Date: Thu, 4 Nov 2010 18:28:43 -0600
From: Luc Milne <lucmilne@telus.net>
Subject: WEEKENDS WITH KYLE

Copyright 2010 by Luc Milne.  <lucmilne@telus.net> All rights reserved.
One copy may be downloaded for personal use.

WEEKENDS WITH KYLE

On weekends I like to keep my son Kyle at home and suck on him for hours at
a time.  We start late Friday afternoon when he gets home from school.  I
take off early on Fridays from my office (I'm VP Research for a big oil
company) and drive the 20 minutes to our house in a gated community called
Shadow Pines, my mouth watering the whole distance, as I plan out the fun
I'm going to have with my sixteen year old son the next two days.

When he pulls up in the driveway in his car, I go to the entrance hall
inside the front door and stand to one side of it so I can grab him as he
comes in.  It'll be just Kyle and me in the big house: the woman who takes
care of the cleaning is off on weekends, and since my wife sued for divorce
two years ago and went to live on Barbados in our condo there, I've had
unrestricted access to the delights of Kyle's body.

As he walks through the door I grab him from behind, take hold of the
waistbands of his soccer shorts and jockstrap and pull them down, giving
his cock and balls a quick grope, then turn him around to face me, and,
sinking to my knees, do a fast, rough mouth-pull on his meat, which is
still sweaty and hot from soccer practice. I insist that he wait until he
gets home on Fridays to shower after his practice, because I like the
slightly funky smell and taste of sweaty teen crotch, just to get my taste
buds and my saliva working.  That first pull of the weekend is quick and
hard: the kid shoots bullets of cum down my throat and thrusts
uncontrollably into my face, forcing my head back against the door.  We
call this, "taking off the top cream" and I think it's one of his favourite
moments of our "Suck Weekends", because it gives him a chance to fuck his
dad's mouth violently and punish him in advance for the long lascivious
ordeal that is to come.

Kyle long ago stopped resisting my greedy attentions, once he realized it
was a very easy and convenient way to work off all that teenage
testosterone that was keeping his cock hard 24 hours a day.  Hell, what
horny teenager wouldn't like to have his private live-in cocksucker?
Still, there is a vestige of resentment left in him - a fleeting anger that
his dad uses him like a sextoy and drains him so often that he doesn't care
as much about having sex with the girls anymore.  Of course the weekend
suck dates with me cut down on his social life too, so that's another
reason for wanting a little "payback" when he's got his dick down his dad's
gullet.  But he likes the big allowance and the sports car, and the clothes
and all the other perks that a teenaged boy gets from putting out for his
dad.  And I've gotten so I look forward to those blowjobs when he rapes my
throat and grinds up so hard against my face that my nose gets squashed and
my skin red from the rubbing of his crotch against my forehead and cheeks.

We call that first suck "taking off the top cream" and once he's fed me the
milk that's been building up in his nuts all day, he goes upstairs and
takes a shower while I put a porno DVD in the player that projects to every
screen on every TV in the house -- usually a bi-porno flick, with
big-titted girl in it, just to reassure him that he's not a complete "fag"
sexslave to his dad.  I also roll a joint for him to smoke while I lick his
freshly showered body all over.  He comes downstairs with a towel around
his waist and sprawls in the big leather chair facing the TV.  While he
smokes, I lick his chest, his armpits, his legs and his feet, while he
talks about the action on the screen saying all the usual teenage boy
things, like "Oh, yeah, bitch, bounce on that big dick...look at those big
titties flop around...oh God what a slut..." as he idly jacks his meat back
to its full hard eight inch glory.  But, of course, when he's high on the
pot, his cock loses some of its steely teenage hardness and gets fat and
chewable as it flops back against his stomach. As he mellows out and starts
to relax, he pulls off the towel and slouches down flatter in the chair so
I can get my face down on his meat and tongue-tickle his cumlips, making
him laugh.

He spreads his smooth, soccer player thighs even wider for me and I can
slobber over his whole crotch, pulling on his fat foreskin with my teeth
and stuffing his plump nuts into my cheeks, rolling them around with my
tongue until his laughter turns to squeals.  He slaps feebly at my face,
which just makes me hold on to his nut sack with my teeth even harder. I
like it when he's half-stoned because then I can pretty much use his body
any way I want.

After a while, as his high begins to wear off, the lavish attention to his
meat begins to make him harden up again and soon I pull a second load - not
as rich as the first top cream, but the next layer of milk from his
reservoir of teencum which I will be tapping for the next two days and
nights.  This is what we call the "Snowball Suck": I hold the load in my
mouth and drool it back onto his cock to lick off again - sometimes a
couple of times.  Then I quickly wrap my fist hard around his cockshaft and
do a fast rough jerk of his loose meat with my lips glued to his cock glans
until he shoots his third load of the afternoon.  Again I keep it in my
mouth and move to his face, letting it dribble all over his handsome
features, coating them with the sweet white cream.  I eat the ambrosia off
his face, hungrily tongueing his eyelids, pulling his nose with my lips,
and rasping his cheeks and forehead with hungry licking and gentle biting.
By the time I'm finished eating the stuff off him, his face is as red and
shiny as a fresh apple.

When he's come all the way down from the weed I take him to the kitchen and
give him a ham sandwich and a glass of pineapple juice, to keep his
strength up and his cum sweet.  After he's eaten, I lay him out on the
dining room table and have the first of my own "meals" of the weekend.
Usually I have bottles of stuff to dribble or coat his cock with, like
chocolate syrup or honey, to make the cock and balls tastier.  The honey is
especially good because it sticks to the shaft and the glans and coats the
loose ball sack so thoroughly that it takes a lot of strong tonguing and
avid lip pulling to suck off: by that stage of the session the kid needs a
heavy mauling with my mouth to get him off for the fourth time in three
hours.

Once he's given up that fourth load, my "Hungry Man Boydick Dinner" I call
it, we go upstairs and have a shower together to wash off the remains of
the "meal."  I pay special attention to his asshole in the shower, getting
it nice and clean so that I can rim it while he lies on the bed after the
shower taking a little rest.  I also give him the first of the little blue
pills - there will be more over the weekend - to revive his libido and make
him randy again.  After four consecutive milkings, I've learned that he
tends to get a little surly and restive, as if he'd had enough, so it's
important to make him hard and ready for the fun to come.

About nine o'clock on that first evening we go into the den and I put some
gay suck'n'fuck porn into the DVD player for him to watch while I sit on
the floor between his thighs and start the "light torture" session, which
mostly consists, that first night, of hard sucking, including chewing on
his foreskin, nipping at his balls and gnawing along his cock shaft like a
dog with a bone.  He leaks a lot of precum under rough treatment and I keep
returning to his tender cumlips to siphon up the spicy juice with the
hardened tip of my tongue.  Occasionally I bring out a small glans
vacu-tube with a hand pump that I use to make his meatus swell up even
plumper and his cumlips rise a little higher from his cumslit: about 10
minutes of pumping gets him so hot that he shoots almost immediately after
I slip the glans tube off and get my mouth back down on the fiery red plum
of his pumped head.

After he climaxes, I keep on eating his cockhead, even harder now, as he
whines with the agony of having his super-sensitive and swollen cumlips
orally attacked.  Sometimes I have to bring out the wrist and ankle cuffs
and shackle him to the sofa to make him keep his legs open and his hands
from pushing me away.  If he yells too much, I gag him.  And so the fun
continues.

I give him another pill in a couple of hours, then go to bed with his cock
stretching down my throat all night long (I tend to grind my teeth in my
sleep which makes it fun for him).

On Saturday morning I like to watch him try to get up off the bed, his
suck-swollen meat lolling about and his chewed balls rolling loosely in
their sack.  I give him something to make him more pliable and obedient and
another blue pill to keep him hard, because it's time to move on to the
cock and ball whipping that will drain the deepest reservoirs of cum out of
him. On Saturdays I take a lot of pictures of him in various poses between
sucks for our "family albums."

I let him swim a few lazy laps in the pool to start the day, then feed him
a good breakfast of sausage and scrambled eggs while I crawl under the
table and eat my own breakfast of spicy teen sausage and whipped boyeggs.
While I'm down there I put a strap around the base of his cock and balls
and attach a cock leash to it so I can lead him down to the playroom in the
basement for the big events of the afternoon- the "vertical pole sucks".
I've never gotten around to having the basement room finished off, but
there is a structural support pole in the middle of the big room which is a
great bondage suck station.  To start I make Kyle get up on a wooden box so
his meat is at my face level once I've roped him to the timber behind: I
like the idea that I can just stand there with his heavy shaft hanging down
on my upturned face so I can nurse at his meatus like a hungry calf on its
mother's teat.  To stimulate him I pinch a pair of tit clamps to his
nipples with a chain attached to them long enough to hang down and loop
under his nuts so that when I suck on him the downward tug of my lips on
cockhead makes his balls shift and the chain tug at his nips at the same
time. This first of our "pain suck" games really gets him going and he
usually feeds me within minutes and stays hard afterwards, because he knows
there's heavier punishment coming up.

Next I get him down off the box so he's standing on the floor and I tie him
to the pole with his hands cuffed behind his back. A leather collar around
his neck attached to a rope around the pole holds his head up high and a
separator bar on his ankles keeps his legs apart.  A leather strap around
his waist prevents him from moving around too much under the whip.
Sometimes I put a blindfold on him, just to keep him guessing what's going
to happen next, and a ball gag in his mouth to cut down on the noise.

I grab his cock and yank it hard a couple of times to get his undivided
attention.

"This is mine, isn't it boy?  Mine to do whatever I want with?  Right,
son?"

He grunts something behind his gag which might be "Yes, Dad."

I rub my thumb over his cumlips, which by this stage of the weekend are
distended and protrude from the tip of the glans.  "You're going to feed
your daddy from this cock, aren't you Kyle?"

Another grunt from the kid, this one a little more urgent: getting his
cumlips massaged with my rough thumb panics him.

"You're going to give your daddy a nice big mouthful of boyjuice from this
cumhole, aren't you Kyle?"  Another grunt from behind the ball gag: I rub
the cocklips harder.  "And then you're going to give me another mouthful
aren't you boy?" No grunt now, just a kind of whine.  I lightly scrape my
thumbnail across the tender cumslit.  "Aren't you, boy?  Speak!"  The
grunts go on longer this time.  Maybe he's begging for mercy.  This makes
me mad and I drop the meat, giving it a good slap, before I go to the wall
and take down the penis flogger with the 12 inch suede thongs to use on the
kid.

I move back to Kyle who's quivering now, and I give his cock a good slap
with the thongs of the flogger, hard enough to make it sway with the force.
The strap around his waist, holding him to the pole, allows him to move
around a bit to try avoid this kind of flogging sweep.  That's okay with
me, because it goads me to whip other parts of his body as he writhes and
flinches.  Soon his pecs are a cherry red and his abs are striped with pink
welts.  I use a back and forth stroke alternating with "propellor" circular
swipes on the tits and around the cumplips.  His groans and muffled yelps
fill the room with the sound of a boy and his dad having fun.

Finally his cock engorges until it stands straight and steel-hard from his
crotch, a sign it's about to give up its milky liquor. I get on my knees
and attack the drooling cockhead with the same passion I have put into my
whipping.  My reward is a gush of frothy teencum so massive I can barely
swallow it all.  I jam my head down on the shooting cock, pushing it past
my gag ring so that I can feel the pulsing shaft massaging my throat as it
spews its nectar deep in my gullet. I slash at Kyle's torso and hips with
the flogger as I devour his boy flesh, driving him to another fountain of
sperm.

When the eruption stops, I continue working the meat with lips and teeth,
squeezing out every last drop of juice.  Then, as I have promised him, I
stand up and go to work again, up and down his body with the flogger,
mixing the swipes of the thongs with open-palmed slaps, pausing only to
lean down briefly for rough snacks on tits and balls, until his precum
honey once again begins to ribbon out of the gaping cumslit and it is time
to feast at that throbbing tube of teen milk once more.

I may pull a third load from the cock - it is hard to count, because by the
end he is having an almost continuous ejaculation of thin semen from a
spongy cock that wallows in my mouth as I maul it with my lips and tongue
and teeth in the final throes of my endless hunger.

At the end of these whip'n'suck sessions I always take the ball gag out of
his mouth and caress him as I take him down from the pole, telling him what
a good son he has been and how, as a reward, I'm going to play with him
some more.  He will always mutter something that might be "Thank you, Sir"
or "Please, no Sir" - it doesn't really matter which.

After the whip'n'fuck fun I let Kyle sleep for a couple of hours to restore
his energy and build up some more cum in his nuts.  When I go to his room
to wake him I always tell him I'm in the mood for "tenderized teen steak"
for my dinner, and he groans a little because he knows what that means.  I
give him another pill to keep him calm without letting his viagra-hard cock
get too soft: then I take him down to the kitchen and make him lay his meat
on on the butcher-block table with a soft terry cloth dish towel wrapped
around shaft, leaving the cockhead uncoverered, to keep from bruising the
boy sausage.

I lightly pound the meat shaft with a wooden mallet, alternating with quick
snaps of a penis quirt on the meatus, until his dick is heavily tumescent
and throbbing: every five minutes or so I stop, unwrap the shaft, and apply
a heavy-duty vibrator to its length and to his precum sticky glans to numb
him a little bit: then I get back to the tenderizing.

Interestingly enough, Kyle doesn't try to resist the meat pounding.  I cuff
his hands behind his back, just to encourage him to keep his crotch thrust
forward, with the tubesteak in place on the table, but he doesn't flinch
under the tenderizing.  Instead his head drops forward, his mouth gapes
open and drool strings down onto the towel wrapped around his
cockshaft. The tenderizing goes on for at least half an hour, or longer,
especially if I get high on the excitement and lose track of time.

When he's "done", I grab him by his balls and lead him to the dining room
table, stretch him out across it and sit down to a streaming hot, pulsating
piece of tenderized teenboy sirloin.  Good eating!  And the gravy that
comes at the end is especially savoury - whipped boycock always gives
richer cum.  This feast on pounded boy steak usually makes me so hot in the
end that I shoot my own cum on the puffy dick and fat cum-greasy balls and
lick it off as dessert.  The whole time Kyle's head lolls back against the
table, his eyes half-closed, the eyelids flickering, his mouth still agape,
his tongue moving wetly over his lips, continuous moaning sighs coming from
deep in his throat.  In many ways it is the turning point of the weekend.

The rest of Saturday evening is spent leading Kyle around by his cock leash
from room to room for the various suck games I want to play with his meat
and the experiments I want to try out on his body.  I keep hard-edged S/M
scenes like the Bound Gods series running on the TV screens in every room
while I work on him, just to let him see that what I am doing is perfectly
natural - everybody does it!

By that time the kid's inhibitions are completely gone and his true nature
is coming out.  Whenever I pull my lips off his meat to talk to him, he
grabs feebly at my head and tries to push me back down on the wet cock.
"Eat me dad," he'll say.  "Please...keep on... suckin' me..wanna feed you
again...please."  When he cums, I turn him over and spit the cream into his
ass pucker, poking it into the quivering ring with my finger, then sucking
it back out with long, snorting licks and tongue probes, until he screams
with pleasure.  And when I finish "re-eating" his load from his asshole,
he'll roll over groggily and spread his thighs begging me, "Please dad, do
it again...  I'm ready to feed you s'more... then you c'n suck on my ass
again...please Daddy."  And with one hand on the back of my head and the
other on his throbbing cock, he will clumsily pull me down into his crotch
and try to stuff my mouth full of his teen cockmeat, arching up into my
face until my nose and lips are buried in his silky brown pubic hair, which
is by then well-perfumed with precum and boysperm.  Sometimes he gets his
balls into my mouth at the same time because he knows that will make him
cum quicker and let me get back to pleasuring his asshole all the sooner.
He sighs over and over again, "eat me daddy...eat...eatmeee."

On Saturday nights, I let him sleep in his own room, and I stagger to my
room in a woozy suck trance, burping boycum, with my face glazed in teen
juice and precum. I crawl into bed and fall instantly into a heavy cumdrunk
sleep.

Last Sunday morning at 11:15 a.m. my suck-castle paradise came crashing
down like an old Las Vegas hotel dynamited by a demolition crew.  On
Sundays Kyle and I usually sleep in, sometimes until noon: he needs the
extra rest to renew his juices and I need a few hours to let my sore jaw,
my chafed lips and my cum-coated throat get back to their normal sucking
condition.  I was lying naked on my bed, half-asleep, gently stroking my
cock which was rising in anticipation of the day's fun.  By Sunday morning
Kyle is pretty much leaking precum and semen almost constantly, so feeding
on him is no problem.  I just get my mouth on his meatus and suckle:
eventually I have to squeeze the sperm out of him drop by delicious drop by
pressing on his cockhead like a tube of toothpaste, scooping up each honey
drip with my tongue.  Sunday is our "lazy day" and we just go with the
flow.  By evening I usually have to handmilk his balls hard to get the last
dregs of boycum from him.  He's always so tired on Monday morning that I
have to drive him to school and give him a note for his soccer coach asking
that he be excused from practice in the afternoon.

But last Sunday - that was five days ago now - my morning "slow-stroke"
reverie was broken by the sound of the front door bell.  Af first it didn't
quite register on my mind, but the chiming kept on, followed by loud
knocks.  Still in a sleepy haze I walked out onto the landing and down the
stairs to the entrance hall.  Opening the door just enough to peer out, I
was confronted with a familiar face.

"Coach!" I said. "What are you doing here on a Sunday morning?  I'm sorry,
I'm just getting up...I'm not even dressed yet."  I had suddenly realized I
was standing there completely naked with a half-hardon swinging between my
legs.

"I'm looking for Kyle," Coach Rossi said, pushing on the door a little so
that it opened wider.  "Is he here?"  His eyes travelled my naked body to
my crotch then flicked back up to fix me with a blank, black-eyed stare.

"Uh, no Coach," I stammered covering my cock with one hand, holding the
edge of the door with the other to keep the man from pushing it further
open.  "He...he's gone out.  He went over to the school to run some laps on
the track.  You could probably find him there."

"I've just come from the school.  I supervise the team's runs every Sunday
morning: Kyle's not there.  In fact he's never there on Sundays and I'd
like to find out why."

Coach Rossi's tone was hard and distinctly unfriendly.  I felt threatened
and knew I had to get rid of him.  "Well, then I don't know where he is.
He just took the car and went out about ten o'clock."  I realized at once
that was a stupid thing to say, because Rossi just turned his head and
looked at Kyle's car sitting in the driveway to the side of the door.  I
raised my voice and tried to get control of the situation: "I think you'd
better go Coach. You have no right to come to my home like this.  I'm going
to have to report this to the school tomorrow."  This threat might have
worked if I hadn't heard from the upstairs landing behind me Kyle's sleepy
voice asking "What are you doing dad?  Who are you talking to?"

The Coach pushed past me into the hall and looked up to where Kyle was
leaning over the railing, also naked, with his cock and balls perfectly
framed between two posts.  "Hey, kid" he called, "you okay? What's
happened?  You look like you'be been beat up.  What are those red marks on
your chest."

Both Kyle and I were dumbstruck: he put his arms up across his pecs to hide
the whip welts, and I just stood there, slack jawed, trying to think of
something to say.  Pete Rossi quickly went on the attack, turning to me and
advancing until we were almost nose to nose.  He was about an inch shorter
than me, but his wiry athletic frame and the tension in his stance promised
more strength than I would be able to muster.

"What you been doing to this kid?  You been beating up on him?  Why you two
walking round the house bareass on a Sunday morning, huh?  Something funny
going on here."  He looked back up at Kyle.  "Get down here kid, I wanna
see what your dad's been doing to you."  When Kyle hesitated, Rossi shouted
"I said NOW, boy!  Get your ass down those steps."  As Kyle started to
move, Rossi turned back to me.  "And you, fucker, go over there and stand
against the wall while I check out your kid."

When Kyle finally was standing in front of him, Pete Rossi let his gaze
roam over the boy's body, then put his hands on Kyle's shoulders and turned
him around to look at his back and his ass. He put his hands on Kyle's butt
cheeks and pulled them apart, revealing ridges of the pucker hole, red and
puffy from repeated felching, "This looks bad, kid" he said.  "Somebody
been abusing you real hard...anybody can see that.  It's him, isn't it?
Your dad been punishing you?"  As he questioned my son he let his hands
move over Kyle's body, tracing the welts and turning the boy's head from
side to side to look at the redness left from my feasting on it.

Kyle tried to explain the unexplainabe: "It's nothing, Sir.  My dad and
I...we just play some games, that's all...like two guys, you know?  Just
fooling around.  It's no big deal."

"What kinda games we talking about, boy?  Cock games?  Ball games?"  He
took Kyle's tumid, ravaged penis in his hand and kneaded it.  Kyle
shuddered at his touch and drew his breath in sharply.  Rossi's hand went
to my son's spongy hang of ball meat, crimson and toothmarked from long
eating.  He tugged on the teeneggs, rolling them in his fist. "These kind
of games, slut?  Cocksucking, ballbreaking games?  You been letting your
queer dad eat on you?  Whip your nuts?  Chew on your big red boy titties?"

Before Kyle could answer, Rossi turned and walked toward me, pulling the
lad by the nuts to make him follow.  When my son was standing in front of
me, Coach Rossi moved around behind him and pressed his body up against
him, reaching round with his hands, squeezing Kyle's nuts with one fist and
holding up his cock on the palm of his other hand.  "You been playing games
with these toys, pervert?  You gonna report me to the school for taking an
interest in this kid, when you been using him as a toyboy all the time?"
He bounced Kyle's meat up and down on his palm and moved the hand that had
been squeezing the boy's balls up to one of his nipples, pinching it
between a thumb and finger, bringing a squeak from the lad.

To my horror I felt my own cock stir and begin that inexorable rise that
meant it was getting excited.  I said "Listen Coach, just forget about me
threatening to call the school.  This is just a private thing, just between
me and my son..just some wrestling and rough house... No harm done...he
enjoys our weekends together." Then seeing how Rossi was handling Kyle, I
took a chance.  "You can tell he likes it...look at how he's responding to
you."  Kyle's cock, like mine, was indeed swelling as his soccer coach
groped him. I continued desperately, "Can't we work something out?  I'll do
anything you say.  Let's just make this whole thing go away."

Rossi was silent for a minute, but he continued to fondle the boy.

Finally he said "I tell you what, perv.  You be honest with me: you tell me
everything you been doing to this kid, and I mean everything, and I'll
decide what I'm gonna do about it.  Maybe I'll look the other way, maybe
not.  But first I've got to hear the whole truth.  Understand?"

"Yes, Sir.  I understand.  I'll tell you everything.  I promise."

And so the "confession" began.

"You been sucking this boy's cock?  Eatin' his cum.?"

"Yes Sir, yes I have."

"How often you been swinging on this teen meat?"

"Just on weekends, Sir, Friday to Monday, not during the school week."

"So that's why this boy comes to school on Monday mornings looking like a
zombie, stumbling round all day, not worth shit at soccer practice?  Jeez,
how many times you drain this boydick on a weekend?"

He saw me staring down at the head of Kyle's cock which was swelling larger
from the pressure of the coach's fist around the shaft.  A bead of shiny
precum was forming on the cumlips. He looked down too, and a little smirk
played around his lips as he continued his grilling.  "How many times,
cocksucker?  How much of this kid's spunk you drinking every weekend?

"I...I'm not sure, Sir. Maybe twelve...fifteen times, maybe more.  It's
hard to say because toward the end it's pretty steady you know, just one
long session.  And I don't really measure the semen.  It might be...I don't
know...at least a cup...eight ounces...probably more."

"Is that right, kid?  You been feeding your daddy a cup a cum every
weekend?"  Rossi reached down with his hand and scooped the globule of
precum off Kyle's cumslit, bringing the glistening finger up to boy's face
where he rubbed it like salve over his lips.  "And what about this stuff,
boy?  This isn't cum is it?  You give your daddy all your spicy boy honey
too?"

"I just give him what he wants, Coach.  I don't know exactly how much.  He
just licks me and then sucks me and eats whatever comes out.  I try to be a
good son and let him take everything I've got.  It's no big deal, Coach.
I'm sorry I'm so whacked out on Mondays.  I'll try to work harder for you."
Kyle licked the precum off his lips and then let the coach push his finger
into his mouth, sucking on it until Rossi pushed a second finger in, and
probed deeper, making Kyle choke.

Pete Rossi returned to the questioning: "You been whipping this boy, perv?
Been punishing him when he don't give you enough of his teen milk?"

"Well, I sometimes take a small flogger to him.  You know, just to add some
spice to things and help him when his nuts start to dry up.  I don't ever
break the skin and by tomorrow morning the marks will be gone, I swear."  I
didn't like being called a "perv" but I wasn't finding the confession as
grueling as I thought it would be.  My cock continued to sway at half-mast
from my groin,

"How many times you fuck this boy's ass every weekend?  Your dick looks
like it wants to rape some teencunt right now...how many loads of daddy
sperm did you shoot up his hole last night?"

I was shocked.  "Never" I said.  "I never fuck him, that's not my thing.  I
may lick his hole a little, but I'm not a rapist, Coach. Besides, I don't
think he'd like it."

"You never fucked this boy? You don't think he'd LIKE IT!!  What's the
matter with you?  Maybe you like him to fuck you with this fat cock. Is
that it?  Are you a pussy?  You let this teenstud ride your ass?"

"No, no...I wouldn't do that...I don't even like fucking."  I'm afraid I
blushed when I admitted that.

"Just a cocksucker, huh?  Just a cum-breath boydick licker.  Yes?"

"Yes, Coach, just a sucker, that's all."

"So this boy never gets to wrap his pretty lips around that cock of yours?
Never gets to eat some daddy cum to make up for the gallons of the stuff
you've sucked out of his nuts?"

I just shook my head, dumbly, at this question.  I suppose it did seem
strange to an outsider that I didn't make Kyle suck on me: but an outsider
didn't understand that I still looked on Kyle as a straight teen stud who
just let his old man swing on his meat for fun.  I couldn't imagine my boy
as a cocksucker, anymore than I could imagine him taking a man's cock up
his ass.  Getting blown was natural for teenage boys; it didn't matter
whether it was a girlfriend's mouth, a fag schoolmate's mouth, or a dad's
mouth.  To my mind, a weekend of endless blowjobs from his father just made
Kyle all that more sexy and masculine.  And I thought he felt the same way.
I knew that I sometimes went a little too far - maybe the whipping wasn't a
good idea - but boys have to be toughened up and learn how to take a little
punishment.  In the long run it makes them stronger and more dominating.

"Well, you are one stupid cocksucker" Coach Rossi finally said.  "You got
this piece of prime boymeat at your disposal twenty-four hours a day, and
all you can think of to do with it is chew on its dick and drink its
juices.  What a fucking waste.  I can see I'm gonna have to take this boy
in hand and teach him what a well-built, good-looking, big-dicked kid is
made for.  You've done the spade work, getting him used to being handled
and sucked by a man, but now he's got to be taken all the way.  And I'm
just the fucker to do it."  He gave Kyle's cock one last squeeze, then
pushed him over toward me and told us to stand side by side against the
wall.  He pulled out his cell phone and punched in a number.  When someone
answered, he gave my street address and said, "Get over here quick.  I've
got us some fresh meat."

Then he made me show him the den, where he quickly found the wrist and
ankle shackles attached to the leather sofa.  After ordering Kyle to stand
by the billiard table with his legs spread and his hands behind his back,
he pushed me down on the sofa and tethered me hand and foot to it.  He
slapped my face, grinned, and said "Watch and learn cocksucker."

He went over to Kyle and told him to turn around and bend over the edge of
table with his ass out.  Kyle looked at me and said "Dad?"

I hung my head and answered, "You'd better do what he says, Kyle.  It'll be
okay.  He won't hurt you."  I looked up to meet Rossi's cold eyes.  "You
won't hurt him will you Coach?  You're just playing around aren't you?"

"No, I won't hurt your precious milkboy, cocksucker.  Not much anyway - no
more than you have with your cock whips and your ball chewing.  Me and my
friend who's coming are just going to take him to the next level, introduce
him to the real fun of being a hot piece of teen fuckmeat."  He turned back
to Kyle, still down bent over the billards table, and began fingering his
ass crack, gradually pushing his long middle finger up into the pucker
hole.  Kyle groaned and I winced as Pete Rossi finger-fucked the virgin
hole, pausing from time to time with his finger deep inside, apparently to
massage Kyle's prostate button, making the boy buck against the invasion
and toss his head back like a pony fighting a new snaffle bit.  Tiring of
that game.  Rossi peeled off his T-shirt and pulled off his pants and his
briefs, revealing a sinewy brown body with a long cocksnake uncurling from
his hairy crotch.  It was uncut, but the moist head was beginning to emerge
from the foreskin, like a predator emerging from its hole hunting for prey.

"Climb up on the table, slut.  It's time to take your cherry."

Kyle resisted, pleading "Please Coach, don't do this.  I'm not like that.
You can suck me if you want...you can eat me all day and all night
too...I've got plenty of cum left for you...and for dad too...please".
Rossi just laughed and manhandled him onto the green surface.  He position
him on his hands and knees, then got up on the table himself and crawled up
behind so that his limber length of dick nudged against Kyle's ass crack.
He slapped his cockwhip against my son's butt cheeks and rubbed the moist
head into the crevice, teasing the hole with little prods and caresses.
"You watching this?" he called to me. "See how the kid shivers when I rub
his rosebud with my wet poker?  This boy is ripe and ready."

Then without any warning, he positioned his cockhead right at the pucker
and in one vicious thrust forward skewered my son on the full nine inches
of fuckpole.  Kyle cried out and dropped his head down on the felt of the
table, knocking his forehead against it to distract himself from the
violent raping of his boyhole for the first time.  I couldn't take my eyes
off the horrible scene: my cock wilted in sympathy with my boy, feeling his
pain and sharing his humiliation.  Gradually Rossi's brutal thrusting
became a more measured grinding, in and out, his crotch corkscrewing in on
the foreward movement, reaming out the ass channel, then sliding smoothly
backward as he pulled out, just until the edge of his glans caught on the
boy's sphincter muscle, where he waited just a beat before beginning the
slow corkscrew back in again. And gradually Kyle's cries became moans and
then little whimpers of pleasure as the rape was transformed into a
ravishment and the ravishment into pure sexual pleasure.  I saw that Kyle's
cock was starting to swell again, so that it swayed heavily from his groin
as the coach fucked him.  My own cock began to rise again too.

Rossi looked over at me and smiled.  "See how it's done, perv?  A little
finger-fucking, one fast stab, and then a slow in-and-out. Just five
minutes - and your kid's a whore for life."  His gaze went past me toward
the door.  "Hey, Chris, glad you could make it so soon.  Come on in and
join the fun."

I hadn't heard Rossi's friend come into the house: we'd apparently left the
door open and he'd followed the sound of the coach's voice to the den.  I
saw a guy considerably younger than Rossi, dressed in running shorts and
singlet, that showed off his very cut, athletic physique.  He had crew cut
hair and looked like a young marine.  "Chris, meet the perv dad of this
boyslut.  He's getting an eyeful today.  Perv, this is Chris, my PE
teaching intern from the university.  We've found we have lots of things in
common, haven't we Chris?"

"Yeah, Pete.  Lots of things.  Hello Kyle...how ya doing kid?  Looks like
you're getting to know Coach real good.  Isn't that right, dad?  How you
feeling about Coach Rossi turning out your kid?"  The young man came over
to the sofa and grabbed my cock, twisting it until I cringed and grunted.
"Seems like you're enjoying it.  Nice load of daddy lube you've got there.
Here lick it off my hand...atta boy...good dog."

"Get over here Chris, there's work to be done.  You know what's next: this
pussy's got another hole that needs to be filled with mancock.  Get to it."
Rossi continued his slow assault on Kyle's ass, as the young teaching
intern stripped off and climbed up on the table, at the end opposite the
coach.

He grabbed my boy's hair and pulled his head up to face the next object
that would rape him.  I had been fearful when I saw Rossi's long limber
fuck rod, anxious that he not do Kyle any permanent damage when he took
him.  But I was terrified when I saw the slab of cut chokemeat that Chris
had between his legs.  Even though it wasn't fully engorged yet, it still
hung at least ten inches over his pendulous balls, and, unlike Rossi's
slender snake, it was fat and broad, with a rosy meatus, lobed and bulging.
He hefted the bludgeon and slapped it across Kyle's face.  It thudded like
a leather blackjack on the boy's cheeks and forehead, He bounced the ripe
glans on Kyle's nose and pressed the weeping cumslit up against his
nostrils.  "Smell that, kid.  Take a deep breath.  That's your destiny,
cocksucker.  Whenever you get a whiff of that smell, your mouth will start
to water and your tongue will hang out. Yeah....just like that.  God,
Coach, this kid has a beautiful dicklicker--look at that pink
boytongue...Stick it out further, bitch...further.  We're going to have to
work on the length Coach...put a tongue clamp on him with weights to
stretch it.  I want him to still be able to lick my nuts when my cock is
buried to the root in his throat."

"First things first, Chris...You gotta get that big sausage down him before
you start worrying about your balls being licked."

I watched with a combination of anxiety and lust as Chris rubbed the head
of his cock around Kyle's lips, little by little pushing it in further and
further until it was about a couple of inches inside: it didn't seem
possible that my son's lips could stretch any wider to take more of that
meatbat.  I remembered that sudden violent thrust of Coach Rossi's prick
into Kyle's ass and cringed, knowing that a similar thrust down his throat
with that club cock could be lethal.  But Chris seemed to know what he was
doing and had the experience and the patience to take it slowly: I wondered
how many other boys had met their "destiny" at the cumslit of that monster
that inexorably worked its way half inch by half inch past their straining
lips, through the saliva bath of their stretched cheeks, pressing into the
gag ring at the back of the throat, then relentlessly expanding down the
satiny wall of the gullet until it came to rest, throbbing and hot, as the
victim struggled to breathe.

The two men worked together at their task: whenever Kyle started to gag and
wretch around the meat in his face, Rossi would quick-punch fiercely in and
out of his ass, making him try to yell - which seemed to open up his throat
a little more and allow Chris to push further in.  Sometimes Chris would
pinch Kyle's nostrils between his fingers, cutting off his air completely,
making the boy open his mouth a little wider, gasping for breath: the
heaving in his chest and the arching of his back seemed to send pleasant
vibrations to Rossi's cock and triggered a short frenzy of rutting.  At
times the coach would pull his cock completely out of Kyle's asshole, with
a little wet "pop" as the glans came through the sphincter: then Rossi
would immediately plunge back through, and dive deep into the channel,
making Kyle grunt and open his throat just a millimeter wider: a series of
"pops" and plunges resulted in a series of grunts and smothered yells that
allowed Chris to push deeper and deeper toward his goal.

At last, after a grueling half hour of work, with only a minimum of "rests"
to let Kyle try to catch his breath, the massive cock was balls deep in
Kyle's throat and Rossi, to celebrate the achievement, finished his fuck in
a pounding finale of shudders and butt clenching thrusts, finally
collapsing onto my son's quivering body, as it struggled to maintain
consciousness.  Before could Kyle pass out, Chris pulled back and, as my
son gasped and heaved, taking in huge mouthfuls of air, his face fucker
quickly wrapped both hands around his shaft and jerked off a niagara of
frothy cum into his gaping lips, so that the boy's gasping became a kind of
wet gargle mixing air and sperm as he swallowed his first load of
mancum. Chris also collapsed forward onto Kyle's, and the two men lay
there, panting, spent and satiated on my son's ravaged body.

I can't possibly describe all the things that happened during the rest of
the afternoon and into the night.  I do remember being forced to suck my
son's cock repeatedly because his two fuckers liked the fluttering
contractions his assring made on their cocks whenever he came in my mouth.
And I remember being made to go down on hands and knees as Kyle was led up
to me by a cock leash, made to kneel behind me and fuck my ass until he
filled me with boysperm, which he then was ordered to lick out of my hole
and feed me in long probing kisses.  And I will never be able to forget the
first time my son took the twelve inch penis whip to my cock and balls and
worked me over so excitedly that he shot his load into Pete Rossi's mouth
as the coach sucked him while he flogged me.  And the half hour my son and
I spent between Chris's thighs licking his meat and balls until he shot all
over our faces, then laughed as he made us lick the cream off each other.
Being ridden around the games room with Chris on my back, whipping my ass
with a crop.  And Kyle, leaning back in Coach Rossi's arms, beckoning me to
crawl across the room and lick his feet while Rossi gave him hickeys on his
neck and twisted his head to the side so he could tongue fuck his lips.
The humiliation went on and on and Kyle seemed to move farther and farther
away from me, treating me like some slave who was only good for cleaning
his cock with my mouth after he'd fucked the asses of his two older
buddies.

It's been five days since that terrible Sunday.  Kyle still gets up in the
morning and goes to school; still comes home in the evening and does his
homework, watches TV, swims in the pool, has dinner with me and chats about
the day's events.  Everything seems normal and he says nothing about what
happened last weekend.  Coach Rossi called me yesterday and said he was
glad we'd had a chance to get together and that he hoped we'd do it again
soon.  He said that Chris was taking a real interest in my son and giving
him a lot of special coaching.  He asked if I'd mind if he introduced Kyle
to the school's basketball coach - a man who takes a strong interest in
promising young athletes, he said, who has a small group of lads he meets
in his office at lunchtime every day for counselling. And finally he
announced that he and a few of his friends from something called The
Saturday Club would like to take Kyle out to a big place in the footfills
on some weekend, for nature walks and outdoor pursuits.  He said he was
sure that I would agree it was important for Kyle to make new contacts and
take advantage of the many opportunities that rich and influential older
men could give him. When I hung up, I shaking with undefinable emotions.

This morning after he left for school, I found a note from Kyle on the
kitchen table.  It reads:

"Dad, don't forget this is Friday.  I'll be home right after soccer
practice.  Got a lot of 'top cream' for you.  Need your mouth on my cock
real bad.  Love ya, cocksucker.  Your son, Kyle."

So my immediate future is looking pretty rosy.  But the longterm forecast
is unclear. There may be stormy days to come.

[End]