positive or negative, to Herb_Cat@mailcity.com. Thank you. ----- Part Six - Homework! On Wednesday, I checked the board and found nothing had changed. It still read: Mr. Cunt Specific is Terrific 1.Eyes 2.Ears 3.Taste 4.Smell 5.Feeling Don't tell me. Show me Be proud. Sign your work Negative feedback is useful The paper and pencils were still on my desk. This just confirmed my assumption that no one ever set foot in B11 other than myself and my boys. So I took the 10 "essays" I had taken home and distributed them. I now had figured out where each boy usually sat. Just about when class was due to begin, I heard the troops clumphing down the stairs, and I got down on my knees. The boys entered, saw me already in position and said, "Aw right!" They started undoing their pants but then saw the papers. "Hey, I got an A." "Fuck, so did I." "Shit, I'm showin my Mama this paper. I aint never got an A in nothin'." "Hernando, Yoo gonna show yoor Mama what yoo wrote bout fuckin yoor teach's face?" "Fuck, man, she dont read English. But she knows a big red A when she sees it." "Holy Shit! I got an A plus." "No way! Hey, Teach why yoo gives Emer a A plus." "Yoo got shit for brains, Pepe? Dont yoo `member what teach said. He tole us Emer gave him good feedback. He said he likes bein tole how bad he is." "Hey, com'n. We's keepin poor Cunt waitin." Ronnie kicked his pants off and plugged his horny young cock in my mouth. I concentrated on him, clearing my mind of all the other cocks that I knew would soon follow. I stopped often to give his balls a swipe with my tongue, just the way he liked it. After getting his rocks off, he grabbed a paper to get it all down and I turned my attention to Peter's pecker. As I worked my way through the class, they realized this was taking longer than the previous sessions. They knew that giving proper attention to a task requires time. So they waited, each one patiently jacking `til his turn came up. Then they each wrote about the experience. This time when I read their papers, they were much more critical of my performance. Remembering Emer's A+, each one tried to outdo the other in telling me how bad I was. I learned I should suck Malcolm harder, Hernando didn't like his balls diddled, and my mouth was way too small for Antonio. The class was telling me I deserved an F, but perhaps they were willing to give me an E for effort. I also discovered Slim Jim and Carl preferred getting sucked together and Peter wished I would finger his asshole while I sucked. I finished reading their assessments aloud while they smirked and rubbed their spent members. Then I laid the bomb on them. "OK, now for your homework. . . ." "Wha?" "Fuck, Teach." "We never gived you permission to make us do no homework, Cunt." "Yeah, go to hell." "Kiss my ass." Malcolm's comment made us all laugh as we remembered how I enjoyed eating ass in the lockerroom on Saturday. I ignored their protestations and continued, "Here's the assignment, Men. I want you to write down your fantasy. What you want to do with me, this worthless shit bag you call your Teach. Spell it all out in detail. Remember specific . . ." ". . . is terrific," they answered in chorus. "That's right. And the best one will get to see his fantasy realized." "No fuckin' way." "Yoo gonna reelly do the shit we write?" "The best one, yes. So do a good job. Get them into my mailbox by noon tomorrow." "Yoor what?" "Fuck yoo Teach. We's dont know where yoor box is at." "I've got a mailbox in the English office. Ask Englehart. He'll show you where it is. I'll pick them up at noon tomorrow and you'll find out Friday whose is the best." I know I was really pushing this writing thing, seeing as I wasn't in charge in B11, but somehow I knew this assignment would grab the boys. After all, who wouldn't jump at the chance to tell his teacher what he wanted to do to him. Why not take a minute right now, reader, to stop and recall that son of a bitch you once had for algebra, or physics, or European history. Remember how you felt in his (or her) class and what you dreamed of doing to some of the holes in his (or her) body with that organ of yours that was specifically designed for rendering proper retribution for all the hellish agony that teacher inflicted on you. Take a piece of paper and write down that fantasy and put it in my . . . Oh, sorry about that, I got carried away and forgot you were not my student, but my most patient reader. Anyway the next day, I wasn't all that surprised to see a bunch of wrinkled pages stuffed in my mailbox. I wasn't, but the secretary was very surprised. It must have been quite a shock to her when Englehart suddenly appeared in her office escorting a a bunch of jocks who barely knew their way around campus outside of the gym and stadium and showing them my mailbox. I smiled at her and took the papers home. That evening my cock got a real workout as I placed myself into my boys' ten fantasies. I had promised them that the best written fantasy would become reality. Now, as I read their marvelous creations, I began to wonder if I should limit it to only one fantasy. Why should I deny them -- or myself -- the pleasure?