Date: Mon, 17 Jul 2000 04:22:08 GMT
From: Dream Spinner <authorsix@hotmail.com>
Subject: "The Brewsters Celebrate Bastille Day" (t/t, t/b)
Caution/Welcome. This is a story involving four brothers, two preteens and
two fourteen-year- olds, celebrating Bastille Day. So what is an all
American family doing celebrating a French national holiday? It is all
Peter's fault. He suggested it. I take no responsibility well, if you
like the story I'd like to know after all, it is my sweat that went into
it. If you don't like the story, well, Peter is the one who asked if I was
going to do a story for Bastille Day. If you don't like it, write him.
This story is posted at free gay adult story sites for adult entertainment
only. Permission is not given to copy electronically nor in any other form
for the purpose of redistribution or posting at sites other than those
described here. This is the fifteenth of the Brewster Boys special events
and myths series, and it is all because of Peter. I hadn't planned on
writing it. If you like it, French bread, cheese and wine can be sent to
the author, J.O. Dickingson, at authorsix@hotmail.com If you don't like
the story, put some expired French safes in a new package and ask for
Peter's mailing address.
The Brewsters Celebrate Bastille Day
"Well, I think it's a wonderful idea," Brenda Brewster observed.
"What is a wonderful idea, Mom?" asked ten-year-old Bobby as he and
his brothers burst into the kitchen and headed to the refrigerator for some
Kool Aide and something to snack on.
"Cumming," whispered Benny, his head in the refrigerator.
"Now?" whispered Bobby.
"No, I mean cumming is a wonderful idea."
"Getting sucked is a wonderful idea," suggested fourteen-year-old
Brent, his long, curly blond hair, recently permed for the summer, falling
across his face as the five-foot-two, hundred- and-five pound teen bent
over his brothers to look in the fridge also.
"Bum fucking," contributed his twin brother Brett as he purposefully
leaned into his brothers.
"That's what Brent's trying to do to me right now," said Benny,
pushing back with his butt and wiggling it.
"Brent will screw anything," observed Brett.
"No, that's Benny you're thinking of," observed Bobby.
"Watermelon," stated Benny.
"You'd screw a watermelon?" asked his three brothers.
"No, let's have watermelon."
"That's a wonderful idea," observed his three brothers.
"I haven't told you what it is yet," observed their mother.
"Boys, you're letting all the cold air out of the fridge."
"Sorry, Dad," the boys chorused as they finally stood up.
"So what's a wonderful idea, Mom?" the boys asked as she took the
watermelon from them.
"A Bastille Day race for Poverty."
"Poor people in France are having a race?" asked Brent.
"They're having a race to see who can be the poorest," suggested
Brett.
"That's our government's idea here in America," observed their father.
"It's called taxes."
The boys all giggled and high fived with their Dad. Barry was in good
spirits. Actually, he'd been in good spirits ever since Father's Day the
previous month.
"You boys are impossible," Brenda observed with a smile, including her
husband with them. Ever since Mother's Day she'd been walking around with
a large smile herself.
"So what's this about?" asked Brent, taking a large bite out of a
watermelon slice.
"Newport Beach in California has been having a Bastille Day to raise
money to end hunger for years, and a lot of other states have taken it up
as a fund raiser to help the needy. Every year there's more towns and
cities joining, and the UCFPC has suggested we host a run too. In Newport
Beach they have a twenty-five-mile cycle tour and five and eight kilometre
runs, and an international food fair ."
"Oh yeah," chorused the two perpetually hungry fourteen-year-olds as
they reached for more watermelon.
"And music and a beer garden ."
"Oh yeah," said Benny with a toothy grin and his hazel eyes sparkling.
His parents looked at him in surprise. "Joking," he said with an even
wider grin. His teeth were pure white and perfectly aligned, one of many
Brewster genes that were a blessing.
"What the fu-, fu-, for crying out loud is UCFPC anyway?" asked Bobby,
more to distract his parents from his twelve-year-old brother's comment
than anything else.
"Uncut Cocks," whispered Brett from behind the back of his hand, his
chin dripping with watermelon juice.
"Fucking," added Brent in a whisper.
"Pissing," contributed Bobby as he wiped the watermelon juice off his
lips with the back of his hand.
"And cumming," said Benny with a wide grin. Ever since his first
ejaculation last month at the age of twelve and seven months, that was all
he ever thought about. Of course, that was all the horny youngster ever
thought about prior to that too.
"Boys, what have I said about whis ."
"Sorry, Dad," the boys chorused.
"UCFPC is the United Citizens Fighting Poverty Committee," said
Brenda.
"When did you join that committee?" asked Barry with a wry smile. He
was not overly surprised. Being very civic minded, his wife was on a dozen
different committees. She had already announced that she was going to run
for the presidency in the next home and school association election.
"When it was formed," she replied.
"When was that?"
"Last week."
"So what is this run for poverty?" her husband asked.
"Well, the idea is to raise money to help the poor. There would be
all kinds of events for adults and children, games and contests, and a food
booth offering French foods."
"Oh yeah," said Brent and Brett once again.
"What sort of food they eat in France?" asked Benny.
"Well, French Onion soup ."
"Onion soup? Yuuuck," responded the four boys.
"Hey, Mom, you could make that cockaleekie soup," suggested Bobby.
"Oh yeah, you gotta take a leekie, ah, some cockaleekie that
is,"observed Benny and his brothers giggled.
"Oh yeah, we love COCK-aleekie," agreed the twins.
"That's a Scottish soup, not French, boys," their father observed.
"Oh yeah."
"French eat French Bread ."
"Oh yeah, that way long stuff," said Benny, taking watermelon rind and
starting a sword fight with Bobby.
"And are famous for French cheese and French sausage ."
"I love sausage," observed Bobby.
Turning his back to his parents and jerking his thumb at his crotch,
Benny whispered, "especially this type of sausage."
"Up yours," Bobby whispered back.
"Later," agreed Benny.
"Boy ."
"Sorry, Dad," Benny and Bobby chorused. They noted they had one more
'boys' to go before they were in real trouble.
"And they eat crepes and escargot," Brenda continued.
"What's escargot?" asked Benny.
"Snails."
"They eat snails?" he asked, wrinkling up his nose. "Eewwww."
"Crepes," said Bobby in agreement with a twinkle in his hazel eyes,
and even his parents had to laugh.
"And of course frogs' legs," Barry added with a smile.
"Oh gross," responded his sons as he had expected.
"We'll be doing more than just eating," Brenda observed. "We're
hoping companies will donate prizes, and different clubs or even families
will set up some booths and donate some crafts and things. Whatever people
will be asked to pay, all the money will go directly to poor families. And
of course there will be prizes ."
"Prizes?" asked Bobby, his eyes lighting up.
"Yes, like there could be sac races ."
The boys immediately thought of the races a year ago on July the
Fourth, and the fun they'd had with their cousin Gordie from Scotland.
Remembering Bobby's emergency bathroom break, they wondered if anyone had
washed the sacs since the July Fourth races.
"... and there could be face painting booths," their mother continued,
which again caused the boys to think of their cousin and the gay symbols
they'd painted on his face without him knowing.
"Could have French kissing booths," suggested Benny.
His parents looked at him with surprise.
"Whatever that is," Benny said quickly.
"Yeah, whatever that is," said Bobby in support.
"We heard some older guys from the high school talking about that,"
said Brent.
"Yeah, way older. Like twenty or twenty-five or something," chimed in
Bobby in support. His parents and brothers all looked at him. "Well, or
something," he said with a shrug. "I think they failed a lot." He looked
at his parents in such wide-eyed innocence his twin brothers turned blue
trying not to laugh and Benny snorted, blowing his snot out of his nose
much to the amusement of his brothers and the disgust of his parents.
"What is French kissing, Mom?" the twins chorused quickly.
"Ah, well, you see, well, maybe your father can explain later."
"Okay," the brothers said readily, having successfully distracted
their parents from the fact their twelve-year-old brother, their authority
on anything sexual and especially perverted, had made the suggestion.
"Well I think having races is an awesome idea," said Bobby.
"You do?" asked his brothers and parents with surprise.
"Oh fu-, fu-, for crying out loud yeah," he said with a dreamy look in
his eyes. "Just think, all those hot, sweaty guys in their hot sweaty
jocks."
Benny did think, and having just entered puberty, popped an instant
boner. His father thought too, and had a sudden flashback to playing
basketball with his sons last month, and then a hot sweaty scene in bed
with the five of them naked and him tied up. It was only a moment, but it
was enough for him to pop a boner too. Brent had put a spell on him so
he'd forget the things he'd done with his sons last month, but the
experience was too powerful and too close to his deepest wish and most
secret fantasy for the spell to work perfectly. So, unbeknownst to the
boys, their father was going to be having some awesome memories, but they
would be safe in that he would never be sure if they were very realistic
fantasies, or if they had really happened and the trauma had caused him to
block them from his mind. One thing was for certain. He could not very
well ask his sons.
"You like the idea of hot, sweaty guys?" asked Brenda, surprised, and
a bit worried.
"Yeah, just think, Mom," Brett stepped in, noticing his brother's
sudden look of panic as he glanced at his siblings for support. "We could
make a ton of money selling Kool Aide."
Benny flashed his brother a grateful look, thankful his brother could
think so fast on his feet.
"The money is supposed to go to charity to help poor people."
"Yeah, of course, that's what I meant," said Brett, "a ton of money
for charity."
"Well, it's all in the planning stage, but I'm sure if they decide on
families to set up a booth or help out in some way, the Brewster clan will
be right there in the front."
"Sure thing, Mom," her four boys agreed.
"Maybe Brent and Brett could get girls to donate their panties and
they could sell them to the highest bidder," suggested their father with a
twinkle in his eyes. Ever since Brenda had discovered two pairs of panties
stuck in the back of their underwear drawer and they had claimed they had
received them from a couple girls he could not stop teasing his two oldest
boys.
"Daaad."
"You know," said Brenda, "I've been thinking about that. It isn't
right girls should be giving young boys their unmentionables."
"Unmentionables?" asked the four boys.
"You know what I mean."
"Yeah, now you mention it," said Bobby with a grin, and the four boys
giggled.
"Well, you boys are much too young for such shenanigans."
"Mooom, we are fourteen."
"That's still too young. I've been thinking I should phone those
girls' parents."
"Moooooom!" wailed the twins.
"Com'on honey, the boys can't help it if they're stud muffins."
"Yeah, Mom, we can't help it."
"Yeah, it's all your fault, and Dad's," said Brett, thinking quickly
again.
"Our fault?"
"That's where we got our good looks and personality," explained the
fourteen-year-old, his deep blue eyes sparkling as he tossed back his long,
permed locks.
"Yeah, we can't help it if we got a gorgeous Mom and knock-out Dad,"
said Brent, quick to support his brother, and to make brownie points
besides.
"You are their parents, aren't you?" asked Bobby impishly.
"Of course," his mother replied, uncertain if her youngest was joking
or serious.
"There, you see. We can't help it if girls find us hot. Bet all the
girls were fighting over you, huh Dad?"
"Well, there w ," Barry began. Catching his wife's look, he quickly
clamped his mouth shut. "Don't you boys have something to do?"
"Yeah, sure. Want to come toss some hoops with us, Dad?"
"Sure," Barry agreed readily, glad to see the boys drop the topic
about his youth so readily. Besides, he always enjoyed playing basketball
with his boys. As he changed into his jogging shorts, he had a sudden
flashback to having a hot sweaty game with his boys and having a tight
group embrace whenever he made a shot, and his dick began to swell.
Shaking his head, he began to wonder if he was working too hard. That
fantasy seemed so real.
While the boys waited for their dad, they lay in the shade in the
front yard deep in thought. Bobby was right. Hundreds of hot, sweaty
guys, with hot sweaty pits and hot sweaty crotches would be awesome. A
Bastille Day celebration could have so many opportunities for so much fun.
As one, they reached down and squeezed the tents in their cargo pants
zipoffs.
The members of the UCFPC had a hectic two weeks to plan for the July
fourteenth event, but they were a small, enthusiastic crew and some of the
members had very creative minds. The four members of the BGROSJAHAFFDIC,
pronounced the Bee-gross-jah-half-dick and standing for Brewsters Get
Revenge on Sweaty Jocks and Have Awesome Fucking Fun Doing It Committe,
were an even smaller but more enthusiastic and creative group. They of
course had a direct connection with the other committee by way of their
mother, and each announcement of the UCFPC's latest organized event set the
members of the BGROSJAHAFFDIC to thinking, which usually ended with
uncontrollable giggles, high-fives and four little tents, followed by a
retreat to their bedroom for what they once told their curious mom was deep
breathing practice they had learned in physical education swimming classes.
"We've developed a banner for the bandstand," Brenda announced at
supper one day. "It's the red, white, and blue of the French tricolour
flag, and will have the motto of the revolution: Liberty, Equality and
Fraternity."
"How come they had that motto?" asked Bobby.
"Because the common people did not have those things. Bastille Day
marks the end of their monarchy and the beginning of the French Revolution.
On July 14, 1789, they stormed the Bastille prison where prisoners were
kept even though they had never had a trial to prove their guilt. To the
common people the prison was the symbol of the aristocracy's oppression.
"So what did they mean by Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity?"
"Well, they believed that all men should have freedom ."
"Oh sh-, sh-, shertainly they should," observed Bobby. The
ten-year-old had always had difficulty stopping himself from swearing, and
ever since he'd been able to swear openly in front of his father on
Father's Day, he was having an even more difficult time.
"And equality," their mother continued, making a mental note to talk
to the school speech pathologist in the fall.
"What's that?"
"They believed that all men are equal."
The boys glanced at each other. "Guys aren't equal," Brent observed.
"No way. Nobody's equal to Dad," Bobby observed, thinking first of
his dad's monster nine inch cock.
Barry Brewster grinned, assuming his son, like all youngsters, was
thinking his father was simply better than other fathers, which was the
second thing his four sons thought of.
"Yeah," his three bothers agreed. They meant it, but they'd also
noticed their father's grin and they knew a little flattery went a long
way. "Nobody is equal to Dad."
"And there's no way all guys are equal," observed Brent, glancing at
his brothers. Having the same thought, they all voiced agreement. Anyone
who had ever stood at a school urinal, or in a gym shower, knew that.
"That means they have equal rights, whether you are rich or poor, a
noble or a peasant."
"Oh," the boys said in surprise, not having thought of that aspect of
being equal. Even with that definition they weren't convinced that there
was any more equality today than there was in the seventeen hundreds.
There were some very rich kids in their classes who definitely had things
better than they did, and some guys who weren't nobles, but were certainly
of a higher social class than they were, and who not only thought they were
hot shit but got special treatment by a lot of the teachers.
"And what's Fraternity?"
"They believed that Brotherhood was very important."
"Oh yeah," the brothers agreed as they glanced at each other.
Although the two blue-eyed and blond-haired twins were markedly different
from their two brown-haired, hazel-eyed brothers, all four had their
mother's fine features and warm heart and their father's high cheekbones
and sparkle of deviltry in their eyes. It was very obvious they were
brothers.
"Brotherhood is fu-, fu-, for certain important," observed Bobby. The
four brothers glanced at each other admiringly and wrapped their arms
around each other, and for once, they were not even thinking of sex.
"We read about the revolution in school. It was awesome," observed
Bobby as he picked up his knife. "Off with their head," he announced,
taking a swing at his broccoli and slicing the head off. "Off," he
repeated with a second stroke, cutting the head in half. "Off, off, off,"
he continued, violently chopping up the head. Of all the vegetables there
were, broccoli had to be one of the most repugnant, and if he was ruler of
the world, one of the vegetables that would be outlawed, right after
spinach.
"The organizers are going to all be in period costume," Brenda
observed as she took the knife away from her son and looked at her husband.
"I think you'd look dashing in a tricorne, dear."
"In a what?" asked Benny.
"In a tricorne," his mother repeated. "That is a hat cocked on three
sides that they wore in the eighteenth Century."
"Mmmm," said Bobby as the four boys thought. "Being cocked on three
sides would be wicked," he whispered to Benny behind the back of his hand
and a twinkle in his eyes, causing his brother to snort once more.
"B ."
"Sorry, Dad," they chimed.
"Well, the committee has found a lot of businesses willing to sponsor
booths, and would still like some families to come up with their own and to
dress like they did in the seventeen hundreds."
"Bet we could come up with an awesome booth," said Benny.
"You boys will recall I did suggest one," said their father, unable to
stop teasing his boys about what he assumed was their discovery of girls,
or more likely, the girls' discovery of his boys.
"Daaaad," the twins moaned.
"After we eat let's go on the net and do some research on the French
revolution," suggested Brent.
"Awesome idea," his brothers agreed as they hurriedly finished off
their meal, even the broccoli.
Barry was impressed with his boys. Even though school was over for
the summer, they were eager to do some studying. This was not the first
incident of them doing research on the net either. Of course, like most
parents, he did not know much about the Internet himself, and had no idea
just how interesting some of the sites they researched were.
"Hey, Dad," Benny called as he appeared in the living room an hour
later. "How do you spell guillotine?"
"G-u-i-l-l-o-t-i-n-e."
"Thanks," he said as he scooted down the stairs again.
A few minutes later Brett came up. "Can we have a couple razor
blades, Dad?"
"Ah, well, all right, but you be careful."
"Cool."
Another half an hour went by.
Bobby was the next to come up in search of his father. "Hey, Dad, how
do you spell circumcision?"
"C-i-r-c-u-m-c-i-s-i-o-n."
"Oh," his son said, turning on a naked heel and heading back down the
stairs. "Hey guys, it don't begin with s-i-r!"
Barry thought for a moment. Naaaa, the two questions couldn't be
related. . . . They had to have switched topics. He considered going
downstairs to check what they were doing, but changed his mind. Sometimes
things were best left alone. When the boys reemerged from the basement and
headed straight for their bedroom an hour later, the tent in each boy's
shorts was evidence just how interesting their research had been.
July fourteenth finally arrived and both committees were ready and
delighted to see clear skies. The Brewster household, like many others,
was a flurry of activity with last minute preparations, so the coming and
going of several clearly annoyed boys early that morning went by unnoticed
by the senior Brewsters. By ten that morning everyone in the community had
lined up for the special parade featuring the local band and floats
promoting the various businesses who were donating for the fundraiser.
To Brenda's delight, her four sons had volunteered to dress up as
revolutionaries and ride on the UCFPC float. Not only that, they had taken
over arranging the props for her. What she did not realize was that they
had volunteered only after hearing who else was going to be on the float in
the role of monarchists. Brent, dressed as Maximilien Robespierre, the
prime leader of the revolution and one of the leaders in the First
Republic, Brett as the Marquis de Lafayette, who wrote the Declaration of
the Rights of Man and of the Citizen, Benny as Doctor Guillotin, who
recommended decapitation as the sole form of capital punishment, and Bobby
wearing a black hood and playing the role of the executioner Francois
Desmorets, arrived at the float at the same time as the other four
participants.
"Oh, no, don't tell me you geeks are going to be on the float,"
groaned Danny Maartens, the sixteen-year-old-son of the mayor and one of
the most snobbish boys at Crestview Heights High School. He had agreed to
be on the float for several very good reasons. It was the major float of
the parade so it was only fitting that the son of the mayor be on it, he
was portraying Louis XVI, which was a fitting role for someone of his
social position, and Cheryl Elwood was going to be Marie Antoinette. After
seeing her in her Pilgrim costume, he could just imagine her dressed up in
a gorgeous low-cut gown befitting his queen. If those weren't enough
reasons, the fact that the pale tan tights he was expected to wear showed
off how well hung he was and thousands of people would be lined up and
would see was reason enough.
"Nobody said anything about being tied up," protested his closest
buddy, James Forsythe, the sixteen-year-old son of one of the richest
families in town who was dressed up as the Marquis de Launay, the commander
of the Bastille. Their families being close and the two of them being the
best of friends, it was only natural he be on the float too. Besides,
after talking about Cheryl and the opportunity to show off how well endowed
Danny was, he would have willingly paid to be on the float. The dark,
handsome teenager had chosen the tightest trousers he could find to show
Cheryl, and everyone watching the parade, just how much of a man he was
also. As for the character he was portraying, he had gotten through school
because nobody was going to risk offending his parents even though he
turned in mediocre work and studied only enough to pass, so he had no idea
who the Marquis de Launay was nor what Bastille Day was about. Just
knowing the character he was portraying was a marquis and wore a uniform
was good enough for him. Girls got especially hot for a guy in a uniform.
Having lived next to the Brewsters most of her life, Cheryl paid them
little attention as she knelt down on the pillow the brothers had
purposefully placed between the king and the marquis and allowed her hands
to be tied behind her. Marie Antoinette was a major historical figure, and
richly dressed, and Cheryl was accustomed to being the centre of attention
and loved wearing fine clothes. The sight of her ample bosom, almost
indecently exposed in the low-cut gown she had picked out to emphasize her
greatest asset, quickly quietened the two prisoners tied on either side of
her.
The eighth participant on the float, thirteen-year-old Eric Maartens,
dressed as Charles, the younger brother of Louis, stared glumly at his
feet. Of the eight, he alone did not want to be there, and was
participating only because his mother and father had insisted. Unlike his
older brother, he was not the pretentious type, and at times he even wished
that he was not the son of the mayor and could behave like other kids.
"Well, Doctor Guillotin, I guess we'd best be sure the guillotine is
working properly," said Bobby from behind his black mask.
"For sure, Francois Desmorets," replied Benny as he joined his younger
brother by the mock guillotine. "This is certainly an ingenious device
that you have invented."
"Why, thank you sir," Doctor Guillotin responded with an elaborate
bow.
"I hope the blade is sharp enough. It is most inconvenient having to
raise the blade and drop it a second time if it doesn't cut right through
the neck the first time," observed Maximilien Robespierre, tossing his long
blond hair back and smiling at the king. He had noticed the king's basket,
and it was impressive.
"Right," agreed the Marquis de Lafayette with a lofty air. "There is
nothing more exquisite than a well-executed head." The slender, blond
teenager glanced at his three companions with a twinkle in his turquoise
eyes and his three companions giggled at his play on words.
"I love a well-executed head," observed Doctor Guillotin, his hazel
eyes sparkling. As part of his costume for the float he had put on a long,
curly black wig which suited him very well.
"Oh definitely," replied Desmorets and Robespierre.
"Children," huffed the king in his fine robes, jewelled fingers, and
tan tights as he glanced over at the governor of the Bastille.
"Totally," the governor agreed as he rolled his eyes. Like the king,
he had put on a powdered and perfumed wig of curly white hair like the
judges on the Supreme Court wore and which delighted the Brewster brothers.
"Now, now, if I were you I'd remember which one of us is tied up,"
said Robespierre, stepping up to the king and quickly giving his backside a
gentle but firm caress.
"Hey, get your goddamn hand off my butt you fag!" the king cursed as
he tried to pull away.
"Rather have it here?" asked Robespierre, giving the boy a firm grope
between the legs. With Danny's tights, Brent was able to have a good feel
and easily confirmed the boy was well hung. The king cursed again and
tried to pull away, but his captors had made sure he was tightly bound.
"What about you, my noble marquis? Do you have any last wishes?"
asked Lafayette, stepping up to the governor and slipping his hand along
the governor's butt crack. "Perhaps Marie Antoinette can fulfill it for
you," he said with a whisper, drawing the two boys' attention to the
captive kneeling between them. Cheryl was too preoccupied looking for her
friends in the crowd to pay attention to the bratty Brewster boys and the
two snobbish sixteen-year-olds. Besides, she had turned seventeen back in
January and was going to be a senior next year, which put her in a station
above any of them, even the snobbish son of the mayor.
"She would fill a lot of last wishes, wouldn't she?" whispered
Robespierre as he gently caressed the king's crotch.
"Damn you," he whispered as he squirmed desperately. "You're going to
pay for this you little faggot."
"Mmmm, then I might as well not hold back," Brent said with an impish
grin, groping the hapless sixteen-year-old more firmly. He'd seen the
handsome five-foot-ten teenager with his blond, spiked hair, long fine
eyelashes and dark black eyebrows hitting on the girls in the mall plenty
of times, always dressed in the best clothes and in trousers that set off
his basket. He'd never thought he'd have a chance to mess around with the
boy, being so straight and being the mayor's son besides, and he was going
to take full advantage of this opportunity. "There's gonna be a lot of hot
girls out there looking at you. Bet they'll swoon seeing you all dressed
up in your rich clothes, especially when they get a look at your basket in
these tight tights," he continued, slowly rubbing the boy's swelling member
through his thin nylon tights.
"Unless they have already swooned from seeing the bulging crotch of
this handsome soldier," said Lafayette, caressing the marquis' thigh and
causing his cock to swell. "Girls love men in uniform."
The idea of girls checking out their baskets and seeing just how well
hung they were, and guys eyeing them out of envy, appealed to the two boys,
so needless to say they let what was happening between their legs happen.
They might as well show everyone how real men were hung. The two
sixteen-year-olds stared down at Cheryl's boobs while the brothers caressed
them, convincing themselves it was the sight of her ample bosom that was
getting them erect, not being fondled by the two simple and somewhat
strange brothers. Both were soon erect.
"Okay, time to let everyone see your boner, King Louis," whispered
Brent as he stepped away.
"Same for you, my dear Marquis," said Brett with a chuckle as he also
stepped to the side. "This is going to be hilarious."
The two boys glanced at each other, and then slowly began to turn red
as they stared out at the crowd. There was a difference between having a
well-hung basket, and being seen with an erection. They quickly glanced
over at each other's crotch and then their own, and to their total dismay,
realized the predicament they had gotten themselves into. They stared out
at the crowd helplessly as the float suddenly seemed to inch along.
At first, to their relief, nobody seemed to notice, but then one of
the high school boys watching nudged his buddy and nodded to the float and
the two broke into wide grins, and the two monarchists knew the reason
behind those smiles. Then one of the high school girls put her hand up to
her mouth and giggled and whispered to a friend, who giggled also, causing
the two teens to flush an even brighter red. Word was passed down the
street from one young person to the next, until mercifully they came to a
break with young families with little children.
Stepping between Cheryl and the two prisoners so she could not see,
and standing partially in front of the teens so those standing on the
street could not notice what they were doing, Bobby and Benny began to
stroke the bound boys' hot, straining erections. Their brothers, who had
stepped behind the hapless captives, slipped their hands along their
buttocks and began to stroke their holes.
"Christ, get your hands off," the two whispered angrily and with
desperation as they strained with all their strength against their bonds.
"We will," the four boys chorused. "Just not right now."
The four brothers were practically giddy with excitement, and were
particularly pleased the way their plan had worked. Just over seven months
ago their three cousins, Trevor, Brad and Bobby, had Emailed them about the
wild time they'd had at Nacy's parade in New York last Thanksgiving, and
ever since then they'd hoped to have an opportunity to do something
similar. Just wait until they told them about this adventure! As they
continued to grope and stroke their squirming victims, the four brothers
thought about their cousin's description of all the fun they'd had last
November. Their cousins had even gotten an awesome writer by the name of
Jeffy to post their adventure on ASSGM.
Eric had noticed what was happening of course, and the
thirteen-year-old tensed as he waited his turn. As soon as he realized the
Brewster brothers were not going to humiliate him, he relaxed and enjoyed
watching his brother and his brother's buddy squirm. Danny thought that he
was not just God's gift to girls, but to everyone, and his pompous and
condescending attitude toward everyone included his younger brother, which
Eric found both embarrassing and irritating. Even worse, others had also
begun expecting the same behaviour of him, and he was not that type. He
had come to hate Danny for that, and finally seeing someone who not only
didn't suck up to his big shot brother but was actually humiliating him was
a dream come true. Something good had come out of being stuck on this dumb
parade float after all!
By this time the commander of the Bastille and the king were breathing
heavily and gritting their teeth as they fought back the inevitable. Their
faces were flushed and their hearts pounded not just with arousal, but with
apprehension. The perverts who were molesting them had to know what would
happen eventually if they kept this up, and nobody with any decency would
dare go that far, but the four boys in question had a reputation for being
on the wild side, and for being unpredictable, not for being decent. Of
course there was the slim chance that they were too young and naive to know
what the result of their messing around would be, in which case they
wouldn't know what would soon be happening to the two boys. If they knew,
or if they didn't know, the end result was going to be the same anyway, and
there was nothing that could be done about it. The two sixteen-year-olds
could not believe this was actually happening to them as they squirmed and
fought the mounting tension in their groins, their penile and anal
sphincter muscles clamped as tight as humanly possible.
"Hey, we're approaching city hall."
"Great. Get ready to smile," the twins said as they snuggled up
behind their captives and turned to face the crowd on their right.
The local television station had set up a camera at city hall to
capture the parade so it could be broadcast on the community channel and
rebroadcast later as a public service to those who were in the parade.
"Hey, there's your mom, Danny," said Brent. "Too bad you can't wave."
Danny looked desperately at his mother and father. They had moved the
council chamber chairs to the top of the front steps and his parents were
sitting there dressed in their best and proudly waving with the rest of the
city council.
"He can wave his boner at her," said Bobby with a giggle as he pressed
up behind the teenager and slipped his hand between his legs. He stroked
the inside of the aroused boy's thigh, causing the horny teenager's cock to
stretch out his tights so far he thought it would rip through.
"That's it, wave now," said Bobby as he stroked more firmly. Slipping
his hand in the bound boy's tights, Brent massaged his asshole with the tip
of his middle finger at the same time.
"Hey, there's your mom and dad, James," said Benny as he similarly
stroked his victim's thigh from behind.
"They look so proud of you," observed Brett. "Give them a great big
smile." Slipping his hand down the back of James's trousers, he pressed
his finger tip against the boy's sweaty pucker, easily inserting it to the
first joint. By this time his twin had done the same to his squirming,
grunting victim.
James suddenly groaned and shuddered and Danny tensed as he let out a
loud gasp. The Brewster boys knew exactly what that meant and they glanced
at each other with wide grins. Eric stared in shocked disbelief, and then
smiled with satisfaction. He was going to have to find some way to pay the
Brewsters for this unexpected treat. Wet spots appeared in the middle of
James' and Danny's stomachs and gradually began to spread over their
crotches. The two boys stared out at their parents and the cheering,
clapping crowd helplessly, their faces flushed a brilliant scarlet with
shame and arousal as their stiff cocks throbbed hotly against their bellies
and their hot, tight balls squirted out shot after shot of fresh, juicy
teen cum like there was no end. Assuming the squirming boys were
pretending they were trying to get loose, Cheryl beamed out at the cheering
crowd and struggled also, which attracted everyone's attention to her
bobbing boobs, which were only slightly below the boy's crotches.
"All right!"
"Right on tv even!"
"And in front of your parents!"
"And your kid brother."
"Wicked!"
The four brothers high fived and laughed so hard they almost fell off
the float. Eric smiled as he stared at his brother's flushed, shocked
face, his eyes alternating between anger and shame. Served the arrogant
bastard right, and his buddy too. Their eyes met for a moment and Danny
quickly looked away. Eric leaned back and enjoyed the rest of the ride
while Danny and James shifted uncomfortably as their cum cooled and soaked
into their clothing. As for the Brewster brothers, they'd noticed Eric's
reaction, and for the rest of the route each was plotting how he might get
the good-looking boy naked and eager to mess around with them.
As soon as the parade ended and they were untied, Danny and James
headed straight for home. For one, they did not want anyone to see them up
close. For another, their hot, sweaty crotches felt like they'd been
drenched by a galleon of cum and their clothing was stuck to their
stomachs. Danny in his tights, and James in his tight trousers, had never
been so embarrassed and had never felt so uncomfortable in all their lives.
Tables with checkered tablecloths and under large checkered umbrellas
had been set up in Centennial Park. The four Brewster brothers headed
straight over to the buffet table with the advance tickets their mother had
gotten for them. Having worked up an appetite, they stuffed themselves
with soft, buttery croissants made specially for the day by the local
bakery, tried every type of cheese wedge, several times, except the blue
cheese, which Bobby claimed smelled like Brent's feet after a hot day, and
helped themselves to several of each type of sausage. They tried to sneak
some wine, but had to settle for chilled apple cider, which they pretended
was wine. Finishing off with their paper plates piled high with grapes,
strawberries, and cherries, they lay back on the grass and burped loudly
and contentedly.
Benny gave Bobby a nudge as he spotted Tony Amatto and his buddy
Eddie, the two local drug pushers who had entertained them last New Years,
wandering among the crowd looking for buyers. Benny pulled out the bag
he'd brought from home and concealed in his loose nylon shirt, and with his
kid brother, purposefully cut in front of the two boys.
"Hey, what you got there?"
"Cookies, what does it look like dough head?"
"Oh yeah, you mean you had cookies," Tony said, grabbing the bag of
Oreo cookies out of Benny's hand.
"Hey, give that back, it's mine," he said, making a feeble attempt to
grab it.
"Was yours, punk," Tony said with a grin and his buddy laughed as they
each stuffed a cookie in his mouth.
Making a couple more weak attempts to grab his cookies, Benny and his
brother returned to the twins, all four boys trying desperately to repress
their laughter. Having finished eating, they headed over to the climbing
wall which had been set up at one end of the park. It was a large
demonstration wall brought in by the company that built them, twenty-four
feet high and twenty- four feet long, with four safety harnesses. For a
dollar you could scale the wall, or spend up to ten minutes trying to. It
was the most popular fund raiser in the park among the teenagers and young
adults.
Spotting Jason Smyth-Jones and his best pal Conrad Blackwell standing
in line to scale the wall, the four brothers waited until they were being
strapped into the safety harnesses, and then rushed over to "help". In the
confusion neither of the teens noticed that their flies had been pulled
down and their belts loosened. They had gotten over half way up the wall
when their jumping and stretching worked their belts loose, and their
baggy, oversized Nevada cargo pants immediately dropped to their ankles.
Now both boys normally wore boxers, because, according to them, boxers were
designed for guys who had man-sized equipment and needed the freedom, and
anyone who preferred briefs, such as the twins, was subject to their
constant ridicule.
To the surprise of everyone on the ground looking up at them, neither
boy was wearing boxers that afternoon. Tall, handsome Jason Smyth-Jones,
cool, rich, and one of the most popular boys in school, fifteen-years-old
as of three weeks ago, was wearing tight, nylon-spandex, blue seashell
Jessica bikini brief panties with stretch lace accents. His best buddy,
Conrad Blackwell, a month away from his fifteenth birthday and wearing an
expensive designer silk shirt with his blond hair stylishly dyed with black
highlights and shaded on the sides, was wearing thong panties in a floral
print. Everyone was too busy staring at the two teens to notice Brett make
a gesture with his hand. The pulleys on both of their safety harnesses
jammed, preventing the boys from descending, and preventing them from
bending over to pull up their pants.
"Panties?" giggled one of the girls. "Who would have ever thought
those two would have THAT fetish!"
"They're always acting so cool."
"And macho," said one of the guys.
"Why would they wear panties?" asked one of the other girls.
Several of the teens glanced at each other, most in amusement, a few
with embarrassment, and a few with knowing smirks.
"Well, there are certain boys who like to wear girl's things," Billy
Hollis, one of the twins' best friends, observed.
"Yeah," agreed Brent and Brett with huge smiles.
"Who would have thought!" observed another of the boys.
"Jason and Conrad? No way!"
"They're always talking about making out with girls."
"Well . . . until lately."
"Yeah, you know, they haven't been bragging like they used to."
"Yeah, they've been acting way different these past couple months."
"Since April Fools Day."
"Yeah, since their date with those twin sisters."
"They never did say much about that after all the talk before hand."
"Yeah. They were suspiciously quiet about their date."
"But they can't be . . . well, it can't be that they're. . . ."
"They ARE wearing panties."
"Yeah, but ."
"They are best buddies."
"Yeah, for years. You never see one without the other."
"You don't mean . . . not Jason and Conrad. . . ."
"You never know."
"Closet queers?"
"Explains why they're always together," suggested Brent.
"Lots of guys chum together."
"As close as they do, and double date besides?" asked Brett.
"Well, no."
"Maybe they don't brag about girls anymore because they've found each
other," Benny suggested.
Everyone stared up at the two hapless teens staring down at them,
knowing very well everyone was whispering about their choice of underwear
but unable to make out the words.
"Well get us down from here!" Jason called angrily.
"Yeah. What sort of outfit is this?" snapped Conrad.
One of those in charge of looking after the wall began to make his
assent.
Brett made another gesture, and the pulleys immediately began
functioning. The moment the boys were unharnessed they yanked up their
trousers and disappeared in the crowd red-faced with embarrassment and
anger. When the twins had called them over that morning and insisted they
wear the panties that day under threat of telling everyone what really
happened on their famous April date, they'd figured the Brewsters were
crazy enough to do so even if it did reveal their role in the whole scam.
So, they had reluctantly agreed, little knowing that Brent and Brett had
planned on exposing them later that day. With all the talk about the wall
the twins had to have known they'd be trying it, and although they could
not prove the Brewsters had loosened their belts, there was no other reason
they would have been crowding around while they'd been getting harnessed.
Rather than dissuading them from harassing the twins any further, the
incident only made them all the more determined to get back at the boys.
They had no sooner disappeared when the brothers spotted Tony and
Eddie hurrying for the port-a-potties, the result of the dozen Exlax
stuffed Oreo cookies the two had eaten. The specially prepared cookies was
a joke they'd first played on April the First and it had worked so well the
boys figured Bastille Day was another good day to use it. They had
specifically planned on targeting the two pushers and they had specifically
suggested the location of the wall so they could keep an eye on it and the
port-a-potties.
"Hey, you guys gonna climb the wall?" called out Brett.
The two boys ignored him. He and his brothers quickly stepped in
front of them to block their way.
"Com'on support the poor and starving," he called out loudly, catching
the attention of those waiting in line.
"Yeah. Don't be cheapskates. We know ya got the money."
"Later," replied Tony, trying unsuccessfully to step around Brett and
Benny. "Get out of our way."
"You chicken?" asked Benny loudly.
"Yeah, bet you two are a pair of scaredy cats," Bobby observed as he
helped Brent block Eddie.
Several others in the crowd, those who despised the boys and opposed
their drug activities, took up the challenge. Tony and Eddie looked at
each other desperately.
"We will as soon as we get back from the can."
"Yeah, sure," one of the older teens mocked. "Leave and we'll never
see you again. Do it now."
"Yeah, you can even go next," offered another.
"All right, lets get this dumb thing over with," said Tony, knowing he
had no choice. A quick climb up and down the dumb wall and they'd be on
their way. Proving they could do it would certainly dispel the myth that
drugs were harmful, which certainly wouldn't hurt business.
So, he and Eddie took their place at the head of the line, just as
determined to prove they could do it as the rest were hoping to see them
fail. They were far from athletic and the wall was a lot more difficult to
climb than they had thought. After ten minutes they were barely half way
up and they knew there was no point in offering to pay for another ten
minutes. They would never make it to the top, and besides, their need to
use the port-a-potties had become even more urgent. Again Brett made his
gesture and the pulleys jammed.
"Shit, the pulleys have jammed again," observed one of the men working
the wall.
"Holy shit, who would have thought it would happen again," said Bobby
gleefully and loudly.
"Shit yeah," agreed his brothers just as loudly, and the two boys on
the pullies clenched their buttholes desperately.
The brothers were prepared to wait as long as necessary, an hour if
they had to, but two minutes later Eddie, who never did have any will
power, could not hold back.
"Oh fuck," he whispered as he felt the dam burst and his watery diarrhea
flood out of his anus. The stink was enough to push Tony over the edge.
The dark-haired eighteen-year-old hung there helplessly as his beer print
boxer briefs filled with warm, mushy shit. His skin crawled as he felt it
start to run down the right leg of his baggy blue jeans. Eddie, a tall,
skinny seventeen-year-old with spiked dirty blond hair and acne and wearing
that day a nose ring along with his eyebrow ring, wanted to die as he also
felt the watery diarrhea running down the inside of his leg. Their purpose
achieved, Brett made the gesture that allowed the pulley to work.
"Ewwwww!" exclaimed Bobby, "What's that smell?"
"Hey! Being hung up there scared the shit out of them," giggled
Benny.
"We're not feeling okay, all right?" Tony snapped, his
Italian-American temper flaring and his dark eyes flashing, but standing
there in his shit filled pants and stinking like an outhouse, nobody was
believing him, and he certainly was not getting anyone's sympathy.
The two teenagers pushed their way through the snickering crowd, their
mushy shit oozing out of their boxers and trickling down their legs. They
would be pushing no drugs that day, which had been the objective of the
four brothers from the beginning. They high fived with wide grins as they
watched the two losers waddling across the park. The others could not be
sure, and had no idea how they had done it, but they were fairly certain
the brothers had something to do with the pushers' humiliation and they
admired them for it.
"Hey, there's David and Greg, com'on over here guys," called Brent.
The two fifteen-year-old fellow basketball players glanced at each
other and then approached the crowd cautiously. Anyone who was at all
observant would have noticed the combination of apprehension and smoldering
anger in their eyes as the two boys glanced at the Brewster brothers.
David and Greg were two skilful athletes and well known.
Like most boys their age, they were particularly conscious of their
bodies, and they were not hesitant to flex their muscles and show off their
masculinity, knowing their muscles were more pronounced than for many of
their classmates. When they had first started growing pit hair, they had
grabbed younger and weaker members of the basketball team, Brent and Brett
included, and shoved their noses in their underarms as they stripped after
a game. David was also particularly proud of the fine wisps of hair that
had recently appeared on his upper lip, something he claimed the girls
loved when he kissed them. Both, of course, delighted in strutting their
stuff in front of the girls. Both were also boxer fans, and both had taken
great delight over the years in teasing the twins about their effeminate
looks and their preference for briefs.
The Brewster twins knew their time would come, and when they caught on
film their two tormentors unable to resist the temptation to relieve their
bladders on Wally Bingham during the tournament last April, they could not
wait for an opportunity to use the photos. Their mother's excited
announcement a week ago about the donation of the climbing wall and the
idea of promoting it as a chance to storm the Bastille for a dollar had set
the four brothers' minds spinning. It had taken three hours of searching
before Brett found the spell to jam the pulleys under the "Spells to foul
catapults and other machines of war". From there the rest had been easy.
David and Greg had been the second two of their tormentors called to their
house that morning and confronted with an ultimatum.
Again, as the two teens were strapped into the harnesses, the
Brewsters crowded around to provide encouragement and the two had no idea
what the boys had done. Again half way up, they suddenly felt their pants
begin to slip down and were unable to do anything about it. To everyone's
amazement, and amusement, the dropping trousers of the two
fifteen-year-olds revealed the Brewster twins' Pokemon underwear the two
fifteen-year-olds had been forced to put on that morning. It had taken
them a while, but the twins had finally found the perfect use for the gift
from their aunt last Christmas. The two teens blushed from head to toe as
they hung there helplessly for all to see, and as word quickly spread
across Centennial Park, more and more hurried over to catch a look. The
two boys resolved that the Brewsters were going to pay for this when they
got down, but as time passed and those working the wall were unable to get
the pulleys working, they realized that without the pictures of them
standing there pissing on Wally, pictures the boys had threatened to send
to their mothers, there was nothing they were going to be able to do.
"Hey, they're going to be starting the races," announced Brent.
"Great! Let's go!"
"You gonna release the pulleys?" asked Brent as they charged across
the grass.
"Oh yeah," said Brett, pausing to give a quick flick of his fingers.
"You pick out . . . you know . . . somebody to congratulate at the
end of the race?" asked Brent.
"Sure. It's going to be wicked! I can't wait to give him a big hug
and grope his hot, sweaty balls. You?" asked his twin brother.
"Oh yeah."
"What about you two?"
"Sure have," said Benny and Bobby.
The UCFPC had organized a twenty-five-mile cycling race, a five-mile
foot race, and a three-mile foot race, all starting and ending at the park
gates and staggered so that they would all be ending at about the same
time. The members of the BGROSJAHAFFDIC had decided each would pick a
participant from their mother's lists to give a special end-of-race welcome
to.
"So, who'd you pick out?"
"You'd be surprised."
"Yeah? Bet you'll never guess who I've picked out."
"Same here."
"None of you will guess who I've picked in a million fuckin' years,"
announced Bobby.
"In the count of three, let's say who we've picked. One . . . two .
. . three."
"Dad!" the four boys chorused, and then looking at each other, burst
into laughter.
"Hey, I got an idea," said Brent.
Fifteen minutes later the starting pistol fired and Barry raced off
down the road with three dozen others to the cheers of his family. The
four boys immediately hopped their bikes and headed in different directions
down the paths crisscrossing the park. Barry kept himself in good shape
for a man of forty-three, and at five-foot-ten and a hundred-and-seventy
pounds he was able to hold his own not just in his age group but against
many men younger than him also. At the five-mile mark he was in seventh
place, which was more than he'd hoped for considering half the men cycling
were younger than he was.
"Com'on Dad, you can beat them!"
Barry was surprised to see Benny at the side of the road cheering him
on.
"Com'on Dad, give 'em hell!"
Barry smiled despite the obscenity his twelve-year-old son had just
uttered and peddled harder. The boy had meant well and had to have
pedalled hard to cut across the park to reach the five-mile point.
Arriving at the ten-mile point, he was in fifth place. There on the side
of the road was one of the twins. He could not be sure which one. His
long blond hair was plastered to his face with sweat having pedalled hard
across one of the transverse paths to get there in time.
"Com'on, Dad! You can beat them. Pedal like a bugger!"
Hardly appropriate language for a fourteen-year-old, but then he was
caught up with the excitement and Barry remembered when he was fourteen.
He pedalled harder as he thought back to his junior and senior high school
days. At the fifteen-mile mark he spotted his other oldest boy as he had
hoped he might. His boys were awesome.
"Atta boy, Dad!" he called out, jumping up and down in excitement.
"Give 'em shit!"
Barry grinned and put on the steam. He worked out in the gym whenever
he could, but this was twenty-five miles, and he was forty-three and an
executive who spent most of his time behind a desk. His T-shirt was
soaked, his jogging shorts were clinging to his hot ass, sweat was
streaming down his cheeks, and his thighs were beginning to ache. But
three of his boys had biked out to the route to cheer him on. He couldn't
disappoint them, and there were only two others in front of him. A bronze
medal was nothing to be ashamed of. As he approached the twenty-mile mark
of the loop, he was overjoyed to see his youngest bounding up and down and
cheering for him.
"Third place, Dad! That's fu-, fu-, fu-. Oh to hell with it, that's
fuckin' awesome!"
As Barry raced down the trail, he wondered what his son had said. His
blood was pounding so hard in his arteries it was difficult to hear. As he
continued along the loop and arched back to the park entrance, he saw his
entire family leaping up and down and yelling at the finish line. He
pumped harder, his heart pounding in his chest so hard it felt like it was
going to burst. He passed the cyclist in front of him. The person in the
lead was young, early twenties, and had been leading the race for at least
the last eight miles. They were only a bike apart, and then Barry's front
wheel was opposite his back. His muscle shirt was totally drenched in
sweat and clinging to him and sweat was pouring down his face in rivulets.
All he could hear was the calling of his four sons. Then he and the leader
were side by side, and only five yards to go. With an extra push, he
inched ahead and crossed the finish line.
"Way to go, Dad!"
"Wicked!"
"Totally!"
"Fu-, fu-, fu-, for crepes sake yeah!"
His four boys helped him off the bike and surrounded him. His legs
felt rubbery and he was so out of breath he had to lean on his boys to stay
on his feet. They patted him on the back and hugged him, their hot little
hands slipping under his soaked T-shirt, gliding along his sweaty back and
through his sweat-drenched chest hair, slipping up under his sweaty pits to
help him stay upright. Hot little hands squeezed his chest in their effort
to support his weight, so he thought, and little fingers innocently
caressed his nipples, causing them to harden. A flashback of him
spreadeagled in bed with his four hot, sweaty sons surrounding him and
caressing him flashed though his mind. It was one of his longtime
fantasies, but somehow seemed to be a memory of a real event. His dick
began to swell.
A hand slipped into his jogging shorts and BVD's and groped his hot,
sweaty balls while another groped his swelling, sweat-damp dick, causing it
to swell even faster. A hot little hand had slipped inside his briefs and
was groping his right buttock while another was groping the left as he
leaned back on the boys for support. It was totally wild, and they were so
sweet and innocent he had a moment of guilt using them as he was, but it
was only a moment. There was no harm in the boys touching him like they
were. He drew his four hot, sweaty boys to him and inhaled deeply. He
decided it was going to take a while for him to catch his breath after the
mad race around the park. He sighed with the fragrance of four hot, sweaty
young boys and he inhaled deeply again. It might take a long while. The
hand about his cock tugged and he immediately became erect.
Wrapping his arm about one of the twins and drawing the boy closer to
him to hide his condition as he tried to think of a way to extricate
himself from whatever son was grasping his member, Barry was surprised to
feel a hard, hot cylinder in the boy's trousers press against his leg. The
boy had to have gotten an erection, and as he thought about it, he
remembered how easily he had gotten aroused when he was that age, and how
it happened at the most awkward times. He drew his son even closer to him
to hide his boy's condition and their hard, hot members pressed against
each other through their sweaty clothing.
At the same time the other twin had pressed up against his backside as
he had embraced him, and this time there was no question in Barry's mind
that what he felt pressing against his right buttock was a very hot and
very hard teenage boner. Benny was facing him and hugging him tight on the
other side, and Bobby had snuggled up behind him to join in the group hug.
As his two youngest sons pressed their hot little bodies against him, he
could swear they were erect also.
Barry could not stop himself. He slipped a hand up under Brent's
sweat soaked shirt and caressed his teenage son's smooth, slender back.
His other hand slipped down the back of Benny's shorts and discovering he
wasn't wearing underwear, grasped his hot, naked butt cheek. One of his
son's hands slipped up along his sweaty butt crack and another tugged on
his balls while the third caressed his buttock and the fourth tugged on his
erection. As Benny shifted and turned to snuggle in closer, or so Barry
assumed was his purpose as he thought about it later, Barry's hand slipped
along his hip and the boy's hot, stiff four inch bone brushed against
Barry's fingers.
He could not help but give it a quick squeeze at the base and as it
suddenly throbbed, Barry quickly drew his hand away as he himself exploded.
His cum flooded across his hairy crotch, soaking his hairs and puddling in
the crevice between his crotch and his legs. He trembled with the
exquisite pleasure as his cockhead burned with the release and his rubbery
legs suddenly became even weaker. As he sighed with the erotic release, he
was thankful whichever son it was that had been grasping his cock had
released it, or he'd have some difficult explaining to the boy. Evidently
growing weary of supporting his weight, he felt each of his sons press even
tighter against him and tremble as they strained to hold him up.
Then the boys stepped away and someone was handing him a gold
medallion while the local paper snapped the picture of him and his sons.
His boss was there beaming like a Cheshire cat and then announced that
Wecare Pet Supply Limited was donating a thousand dollars to the campaign.
As Barry looked down, fearing that his cum had soaked through his shorts,
he realized that the muscle-shirt he'd chosen to wear had the company logo
on the front. Not only was the company going to get some free publicity,
but this wasn't going to hurt his position in the company either. Even
better, his shirt and shorts were so dark with sweat, it was impossible to
distinguish the sweat stains from his cum stain.
"That was awesome," said Benny as the four boys slipped into the
crowd.
"Oh yeah," agreed Brent as he sniffed his fingers. "I got a most
excellent grope of Dad's nuts."
"They were so fucking hot. And they smell fucking awesome," said
Brett as he too sniffed his fingers.
"Well, I got a fucking hand full," said Bobby with a grin as he raised
his right hand.
"Yours?" Benny asked with sparkle in his hazel eyes.
"Dad's."
"Wicked!" his three brothers exclaimed as they grabbed Bobby's sticky,
cum smeared hand.
"Everything about Dad smells so sexy," sighed Benny as he squeezed his
now limp, sticky cock through his trousers. "Even his pits."
"Oh yeah," agreed Brent as he similarly squeezed his now flaccid cock.
"His chest hair felt awesome all matted with sweat."
"His ass crack was so hot and sweaty I wanted to slip my finger up his
butt," said Brett as he also squeezed his softening cock through his
trousers.
"Well," said Bobby with a grin as he groped himself, "at least there's
an advantage of being too young to cum yet."
"Your time will come," said Brett.
"Well, I'm glad my time did," observed Brent, walking bowlegged, and
he and his brothers giggled as they made their way across the park.
They paused to watch a juggler entertaining a group of younger kids.
He was doing a great job of keeping six balls in the air until Bobby
mentioned to Benny in a stage whisper that the juggler's fly was down.
Returning to the climbing wall, they watched for a while and day dreamed
about some of the hotter boys climbing the wall, and then they wandered
over to the refreshment booths and bought some ice cream cones.
"Shit I'm horny," observed Benny as he finished off his cone.
"You're always horny," said Brent.
"No, you're thinking of Bobby."
"No way," retorted Bobby. "You're the one who's always walking around
with a tent in his pants."
"Well, you're the one who's always trying to grab it."
The boys glanced at each other, and with a yell of "gotcha" made a
grab for each other. For the next ten minutes they raced around the park,
dodging each other while trying to get a good feel until they finally
collapsed on the grass.
"I think it's time we got off again," observed Brett as he caught his
breath.
"Oh yeah," his three brothers chorused and the four high fived.
"Time to put operation Guillotine into action," said Benny with a
grin.
"Right on!" his three brothers announced.
Spreading out, the four devoted citizens of the new republic wandered
through the crowds milling about the booths set up by the local businesses
and watching the baseball and soccer games the UCFPC had set up in search
of their closest friends. Finding them, they directed them to where they
would be holding court. Spotting Henry Schwartz, they easily got the
seventeen- year-old football player to accompany them with the simple
reminder of the photo they had of the six-foot-two, hundred and eighty-five
pound youth in a French maid uniform. Mark Fording, the seventeen-year-old
who had assisted the twins in teaching Eddie and Tony a lesson while
teaching a lesson on the birds and the bees to the youngsters the brothers
were babysitting, readily joined the boys just for the fun of it.
Spotting their first victim and a couple of his buddies hitting on a
group of girls, the brothers, accompanied by their two enforcers, marched
up to the group.
"Monsieur Graham," Brett called out in his best imitation French
accent. "In the name of the republic I arrest you for treason."
"What?" Billy Graham snorted.
"You heard me. Will you come with us peacefully, or will we have to
take you by force?"
"Go play somewhere else children," he replied sarcastically.
"Guess it is by force," Brett announced, and the two
seventeen-year-olds stepped forward.
"Hey, what do you think you're doing! I haven't done anything to you!
Put me down you buggers! Hey!"
To the bewilderment of the others, they watched as the two older boys
dragged Billy across the park behind the four Brewster brothers. The girls
did not know what to make of it, and the boys were too interested in making
out to be concerned about Billy. When you are a teenager and the hormones
are flowing, it is every man for himself. Half dragging and half carrying
their captive into a clearing in the bushes far away from where the crowds
were, Henry and Mark tied his wrists to an overhanging tree branch, and
spreading his legs, tied his ankles to two shrubs. Billy glanced around at
his captors and the four other boys sitting there watching him.
"Monsieur Graham, you are accused of treason. How do you plea?" asked
Robespierre.
"You're crazy."
"Insolent aristocrat," snapped Robespierre. "Pull down his pants and
underwear."
"Yeah!" cried the audience enthusiastically. Ten-year-old Aaron,
Bobby's best friend and frequent coconspirator, grinned as he watched the
two seventeen-year-old boys pull down Billy's trousers, revealing his plaid
Joe Boxers. The small, freckle-faced, green-eyed youngster glanced over at
his best pal and as Bobby flashed him a grin, his grin grew even wider.
Billy Hollis, one of the twins' best friends, watched just as eagerly.
Billy Graham had dated his sister a while back, and he heard that he had
later gone around bragging about what a great piece of ass she was. He
didn't really care if they'd made out, but only a first class prick would
go around bragging about it. Billy Hollis had no idea what the Brewsters
were planning, but knowing the brothers' wild imagination and how daring
they were, he knew it was going to be good.
As Mark and Henry drew down the bound boy's boxers, Justin, Benny's
twelve-year-old buddy and Mark's kid brother, shifted uncomfortably and
dropped his hands in his lap to hide the fact that his penis was beginning
to swell. Ever since he and the Brewster brothers had spied on his older
brother ass fucking his girlfriend two years ago, he'd had hot fantasies
about his brother, and seeing him pulling down Billy's pants and trousers
was majorly hot.
The fourth witness was the Brewster brothers' hero-worshipping
neighbour boy, Charles Elwood. He had just turned eight and was watching
the proceedings with wide deep brown eyes and fingering his little erection
openly and unabashedly. Once again his neighbours were proving to be
totally awesome, and they were including him in on the fun!
"You fags! You goddamn perverts!" spat Billy as the two older boys
stepped back.
There were many things about Billy Graham that angered the Brewsters,
and many things that got them hot. He was the type of guy who kissed and
told, or rather, screwed and squealed, and that was against their code of
honour. That he'd done so to the sister of their buddy Billy Hollis made
it personal and even more serious. Billy Graham was an arrogant, conceited
sixteen- year-old who not only was a stud and knew it, but bragged about
it. He was just as vocal about his hatred for homosexuals, and his
favourite put down for anyone he did not like, was to call them a fag.
That the Brewster boys took affront to.
Those were the reasons the Brewster twins hated the boy and had
selected him as one of the victims for that day. Taking particular delight
in forcing a macho straight boy to have gay sex with them was, on the other
hand, one of the things that turned the twins on. The fact that the
sixteen-year-old high school student was a well-built, good-looking stud
with thick, curly brown hair and sexy dark brown eyes added to the
incentive. That they were about to have sex with every girl's dreamboat
was certainly a bonus.
Brett now stepped forward with the instrument of torture they had
spent hours designing, a guillotine made of Bobby's Brio construction set
he'd gotten three years ago for his seventh birthday and two of their dad's
razor blades. The two-and-a-half-foot tall tower was screwed into a wooden
platform to which they had glued the cardboard tube from a toilet paper
roll which they had sliced in half lengthwise. The two razor blades
soldered to a lead weight were held in place at the top of the tower by a
string looped around a hook screwed into the board. Brett set it down on a
stool in front of the bound noble.
"Executioner, step forward," announced Robespierre, and Bobby, having
put on his hood, quickly stepped up to him.
"I think we'd better make sure the guillotine is working properly
first, Citizen Robespierre," suggested the executioner, to which the
citizen readily agreed.
Benny stepped up with a raw wiener he'd brought from home and placed
it in the cardboard tube which had a "V" cut directly under the blade.
"Five, four, three, two, one, slice!" the four brothers chorused
loudly, and their two older enforcers, their audience of four, and
especially their bound noble, held their breath as the string was released
and the blade dropped, slicing the end of the wiener off with a dramatic
snap.
Resetting the blade and placing the stool in front of Billy, Brett
grabbed the boy's dick. As the boy protested, he stretched out his
foreskin and fastened a paper clamp to the tip. Easing the stool up
against him and laying Billy's flaccid dick in the cardboard tube, he
stretched it out as far as he could and tied down the clamp.
"I wouldn't move about too much," he warned with a grin. "We wouldn't
want the blade to fall before its time."
Billy looked at the guillotine and blanched.
"Now," said Brett. "We are not unreasonable. Beg me to fuck your ass,
and you will be pardoned. Of course if you don't, you will be
circumcised."
"You wouldn't dare."
"Do it, do it, do it!" cheered the crowd.
"Ten, nine, eight," began the executioner in his black hood.
"No!" Billy cried as he pulled back. The stool and tower swayed.
"Careful!" warned Brett. "I told you that you might knock it loose."
Billy froze.
"Seven, six, five," the executioner continued.
Billy stared at the razor, and then down at his dick stretched
directly below it. They wouldn't dare!
"Four, three ."
"All right. Stop!" The Brewster brothers were crazy enough to do it.
"Have you ever fucked a guy up the ass, Billy Graham?" asked the
inquisitor in an imperious tone.
The sixteen-year-old hesitated. "Yes," he finally responded. It was
no secret that he was the first to screw their young gym teacher, Mike
Harris, a year and a half ago. A lot of guys had gone crazy that
Valentine's day, and he knew of a number of guys in his class had screwed
the teacher after him. Those that had watched him had been impressed by
his size, and that had been the beginning of his life as a superstud.
"You like it?"
Billy hesitated. "Yeah." That was the truth.
"You ever fuck a girl?"
"Huh, sure," he snorted, "plenty of times." With his curly dark brown
hair, chocolate brown eyes, and long eyelashes, combined with a trim,
athletic swimmer's body and an outgoing personality, he did not have much
trouble charming the girls.
"You like fucking girls?"
"Of course I do, what do you think?" he asked sarcastically despite
his position.
"Who are you dating right now?"
"Amber Caskell."
"Getting any?"
"Of course."
"Tell us all about it."
Billy looked at Brett in surprise, and then slowly smiled. So, the
bit about him begging to get his ass fucked was all a bluff. What Brett
really wanted was to hear about him making out. The wimp was probably
still a virgin himself and got off by hearing what it was like for a real
man to fuck a woman.
"Tell us about the very first time you and Amber did it," Brett
continued. "Was she a virgin?"
"Sure was," said Billy with a grin. "But not after I was done with
her."
"Tell us about it, every detail."
Billy was more than willing to comply. Next to having sex he enjoyed
bragging about it, and he was damn good at both. For the next fifteen
minutes he described in detail how he'd seduced Amber and how by the time
he was done she couldn't get enough of it.
He got so involved, he even forgot about his dick stretched out under the
blade.
"That was way hot," said Brett. "But there was one thing you wanted
that she couldn't provide, wasn't there?"
"What?"
"To get fucked up the ass," Brett said blankly but purposefully
running a finger along the top of the razor blade.
Billy stared at him, uncertain what he was up to. Was the
son-of-a-bitch toying with him, or had he been wrong about him just wanting
to hear about him making out? Maybe he'd really wanted both. Regardless
of Brett's reason for torturing him, Billy knew the answer the fourteen-
year-old inquisitor was expecting. "Yes," he said softly, and the crowd
hooted.
"You want it bad, don't you," Brett said, making a statement rather
than a question.
"Yes," Billy said reluctantly.
"You want it more than that," Brett said.
"Yes, dammit, I want it," Billy said angrily. "Just get this fucking
over with!"
"What do you want, Billy?"
"I want you to fuck my ass," he said sharply.
Brett knew he could tease him further, but he also knew the audience
was eager to see Billy get screwed, and to tell the truth, he was just as
eager to screw the arrogant son-of-a-bitch. As Brett quickly unzipped and
dropped his trousers and pushed down his Marky Mark boxer briefs, Bobby
released the clamp on Billy's foreskin and removed the guillotine. Brett,
like several of the audience, was already stiff. Taking out the jar of
Vaseline he'd put in his pocket before leaving the house that morning, he
greased up his middle finger and to the amusement of his audience slipped
it up his victim's butthole.
"You son-of-a-bitch," cursed Billy as Brett worked his finger in and
out of his hole. "Get your fucking finger out of my hole and just fucking
get on with it."
"Can't wait to get my cock sunk up your hole, huh?" asked Brett, and
his three brothers laughed as they reached down and squeezed the tents that
had popped up in their trousers. Knowing Billy was going to be tight,
Brett generously lubed up his knob and then stepped up behind the angry,
humiliated teenager. Billy was tight, but Brett was no novice, and with a
minimum of effort he slipped his slender five-and-a-quarter inch cock up
the teenager's virgin chute. As he began to work his cock in and out of
Billy's asshole, he thought of all the times Billy had called others fags,
and of all the times he'd bragged about what a stud he was, and the more he
thought the harder he fucked. He would give the fag-hating, arrogant stud
the fucking of his life.
Brett's cock struck Billy's prostate with each forward thrust, causing
the sixteen-year- old's cock to slowly begin to swell, much to the delight
of the audience, and much to Billy's surprise and dismay. Someone observed
that he must be liking getting his ass fucked, which made Brett fuck all
the more furiously and Billy to grow even more dismayed. He was not
enjoying this one bit, and could not understand why his body was reacting
so.
Wrapping his left arm about Billy to support himself, Brett reached
around with his other hand and grasped the boy's swollen organ. Billy was
well hung, being just under seven inches long, and Brett joyfully began to
pump his fist. Billy opened his mouth to object, but knowing it would be
futile, decided there was little point. The sixteen-year-old stud closed
his eyes, but he could still see the nine boys sitting on the grass or
leaning up against the trees and watching him getting fucked. He could not
block out the heavy breathing of the boy ramming his cock in and out of his
anus either. It was a strange experience. Despite his humiliation and his
anger, his ass was burning with an arousal that he could not deny was
pleasant, and his stiff cock was throbbing just as hotly and pleasantly as
when he jerked himself off. Finally Brett squeezed his left arm about him
and grunted as he thrust forward and froze, and Billy knew exactly how a
girl felt when he did the same thing, the only difference being his cock
was up her cunt, not her asshole. The realization that he was being filled
by the fourteen-year-old's semen caused him to reach his peak, and he
shuddered as his cock throbbed and his semen shot through the air and
landed in thick globs on the grass.
"Oh yeah!" Brett said with a sigh as he finally withdrew his cock.
"You really liked getting your ass fucked, didn't you, Billy?"
"Yeah," he said, knowing that was the answer that was expected of him,
and that it was the answer mostly likely to get him untied.
"Well, I enjoyed cracking your cherry too," Brett said with a grin as
he pulled up his underwear and pants.
When Billy stepped out of the bushes five minutes later, he paused,
and then decided to leave the park. He was in no mood for hitting on the
girls or joining the guys now. As he headed up the street, he began to
plan his revenge on the Brewsters. He was not the first, and he certainly
would not be the last. What he did not realize, and would find out later,
was that everything that had happened in that clearing had been taped. If
the Brewsters played his detailed description of having taken Amber
Caskell's cherry to just one girl, it would ruin his chances of ever making
it with any girl again. As for the tape of him asking Brett to fuck his
ass, even if he was able to convince his buddies that he'd said those
things on the tape under duress, they would know that he'd been fucked, and
that was not something he wanted anyone to know. That afternoon Billy
Graham had been screwed several ways.
The revolutionaries headed back up into the crowd to find a new
victim.
In planning for the day, they, like their compatriots back in the1790's,
had made up a list of individuals they'd like to see under the blade.
Solomon Nejrue, Benny's twelve-year-old classmate, had the misfortune of
being spotted before any of the others they were seeking. Solomon had made
the Brewster list not just because they were intrigued by his skin colour,
being the only black-skinned boy in town, but because he was an all around
smart ass, and despite the revenge he'd managed to get, Benny was still
smarting from the teasing he'd gotten when Solomon had discovered he was
going to play Love Brewster in the Thanksgiving play. Solomon was watching
the soccer game with his parents, and when the revolutionaries approached
to take him away, they thought it was part of the official celebrations for
the day and urged their son to play along despite his protests. Not only
did they full heartedly support the campaign to raise money for the poor,
but being recent immigrants, they were eager for their son to fit in with
his classmates.
"All right," cheered Justin Fording as the boys marched their victim
into the clearing with his hands tied behind his back. He too had been the
butt of Solomon's teasing last November because he had to wear a loincloth
in his role as the chief's son Wamsutta. That was before Solomon
discovered he was going to have to wear a turkey costume, which Justin felt
was not only poetic justice, but fitting in that the jerk was a turkey.
The thought of Solomon going through the same sort of humiliation as Billy
Graham had was particularly gratifying to the junior high school student.
It was also erotic. Justin's dick had softened, but the thought of seeing
the young Sudanese with his pants and underwear pulled down and his dick
stretched under the guillotine gave the youngster another erection. He was
a month away from his thirteenth birthday, and like his best buddy, Benny,
he had recently entered puberty and was experiencing the embarrassment and
the thrill of getting spontaneous erections.
"Monsieur Nejrue," began Doctor Guillotin, "you are accused of treason
against the Republic. How do you plea?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Looks like our noble asshole needs some convincing to cooperate,"
Doctor Guillotin observed, looking at the two enforcers standing on either
side of the captive.
"Hey! What do you think you're doing! Hey, stop it!" he demanded as
the two seventeen-year-olds drew down his cargo zipoffs and his blue Fruit
of the Loom briefs. "Ah, Jeeez!"
Although the same age as Benny, twelve years and eight months, the
twelve-year-old's dick had grown close to half an inch since November.
Soft, it was almost four inches, and with its long foreskin looked a lot
like an elephant's trunk to the boys. Hard, it was almost five inches.
Bringing out their implement of punishment, the Brewster brothers had
their two enforcers hold the captive still while they stretched out his
foreskin and clamped it into place.
"Don't worry, it is fast and almost painless," said Benny.
"Yeah," agreed Bobby. "Swooosh, click, and you got a cool ring to
show everyone!"
"Okay, countdown," said Brent. "Ten, nine, eight ."
"All right, all right. I confess."
"Wow, that's fast," said Brett.
"Yeah too fast," said Benny. "Let's pretend we didn't hear him."
"Yeah," agreed his younger brother. "I want to circumcise someone."
"Okay, all in agreement raise your right hand," said Brett. "Carried
unanimously. Now where were we in counting?"
"You can't do that!"
"Of course we can. We're forming the government of the First
Republic," announced Brett.
"But I've confessed!" Solomon protested, having no idea what he was
confessing to but determined to get loose.
"Oh all right," said Benny dejectedly. "Let's go on to the
punishment.
But," he said, looking at Solomon, "if you don't cooperate and we'll cut
if off."
Solomon looked at the sharp blades and down at his member stretched
out under them, and knew it did not matter how severe the punishment was
going to be, he was going to cooperate.
"Okay, for starters, I want you to rim my kid brother," announced
Benny.
"Rim?"
"Lick his asshole."
"And stick your tongue inside," assisted Bobby.
"What?"
"Unless you'd prefer to have your foreskin sliced off."
Solomon looked at the blade, down at his black cock stretched out
under it, and up at Benny. Solomon knew he would do it too.
"All right."
"Always figured you to be a buttlicker," said Benny with a giggle as
Bobby stepped forward and the twins released his foreskin and removed the
guillotine.
Bobby had already pulled down his fly, and the ten-year-old's hazel
eyes sparkled with merriment as he dropped his pants and Stanfield regular
rise briefs. Waiting for Mark and Henry to force the boy to his knees,
Bobby turned his back to the bound boy and bent over. Knowing he did not
have any choice, Solomon decided to do it quickly and get it over with. He
bent over, and sticking out his tongue, he ran it up the ten-year-old'
sweaty crack.
"All right!" exclaimed Benny.
"Now stick your tongue inside," ordered Bobby as he squirmed with
delight.
Solomon slowly and reluctantly wormed his tongue into the boy's hole.
His pucker had a very definite saltiness, and the inside was definitely
acrid. He darted his tongue in and out, forcing himself not to think about
what he was doing and fighting his overriding impulse to puke. The
audience of boys laughed and cheered and Benny and Justin exchanged grins.
Bobby, of course, squirmed with pleasure and was erect in no time.
"Now get Bobby's dick good and slick with your spit so he can fuck
your ass," ordered Benny.
Turning around, Bobby grinned down at Solomon as the twelve-year-old
boy slipped his thick lips over his stiff cock and began to work his mouth
up and down its length. Benny, meanwhile, dropped his pants and Navy blue
polyester-cotton briefs and the four-foot-ten, ninety pound youth stepped
up to his bound classmate, his stiff, four-inch dick standing up proud and
ready for action. Staring at the slender, pink cock in despair and with
embarrassment, the boy inhaled deeply and opened his mouth while Bobby
stepped around behind him and pressed the tip of his knob against his anus.
It was not going to be the first time a Brewster had fucked his ass, and he
suspected, unless he moved away, probably not the last. The
twelve-year-old opened his anus and pushed out. He knew from experience
that the more a person cooperated, the less painful it was.
So, while he knelt there on his knees with his classmate's hot, stiff
cock in his mouth, he felt the smaller and thinner cock of his classmate's
kid brother penetrate his backside. He was being assaulted by not one, but
two Brewsters, and in front of their older brothers and six other guys.
Not only that, Bobby had reached around and was fiddling with his dick,
causing it to grow hard. The hapless boy would have been even more
embarrassed had he known the entire scene was being taped, right from his
admission of guilt to his grunts as he strained to accept Bobby's cock up
his butt, and the slurping noises as he swallowed his spittle and sucked on
Benny's stiff prick.
Benny was the first to come, and he did so with such speed and volume
Solomon would not have been able to swallow it all if he had wanted to. As
Benny's cum spilled out of the corners of Solomon's mouth and ran down
around his chin, his thick white cream contrasting markedly with Solomon's
black skin, Bobby grunted and panted as he furiously worked his cock in and
out of Solomon's moist, tight asshole. The ten-year-old trembled and
gasped loudly as he reached his dry orgasm. Having a boy cum in his mouth
and another reach his orgasm up his asshole, Solomon could not help but
respond himself. To the delight of the two Brewster brothers and those
watching, he trembled and sighed with his orgasm, his juicy, white cum
spurting out of his young, irritated cock and flying through the air to
land on the grass.
"You boys are wicked," observed Mark as their humiliated victim
disappeared through the bushes.
"Thanks," said Bobby with a proud grin.
"Yeah," agreed his three brothers.
Nodding for the boys to step away from the others, Mark lead them down
the path where they could not be heard. "I know someone who'd be perfect
for your scheme."
"Yeah? Cool," observed Brett.
"Yeah, who?"
"There's this former classmate of mine, Bryan Ryerson. He's hung like
a horse, and uncut. When we'd change for physical education, he'd parade
around naked and swing that meat of his about, knowing how envious everyone
was, and when we showered he made a big show of pulling back his skin,
saying how a man wasn't a whole man unless he had his skin, and that how
having a skin gave women something a little extra to play with. Now
bragging we could understand, even put up with, but he also put guys who
were cut down, and he was especially mean about it. That isn't right.
Some of us considered getting him drunk and taking him to a doctor and
getting him circumcised he made us so angry."
"Sounds just like the type of guy for us," said Brent with a grin.
"That's what I was thinking," Mark said with a smile. "But you have
to get him down here on your own. I don't want him to know I'm part of
your scam. In fact it would be best if Henry wasn't around either."
"We can handle it, right guys?" asked Brett.
"Fuck yeah," said Bobby for his brothers, and the four boys high
fived.
Henry was more than happy to be dismissed. After a bit of searching,
they found their victim just finishing off a game of baseball, which was
totally perfect.
"Ah, boys, just in case the idiot does call your bluff, you wouldn't
really, well, use the guillotine, would you?"
"Who, us?" asked Benny as the four boys looked up at their
coconspirator with wide-eyed innocence. "We wouldn't hurt a fly."
"We might piss on it if it was sitting on the toilet seat."
"Or drop it in someone's milk."
"Or down the front of someone's dress."
"Or use it for target practice in a jerk circle."
"But we'd never hurt it."
"No way," the four chorused.
As Mark headed back for the clearing to hide in the bushes and watch,
he had a suspicion that the boys were not talking speculatively when they'd
mentioned the things they could do with a fly. Nor was he convinced they
would not use the guillotine.
"Bryan Ryerson?" asked Brett as the four boys stepped up to him.
"Yeah?" he responded, looking at the four brothers.
"You are under arrest for plotting against the government of the First
Republic," said Brett as he took out his rope. "Put your hands behind your
back."
"Hey," the eighteen-year-old objected, pulling away as the four boys
tried to pin his arms behind him. "Bug off."
"It is useless to resist. We have already beheaded the king, and half
the nobles of the land."
"Look, boys, go play with someone your age. I just finished a ball
game, I'm hot and sweaty, and all I'm interested in right now is a plate of
hot wings and an ice cold beer."
"Guess they were right."
"Who was right?"
"The guys who said you were a cheapskate bag of air."
"Who said that?" Bryan asked, his eyes narrowing.
"Dunno their names. They just said you wouldn't participate."
"Participate in what?"
"We're just raising some money for the poor, that's all."
"Yeah," agreed Bobby, looking up at the dark-haired, six-foot-two
former grade twelve student with all the innocence and charm a ten-year-old
could muster, and with his spiked hair, high cheekbones, hazel eyes and
long lashes, he could charm the coldest heart. "That's all."
"Yeah? Well we'll show them who's a bag of air. Do your thing,"
Bryan said, putting his hands behind his back.
As the brothers quickly tied his wrists and marched their latest
victim to his destiny, they tried not to giggle, but that was impossible,
and by the time they lead him into the clearing, they were giddy with
laughter. Having the unsuspecting teenager kneel down, they untied his
wrists and then having him raise and spread his arms, they tied them to the
lowest branch they could find. They then wrapped a rope about his ankles
and tied them to the trunk of the tree. As Brett began to undo his belt
buckle and Brent began to unbutton his shirt, Bryan made his first
objection, but by then it was too late. The boys soon had his shirt open
and pulled up over his head, and his blue jeans and green checked Joe
Boxers pulled down to his knees. Mark had not been exaggerating the
eighteen-year-old was well hung, his limp dick being close to five inches
long and his nuts the size of tennis balls. Bryan cursed and struggled and
called the boys every name he could think of until they had his dick laid
out in the tube. The sight of the two razor blades suddenly made him very
cooperative. Brett had the honour of clamping the large paper clip over
the boy's generous foreskin and stretching it under the blade.
"Now, for your treachery against the Republic, we sentence you to be
beheaded," announced Brett.
"Well, sortta," Brent said, and the boys giggled.
"Once again guys," said Benny, and the boys began to count down.
"Once again?"
"Seven, you guys did a super job cleaning the blood off while we were
getting this one," said Brett. "Six."
"This one? You've done this to others?"
"Five, of course, four."
"This is going to be so fucking awesome. He's got the biggest skin
yet," giggled Bobby. "Three."
"Stop! You gotta be kidding!"
"We kidding guys?"
"No way," the watching boys said, all of them flushed with arousal and
with aching, stiff dicks tenting out their pants. Knowing everyone else
was aroused, nobody had a reason to hide his condition.
"You can keep your skin," observed Brett.
"Yeah, the others did," added Brent.
"Except the two who thought we were joking," contributed Benny.
"Fuck, did they scream," giggled Bobby.
"Oh yeah," agreed his brothers.
"What do I have to do?"
The four looked at Brett. "You serious?" he asked.
"Of course I'm fucking serious," the boy replied. "Just get that
contraption off me."
"It's cool, isn't it?" asked Benny.
"It took a lot of research on the net."
"And we had to slice a package of hot dogs before we got it to work
right," added Brett, which was correct.
"But we got it to work perfect," Bobby said proudly.
"Right," his brothers agreed.
"I'm sure you did an excellent job, just take it away," Bryan said,
trying not to sound as desperate as he felt. The thing looked too wobbly
to him.
"You'll do exactly what I say," Brett responded. "Or we'll put it
back on and no changing our minds a second time."
"Anything."
Mark could barely keep from snorting as he held back his laughter. He
had no idea exactly what the boys had in mind, but he knew Bryan was going
to be in for a surprise.
Bryan sighed with relief as the boys unclamped his foreskin and
removed the guillotine. He was so relieved he did not notice Brent remove
his Nike runners and socks and pull off his trousers and his black Calvin
Klein briefs.
"Okay, I want you to lick my feet and suck my toes until I get a
woodie," announced Brent.
"What!"
"Oh jeez, we gotta hook your dick up again?" he asked, his voice
whining with annoyance. As his brothers eagerly reached for the device,
the string was knocked loose and the blade swished down and landed with a
snap.
"No, no, not at all," Bryan said quickly.
Brent's reply was to sit on the stool and raise his naked foot. Bryan
did not hesitate, not even as he caught a whiff of the boy's foot odour.
Brent kept his feet clean, but he'd spent all day in the hot July sun in
his Nike runners, and even with the air vents, the fourteen-year-old could
not help the odour that had developed.
Bryan stuck out his tongue and ran it over the back of Brent's size
ten triple E wide foot. To the eighteen-year-old youth's relief the cheesy
smelling foot did not taste as bad as it smelt. It simply had a strong
salty taste. That, of course, encouraged the flow of his saliva, and as he
ran his tongue back and forth over the back of Brent's foot, he left a wet
trail. The fourteen-year-old insisted on a thorough job, and his victim
dutifully ran his tongue along the sides, and then thoroughly licked the
fleshy pads that made up the ball of his foot, the narrow instep, and the
heel. As his hot, moist tongue ran along the underside of Brent's toes,
running along the groove where each toe joined the foot, Brent began to get
erect. So did Mark hiding in the bushes.
Bryan forced his tongue between the boy's large toe and the adjoining
toe. Although the teenager's foot was clean, it had a more pronounced
saltiness and tang there. Under Brent's guidance, the older boy clamped
his lips about the large toe and sucked on it, keeping his mouth tightly
closed and exhaling through his nose to build up suction just as one might
do sucking cock. He then proceeded to lick between the next two toes, and
again suck on the toe next to the largest. By the time he began to suck on
the smallest pinkie Brent's young cock was erect.
"That's good," the boy said with an obvious sigh of pleasure. "Now I
want you to lick up my leg to my crotch until you get hard."
As Bryan's tongue ran over the boy's ankle bone, he concentrated on
his cock, trying to will it to rise. The sooner he got hard the sooner
this would be over. As his tongue slowly proceeded up the young teenager's
calf, the older boy thought about the hottest dates he'd ever been on.
He'd had some hot dates and some heavy petting, but despite his bragging in
the locker room, he was still a virgin. As he began to lick along the
inside of Brent's thigh, Brent's cock twitched with arousal but Bryan's
remained limp. He'd gotten a stiffie plenty of times thinking about girls
he dated, and those he hoped to date, but not while licking a young kid's
smooth, hairless thigh in front of his three brothers and four other
youngsters. Concentrate as hard as he could, the best he was able to do
was to swell another inch, making his cock as long as many men's were
erect, but it was still soft.
"Think he needs some help, guys," Brent announced as Bryan's tongue
worked up and down the inside of his thigh just below his balls, which was
causing his stiff cock to jerk madly.
As his brothers quickly moved in to help, Brent looked over at the
boys watching, and especially his and his twin brother's friend Billy
Hollis. Billy was one of the few boys the twins had really chummed with,
and he was in many ways a lot like them in interests and personality. A
year ago he'd dyed his dark brown hair a pale, almost white blond. Then
for his fourteenth birthday in October he got his ears and nipple pierced.
Actually, his parents knew only about the ears. Then last month he'd dyed
his hair a brilliant orange, which was the colour it presently was. Billy
was a real clown at school, and a lot of fun, and at the moment, from the
bulge in his tight, black Calvin Klein jeans, very horny.
As Bryan began to lick Brent's low hung, still hairless balls, again
under the fourteen-year- old's direction, Benny slipped his index finger up
the older teenager's hairy, sweaty ass crack and began to caress his pucker
with firm, tight circles. Brett ran his hands up along the boy's sensitive
sides, causing him to shudder, and gently tugged on his pit hairs and then
tickled his sweaty right armpit with his left hand while caressing his
hairy chest with his right. As he tweaked and rubbed the
eighteen-year-old's nipple, it quickly became hard, and as Brett leaned
forward and licked at his other nipple, his long blond hair gently swept
across the teen's hairy chest. Bobby, meanwhile, had gone directly to the
boy's crotch, and inhaling the musky fragrance of his sweaty, odoriferous
balls, the ten-year-old began to gently caress them with just the slightest
touch of his fingertips. The four Brewsters were fully erect, and it did
not take them long to get Bryan in the same condition.
"Okay, now lick my dick until you cum," instructed Brent.
By this time the fourteen-year-old's dickhead was wet with pre-cum,
and as Bryan ran his tongue up from his wet, well-cleaned balls and along
the underside of his dick, another droplet of that teen honey oozed out of
his joystick. Bryan was beginning to feel horny himself despite having
never had any serious thoughts about sex with guys and despite having had
only the common exploratory experience of engaging in mutual masturbation
with his closest friend. He was, of course, apprehensive as his tongue
followed the blue vein on the underside of the five- and-a-quarter inch
erection and then continued up the inverted funnel groove on the underside
of the boy's knob. To his surprise, and relief, he found the generous
sluice of teen pre-cum sweet and pleasantly smooth. Another clear drop of
honey oozed out of Brent's twitching cock just as Bryan's tongue reached
the tip.
As he ran his tongue over the spongy knob, which was fully exposed
with Brent's foreskin pulled back, he felt a hot hand grasp his bone just
below the knob and begin to slowly draw his tight foreskin back. Whichever
of the Brewster boys it was, the youngster was skilled, and he drew the
thick skin back tantalizingly slowly. Ever so gradually Bryan felt the
warm late afternoon air surround his knob as it was slowly exposed.
Continuing until the skin was fully pulled back, the boy then reversed and
began to push it back over the knob. Completing the cycle, the hot hand
slipped along his thigh and a smaller but just as hot hand took its place.
As the first hand gently caressed his thigh with a feather-like touch, the
second slowly drew his skin back, and then pushed it back up. It too
released its hold and began to gently rub his slowly swelling nuts as a
third and still smaller hand grasped his now throbbing cock.
Mark had been right about him being hung like a horse, and his
eight-and-a-half inch cock was so thick Bobby's fingertips could barely
touch the tip of his thumb as he wrapped his hot, little hand about the
eighteen-year-old's knob. As he drew the skin slowly up, he was rewarded
with the first droplet of pre-cum, which he quickly flicked up with his
tongue. Continuing to milk the boy as the boy licked the knob of his older
brother, Bobby watched as Benny licked up the second droplet of pre-cum,
and Brett licked up the third. The fourth clear droplet the ten-year- old
slowly milked out of the hot, throbbing bone he flicked up on the tip of
his index finger and presented the treat to Brent.
The fourteen-year-old was ready to pop a nut and the taste of the
eighteen-year-old's musky pre-cum caused him to quiver and his stiff cock
to jerk wildly. Bryan noticed of course and knew that the boy was close to
cumming. So was Bryan, and giving in to the throbbing pleasure between his
legs, he forgot about the humiliation of having had to lick the boy's foot
and the perversity of licking the fourteen-year-old's balls and leaking
cock in front of his brothers and friends. The horny, sweating
eighteen-year-old hungrily licked at the boy's peehole, anxious to make the
boy cum as he felt the tension building between his own legs.
Finally he grunted and thrust his hips forward and his balls drew up
under his humongous cock as it throbbed and the first rope of cum shot out
and across the grass.
Rope after rope shot out of his humongous burning dick, and as he
shuddered and swayed with the power of his orgasm, he closed his eyes in
ecstasy. Brent also shuddered as he felt his cum finally begin to rise up
the core of his rock-hard cock. With a gasp of pure delight, he held his
breath as he drew back and the first rope of teen cum spurted out of his
burning peehole and struck Bryan in the forehead. As the thick rope of cum
began to ooze down to collect in a globule above his right eyebrow, the
second rope struck his nose near the inner corner of his left eye and
quickly oozed down the curve of his nose and over his upper lip and into
his mouth. The third eruption from the wildly waving boycock struck his
cheek and oozed down to hang in a pendant from his jaw.
Needless to say the two were not the only ones who had exploded.
Those who could cum had been unable to hold back and had also erupted, and
those who could not yet produce cum, had collapsed, quivering and thrashing
on the ground with their dry orgasms.
In the bushes, out of everyone's sight, Mark Fording squeezed his stiff,
dripping cock, his eyes darting from Brent to Bryan to his kid brother
Justin, who had pulled out his little dick and beaten if off openly and
with pure joy. He'd thought nothing would be able to beat his New Year's
eve experience, but today proved him wrong.
"I don't know about you guys, but I've worked up a hell of an
appetite," announced Brent sometime later after Bryan had departed and they
had all tucked their dicks back away.
"Oh yeah," agreed Brett, always just as starved as his brother.
"You bet," agreed Benny. "This guillotine stuff is hard work."
"Yeah, way HARD," Bobby said with a giggle as he purposefully groped
himself, and the eight boys collapsed with laughter.
"Then let's find some French food," said Brent.
"And then maybe find some more nobles for the guillotine?" asked
Billy, Justin, Aaron, and Charles together. They all glanced at each other
and broke out in laugher again.
"For sure," agreed Brett. "We got to do something to pass the time
while the adults are dancing and drinking this evening."
"Right," his three brothers all agreed.
"Let's have a cheer for liberty!" called out Brett as they emerged
from the woods, and the boys cheered at the top of their lungs.
"And equality!" called out Brent as they trooped across the park and
the boys cheered a second time.
"And fraternity!" called out Benny, and they cheered a third time.
"For fucking sure," observed Bobby as the four brothers linked arms
about each other and with their followers crowded around them, marched
toward the evening buffet table.