Date: Tue, 3 May 2016 17:49:48 -0400
From: Kevin Peake <daddy.kevin.p@gmail.com>
Subject: Dads N Lads, Ep. 2 (Revised)

Dads 'N' Lads

Episode II - Footlong Daddy Cock



by Daddy.K

© 2013



For nearly twenty years, the Nifty Archive has enabled hordes of furiously
masturbating perverts to drown Kleenex in a tsunami of jism. Keep up the
tradition. Blow a load, wipe up, then donate to Nifty Archive.  URL:
http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html

Note: I told some of those who emailed me that Episode II would feature
Jesse's younger brother Kevin's incestuous deflowering.  I didn't lie; I
was mistaken.  Sweet young Kevin Peake will get his brains fucked out in
Episode III.

Note 2 - This is a revised version of the original. Same damn story, just
with fewer typos and more description.



Story Code: Mbbbb.../mast/anal/raunch/incest



At 1:30 pm, on a warm sultry afternoon, the bell rings in the hallway
outside the gym in Calhoun Middle School, in Ellicott Falls, North
Carolina.

Twenty-one boys file into the classroom. It's located just off the gym,
where Coach Sandy Dusker teaches Physical Education. Here in Chatauqua
County, it seems like everyone wants healthy, strong young boys.  In this
classroom Coach Dusker teaches health. Posters display cutaway views of
male and female anatomy. Because of the clever design of the cutaways,
nothing of interest is visible. Fucking North Carolina. Oh well. Some
enterprising lad has, in the past, sketched in cock, balls, and pubic hairs
on the male poster. Thank God for seventh graders.

These boys? Supple youths all, dressed for gym in the school's colors.
Blue shorts -- real shorts, too, cut off high on those creamy smooth
thighs, and unaccountably snug fore and aft. A golden tank top blazoned
with the school's name and mascot.  Sneakers. White socks.  The insouciant
wear baseball caps. The ones who take no bullshit have reversed their caps.

Let's admire these adolescent lads, shall we?

Look at the streaming sunlight, glittering on the soft hair adorning the
boys' forearms.

Focus on those lips. Moist. Pink. Supple. Eager to smile, to laugh, maybe
even eager to pucker up and blow.  Certified peachfuzz free.

Those thighs? Well, if you were there, all you could think about would be
the feeling. You'd wonder how that smooth skin would feel under the palm of
your hands. Would they shiver when your fingertips ran up the insides,
seeking the hem of those shorts?

Those calves? Well, if you found one of these boys lounging on his belly
beside a pool, you'd sit down beside him and casually stroke his calf as if
it were a new born puppy, sleek and firm. Then, of course, you'd move on to
his thigh. Naturally you're curious about that boy's bulge, 'cause that's
the endpoint of your forbidden journey up their legs.  Maybe the lad's
bulge might be prominent, and you'd know that, yeah, puberty's working its
magic. That his balls have swollen, that his cock is lengthening, that
maybe just maybe, he's sprouted hair down there. But maybe you'd like to
find him satiny smooth. His cock a deflated Vienna sausage. His sack
holding nothing but two tiny marbles. One hundred percent boy.

But to look at a youth's bulge is just a waypoint on your way to his
butt. And, yeah, these guys got nice butts. Those shorts and snug tank tops
show it off, emphasizing the graceful curve between shoulder blades and
buttocks. The shorts' seams peel open these buttcheeks the way I know I'd
like to do myself. I'm sure that, like me, you must imagine peering at one
of these boy's ring, fascinated because that pale pink circle is no broader
than your pinky. Yet it can stretch. And stretch. We all know that hearing
the boy gasping in surprise after you've mounted him will send you over the
edge. That you will jam your boyfucker in deep just to see your pubic hairs
scrunched between his squirming asscheeks --

Whoa there. Let's calm down.

Let's pretend we're kneeling between the boy's legs. Let's look up the
boy's shorts. Because we're curious to know what kind of underwear they
have. Well, in this class, because of Coach Dusker's strict rules, you'll
see fresh white jockpouch.  Gently cupping those burgeoning genitals yet
leaving those tender young buttcheeks free to be plucked.

Yeah. Seventh grade boys. Twelve year olds.  Thirteen year olds.  The hot
ones.  The kind we all like.

 The boys have group themselves by bonds of friendship.

One boy is Jesse Peake.  You met him in our last episode.  Lithe, blond,
fresh and bright as ever.  He smirks, though, because he's been forbidden
to share a secret.

One of his friends is named Ben Harrison.  Ben's eyes are brown and very
curious.  He knows something is up, since Jesse's been making vague hints
about this afternoon's health class all day, but what?  His
mahogany-colored hair is shaggy; before the bell summoned them, these
friends were shooting hoops in the gym. Ben's once slim build is beginning
to fill out quite nicely. He's begun weight training; the results look
promising. His golden tank top shows clear teen muscles swelling against
his skin and the beginning of a nice V shape. He's a low body fat kid, with
a lanky build. He is a serious, intent, quiet lad, though as he follows
Jesse between the rows of desks he can't keep from adjusting his crotch.

Jesse's other companion? Well, this is Chris Woodpine. Straw-colored curly
hair that, if he could, he'd let grow, but he doesn't want to risk an afro.
Crystalline eyes.  His body still leans towards the boyish side, with long
limbs and knobby elbows and knees. But he's begun to grow. Watch him
stumble because his feet are a little larger than they were yesterday and
his brain, lagging behind all these changes, hasn't yet learned how to make
them move with his customary grace.  His small mouth hangs open,
anticipating something.  He's shorter than Jesse.  He is a runner.  When he
practices, jogging through the surrounding neighborhood, heads turn as the
boy streaks past, wearing only running shorts barely adequate to cover the
goods. Then the head-turned men go off somewhere to be alone with their
forbidden fantasies. Chris, though not Nobel material, is no dummy. He too
has picked up on Jesse's weird vibe.

You might -- or might not -- be astounded to learn that today, for once,
Jesse's slender butt is one hundred percent free of jism. That is Jesse's
doing, and it has proved to be one of the hardest things he's ever had to
do in his life. See, all three of these boys are into sex, not just
Jesse. This trio often sway their teachers to slip them a hall pass so they
can make their way to the special bathroom where they indulge their
pubescent lust, grunting and groaning in their clear, high-pitched voices
behind closed stall doors.  But today, following orders, Jesse's fended off
his friends.

The talking, the joking, the taunting suddenly dies away. Whoa,
man. Something's different here in Coach Dusker's classroom.

Well, yeah, there's Coach Dusker himself, standing in his customary place
at the head of the class. His head and neck remind the boys of a bullet,
for Coach Dusker has a very thick neck, and he keeps his salt-and-pepper
hair buzzed short. He's a muscular man, filling out his sweat shirt and
pants. A whistle hangs round his neck. Dusker's more of a linebacker. In
fact, he learned his trade in Penn State's football program. A whistle
hangs round his neck.  His shorts are longer than the boys' but are about
as tight. Coach Dusker's eyes regard his boys with a steely commanding
gaze.

It is the other man, leaning against a wall, arms folded, that you must pay
close attention to. Certainly the boys do.

He is Keith Peake.  He is the father of Jesse Peake. That's right.  Keith
Peake is the father who had no qualms about a young Marine buttfucking one
of his young sons.

At 39 Keith Peake is in the prime of life.  Tanned and rugged. Dark brown
hair, buzzed high and tight.  Blue eyes, squared-off jaw. The man needs to
shave: heavy stubble is thick on his cheeks and jaw.  He wears an old
wife-beater.  Yellow stains reach south from both armpits.  Oh yes, the
tufts of hair escaping from his armpits are wet.  Pungent.  Exuding his
natural scent, which fills the boy's nostrils and lungs. Keith sports a
big, broad chest with a deep valley between the pectorals.  In fact, his
pectorals are so big you might suspect they're the culprit who spackled his
wife-beater with so many strategic rips.  Curling hair peers round the tank
top and claws its way through those rips. Wide shoulders. Prominent biceps
sporting a tattooed Maltese cross.  Keith Peake is a man who likes to lift
the iron, who doesn't shirk physical labor.

Jeans?  Of course their snug, fitting his body well enough to suggest his
crotch, to show off his hard ass, yet not tight enough to cause people,
overcome by fantasy, to start fingering themselves. And that crotch? Trust
me. Keith Peake is a breeder.

His only oddity is his bare feet. But that's not a sign of a fetish, but of
a man who thinks strategically.

He and Jesse share a wink.

In subdued silence, the boys slip into their desks. Jesse ends up between
Ben and Chris. The two boys lean over and murmur questions at Jesse. Jesse
stifles a giggle.

There is the sound of footsteps racing towards the door. Then the squeak of
sneakers on parquet. Framed in the doorway is a slim, golden skinned
kid. His name is Devon Whitewater, and he's Cherokee. His hair is a
lustrous blue-black waterfall flowing in a wavy tangle to his
shoulders. Devon's new to Calhoun. His face flushes when he sees the tall
man leaning against the wall. And he swallows.

"Uh. Sorry, Coach." Devon scoots towards an empty desk. Because his eyes
are fixed on Keith Peake he misses one boy's outstretched leg. Devon goes
sprawling. He stands, throws a kick at the culprit, and hurls himself in
the desk.

Keith Peake's eyes smolder at the hot Cherokee kid. Devon's eyes rise and
fall, shy yet curious, shifting between desk and the man. Slowly his legs
part, though little Devon doesn't understand why. It just seems like
something a boy should do around a man like that.

"All right, guys," says Coach Dusker. "Listen up."

Attention swerves from Keith back to the Coach.

"Boys," he booms, "you've learned a lot in my class.  About your body, and
how it grows and changes.  About bones and muscles and how to build fine
young bodies.  And you guys have put it to good use.  I can see you've been
learning, just by the way you run your workouts." The Coach begins
pacing. His whistle rocks like a pendulum.  More precisely, like a stud's
nutsack. The boys watch, rapt. "But you boys are coming up on an important
time in your life.  Maybe some of you have even reached that time." He
licks his lips. "And it's time we start talking about that time." Coach
Dusker grins. "That time is called puberty." He savors that last word like
sugar.

Soft giggling runs through the seated boys.

Dusker holds a hand up, signaling silence. "Yeah, well, I guess you know
that word, don't you? Well, Puberty ... it's a magical time ... it's when a
boy starts to change into a man." Dusker's voice becomes husky and
reverential. "Your balls drop. Your voice changes.  You grow hair, down
there, around your dicks.  And your dicks ... " Dusker swallows " ... start
to get big. And you start to need to ... do things."  Pause. "Sexual
things."

More giggles.

"So. It's time for you boys to start learning about ... sexual things.  So,
boys.  Welcome to your first sex education class."

Some boys -- Jesse, Ben, Chris, a few others -- exchange knowing
looks. Most of the other boys now exude a feeling of quiet excitement.
Hands drop to crotches that have swollen simply because the magic word
'sex' hangs in the air like musk from a man's armpit. The seventh graders
unconsciously spread their legs wide, the way Devon Whitewater already has,
exposing to Coach Dusker and to Keith Peake slivers of white jockpouch. A
hint of excitement shimmers in the classroom's sultry air.

Dusker exchanges a grin with Keith. This is going well, isn't it? "Settle
down, boys.  So.  You guys are pretty close to becoming men. Fine young
men, a credit to Chatauqua County and to North Carolina and to America."

One of the sillier boys starts to hum the 'Star Spangled Banner.' Most of
the other boys snigger.

"So. Let's find out what a real man is.  We've got a guest here.  His name
is Keith Peake.  He's a big man in this county. He owns the carwash
downtown, where a lot of your older brothers work, and he's also got one of
the finest landscaping companies in the county.  Some of your other
brothers work there too."

Jesse pipes up. "He's my dad! "

Slim Devon Whitewater, who's been slouched in his desk, his eyes slowly
roaming north and south over Keith's body, starts at this. He stares
jealously at Jesse. He pouts, his lips moist and shiny. His palm rests on
his crotch and he tells himself that he's not squeezing himself in that
nasty, forbidden place. It just feels like it. He's not sinning.

"Really, Jesse?" Coach Dusker grins. "Really? I didn't know that." He's
being sarcastic, and most of the boys know this. Jesse Peake won't shut up
about how great it is to be Keith Peake's thirteen-year-old son. "I guess
this is a treat for you, isn't it?  Now some of you boys -- " suddenly,
Coach Dusker's eyes fall on young, slender Devon Whitewater " -- don't have
dads in your life.  So you need to get to know Mr. Peake.  You understand?
Maybe even join the Chatauqua County Boy's Club."

Devon and several other fatherless boys nod.  These boys savor a warmth
they've never felt -- but have always suspected must exist -- emanating
from the big man. These boys respond with inner excitement. They sense the
adventure concealed in Keith's muscled frame. Unimagined kinds of fun.
That's what a father is.

"All right, Mr. Peake.  It's your show." Coach Dusker strides towards the
back of the class.  As he passes he clasps this boy's shoulder here,
strokes that boy's hair. Hearts flutter. Just before Dusker turns to face
the front of the classroom, he surreptitiously adjusts his bulge.

Keith Peake, wearing a slight smile, stands in a wide stance before
Dusker's desk. His eyes sweep over the boys, lingering here and there until
the target boy squirms.

"You guys all got computers, right? Or smartphones?" asks Keith.

The boys blink, murmur, nod.

"So you get on the Internet and see stuff, right?"

General agreement.

"So I bet some of you -- most of you -- have seen porn?" Keith licks his
lips.

The honest boys nod vigorously. The ones who have -- but lack the cojones
to admit it -- blush. The ones who haven't glance first at their brazen
friends, and join them, nodding.

"Yeah. Porn," says Keith. "Men fucking women." He watches eyes open wide
when he utters that forbidden word. "Women fucking men. Women fucking
animals. Men fucking animals. Men fucking men. Right?"

The class nods. Some vigorously, since this animal-human thing seems, well,
kinda exciting.

"And you've seen things that make you think that, in order to have sex,
you've got to be squeaky clean. You know. You've got to wear cologne. Scrub
your skin till it shines. Right?"

A few nod, but Keith's conversation has turned off the beaten path and gone
into a howling wilderness.

"Well, the Internet is full of shit!"

Stunned silence.  General consternation. The Internet? Full of shit?  Could
it be true?

"Here's what you need to know about sex." Keith enumerates his facts on his
fingers. "One.  Women aren't for sex.  Women and girls are for babies. A
man makes a baby in a woman, but he has his fun elsewhere. And --" soft
chuckle "-- sex is fun. Babies are great, if they come out a boy." His eyes
linger on Jesse. "Two. Sex isn't something you do with animals. Not at your
age.  Fucking a cow ... well, that comes later, if that's your thing." He
pauses as if waiting for a question, but none comes. "Three.  Men fucking
men?  Well, sure, that's sort of fun. If you can't get hold of the right
kind of sex.

"Now.  What does that leave to have fun with?"

Silence.

"Real sex, fun sex, the best sex ... is the sex that happens between a
man. And a boy.  Got it? Women are for breeding. Boys are for fun."

The virgins amongst these seventh graders eye one another. What a strange
concept this big man has broached. It contradicts the propaganda they've
heard on the TV. Men? And boys? Doing it? Wow. Sure, they've seen their
buddies changing clothes in the locker room. Sure, they've checked out
those bulges. But ... doing things with a man? Some kids flash to images of
their father entering or leaving the shower. Maybe an uncle or a brother
waking in the morning with a strange tent in the sheets about waist
level. Maybe they've pictured themselves, safe and warm, cuddling between a
man's hairy thighs. For reasons they don't understand, a shudder runs down
these kids' spines. Shy eyes shift towards Keith's crotch.

The sexually active kids -- Jesse, Ben, Chris, and a few others --- already
know where this is going, and clasp hands over their mouths to stifle
guffaws at all these damn noobs.

Sitting in the front row is a quiet lad. To Keith, he's tantalizingly
familiar, but the boy's name escapes him. This boy is named Victor
Franco. He has the kind of face that changes easily from intense
concentration to benign amusement. He's twelve. A beautiful lad in a
European way. A crown of short brown hair is disheveled from the activities
out in the gym. His tank top reveals a stunning body. Victor's a diver, a
rival to Jesse on the diving team. It's a disappointment to not be able to
gaze upon his sweet ass, for it's one of the finest you can imagine. With a
sly smile he raises his hand.

"But we're boys, Mr. Peake. Should we start having sex with ... other
boys?" His eyes roll Like Condoleezza Rice's, indicating how silly he
thinks this notion is.

Keith's eyes linger fondly on Victor. "So ... I guess you're wanting to
have sex? Like, right now?"

Victor nods eagerly.

"Do you have ... hair down there? Down by your dick, boy?"

Victor shakes his head. "No. But my balls are ... you know ... getting
big. That's what my Da tells me." He spreads his legs. Yep. There between
satin thighs swells a nice bulge.

Hoarsely, Keith says, "Yes. I see. So. You're in puberty ... or close
enough to it that it doesn't matter. All of you boys -- if you're not in
puberty now, you're close to it -- so you'll start to need to have sex. I
said need. Not want. Boys and men are different from women. We need sex,
and there's no reason a boy shouldn't get it." Looking at Victor, Keith
shrugs. "If you want to have sex with a boy, that's fine. But a man's
really where you want to start." His eyes narrow. He studies
Victor. "Um. Let me ask you this, boy. Have you ever had sex, you know,
with a man?"

Victor grins and winks at Keith. Mystery flickers in his eyes.

"Uh, Mr. Peake?" asks Devon Whitewater, forgetting to raise his
hand. "Uh. How do we find someone to have sex with?"

"Well, guy, that's a good question. You'll need to find a mate.  The way a
man attracts a mate -- the way a boy attracts a man -- is with his natural
scent.  Yeah, boys, that's right.  Sweat. Good old fashioned sweat. The
kind you find in armpits. Or between shoulder blades. Or ... lower down."

Victor's eyes crinkle as he smiles. "Can you show us, Mr. Peake?"

Keith crosses his forearms behind his head, exposing his dank, swampy
armpits.  His powerful musk dominates the room.  It's a heady blast of raw
manfunk. Keith smells like ten thousand jockstraps. Like a locker room
after a Friday night high school football victory. Like a platoon of
Marines fresh in from combat. Like the floor of a porn theatre.

Young noses nibble the air like goldfish after flakes. For the boys, this
is an indelible moment. Sure, they've gotten whiffs of men, but no one's
ever connected their noses to their crotches. And wow, what a powerful
connection is being forged. Even Jesse's head begins to spin, and he's used
to sleeping with his head cradled in his Daddy's armpits.

"Yeah," says Keith, "I guess you guys can smell me, right?"

"Yes, Mr. Peake," chorus the boys.

"Well, you guys need to get a good whiff of this, so you can understand how
powerful it really is. How important it is to attracting the right kind of
sex partner.  So. Stand up. Line up on my left.  Come on. Do it." Keith
grins.

Jesse, Ben, Chris, Victor, and the other sexually active boys leap to their
feet and race forward. The virgins are slower. They swallow. Exchange
nervous looks. Rise. Many are careful to shield their crotches with their
hands. Even with sex and manfunk hanging like powerful sorcery in the air,
a lifetime of inhibition and shame still imprisons them. Nonetheless, their
crotches are definitely snugger.

Keith's eyes, watching the boys line up, glimmer with predatory light. A
slight smile curves his lips. Wow. A whole line of seventh grade mates. He
stares at each one in turn. At Jesse's body, so creamy and smooth, so
familiar and beloved. At Ben's burgeoning body, which looks so enticing in
the swim gear he wears at his father's pool. At Victor. Keith now recalls
Victor. How could he forget the lad? Keith remembers Victor's swelling
balls stretching his Speedos as the lad mounted the diving platform, though
it's his ass -- often on show as the boy hauls himself out of the pool
after a dive -- Keith hungers for. Then at young, unconsciously sexy, Devon
Whitewater. Sweet. Innocent. Virgin. Keith's heart hammers as he thinks
about the cherry hole buried beneath the Cherokee boy's taut buttocks.

Keith exchanges a glance with Coach Dusker, whose moved behind his students
to ogle that line of succulent buttocks. The coach's sweatpants are tented.

"Good." Keith clears his throat. "Now I want each one of you to walk to me.
One at a time. I want each one of you to sniff one armpit.  Then the
other." Keith feels his body responding to this illicit situation
perfectly. Sweat pours from his armpits, soaking his cotton tank.  The dank
funk intensifies.  He knows he'll blow these kids' minds. "Now. Who's
first?"

"I am!" The cry surprises most of the boys, for Victor Franco is normally a
quiet, secretive lad.

Keith grins. "Then come on, tiger."

The star of the Calhoun diving team wears a shy grin as he walks towards
Keith. As brazen as he seems, he won't meet Keith's eyes. Victor's gaze is
fixed much, much lower on Keith's body. The lad's sleek chest rises and
falls as if he's swam the aquatic part of a triathlon. Calhoun's snug PE
shorts don't hide from Keith the fact the twelve-year-old is stiff as a
nail.

"Can I --" Victor begins.

"How's your Dad, Victor?" Keith asks.

Victor swallows. Quietly, he says, "You won't tell him, will you? He
doesn't like me ..." Victor trails off, his feet shifting shyly.

"We'll see, Victor." says Keith, his voice low and sexy.  How long he's
lusted for Victor.  He remembers a recent diving competition, sitting
beside Gene Franco, Victor's East European dad. They'd been swapping
descriptions of their respective sons, Victor and Jesse, both prominent on
the diving platform that afternoon. Gene was proud of his son's smooth
skin. Burgeoning muscles. Dolphin-like grace. Tiny nipples. And, Jesus
fucking Christ, those succulent buttocks! How they looked when Gene -- on
those lucky days when the wife was away -- slowly tugged his son's Speedos
down. Keith had come that close to impregnating his jockpouch with a gallon
of dadspunk.

"Come here, tiger," Keith repeats.

Victor scurries to Keith's side.  He buries his face in Keith's left
armpit.  Inhales.  Savors the funk, eyes closed in private rapture.  The
lad's dick throbs, straining to escape those goddamned shorts.  Inhales
again.

"What does it smell like?" Keith asks.

"Like -- like --" But Victor falls silent. His vision is blurred. He looks
like he's about to topple.

"My smell makes your dick stiff, doesn't it, Victor?"

"Yeah!"

"Ever smell anyone else? Other than your Dad?"

"N-- no. I don't think -- I don't think he likes it."

Keith's well aware of the game Gene Franco is playing with his
son. "Well. Maybe you should ask him if he minds if ... you smell other
men's armpits."

"Can I smell the other one?"

"What's taking you so long, boy?"

Victor sucks in the funk from Keith's right pit. He staggers back, eyes
rolled up.

"Not so fast, Victor," Keith says. To the other boys, he calls,
"Now. Didn't I say smell was to attract a mate? So, if a man and a boy are
gonna have sex -- you know, fuck -- doesn't it makes sense that I smell you
too?"

The waiting boys exchange looks. Then nod. Sure, it sounds reasonable
enough, if thrillingly weird.

"Raise your arms, Victor," Keith croons.

Yeah. Nice. There they are. Naked boy pits. Not kissed by a hint of hair,
though there's sweat aplenty. Keith leans in. Inhales slowly, as if he's
savoring sizzling veal. Boys have a subtle, meeker scent. Not as dominant
as a man's. But it's there. Always calling. Teasing. Pleading for a man's
attention. Keith's nostrils flare as he drinks the air from one armpit,
then another. Then he pats Victor on the shoulder with a trembling
hand. "Go stand over there, Victor. And wait."

Victor walks away. His shorts outline his fine, sculpted twelve-year-old
butt.  Victor tends to let them ride a bit low, so you can see the white
band of his jockstrap.  I don't know about you, but I could watch a
fourteen hour long experimental movie featuring nothing but a close up rear
view of a pubescent boy walking away from the camera. Something about the
way those tight, naked cheeks sway makes it easy to imagine the sound of
squeaking. Victor turns.  He is grinning. A very happy boy! He rocks his
hips forward, showing off a wet quarter-sized spot at the northern end of
the ridge straining in his PE shorts.

"Good boy," Keith growls.  "Who's your Daddy, Victor?"

"You're my -- " Victor catches himself, and blushes.  "Gene's my Da,
Mr. Peake. He works at the auto shop downtown."

"You going to tell him about your first sex ed class?"

"Yeah. Maybe. Some of it." Victor sways shyly.

To the other boys, still waiting in line: "You see?  That's what a real
manfunk can do to you.  Make a hot kid horny.  OK, next!"

Keith can tell from the way Victor smiles that he really likes to be called
a 'hot kid.'

One by one the boys come.  Following the ritual created by Victor and
Keith, they sniff one armpit, then the other.  Some seem reluctant to let
Keith sniff them back. That's easy to cure. Keith simply lifts their arms,
his fingers rough against their smooth skin while he probes the lad's
triceps. And he inhales, and these boys shiver, squirming with
delight. They've never before been the object of a man's desire, especially
a powerful stud like Keith Peake, and it exhilarates them.

The boys gather in a semi-circle in front of Keith, some murmuring, all
watching the show.

The last boy is Jesse.  He struts to his Dad. Embarrassed by his hardon?
Not Jesse Peake. Jesse grins up at his Dad. Keith smiles down at his
son. He can read that kid's mind.  Behind Jesse's long lashes lustful light
plays. Keith nods slowly to his boy.

Son inhales dadfunk.  Left armpit.  Jesse draws a deep breath like he
breathed amyl nitrate.

"Yeah, Dad," Jesse murmurs as if hypnotized.

"You like that, son?" Keith's eyebrows jump as Jesse's hand brazenly grasps
his crotch.  He grins.

"Um-hmm." Jesse moves on to his Dad's right armpit.  Breathes. His tongue
emerges.  Keith giggles a little as his son begins to lap the raw, hot
sweat pouring from his armpits.

Eyes widen in the semicircle of boys.  What the fuck, man? What the fuck is
going on between this dad and his son?

The seventh grade boy's PE class watches Keith's bulge grow.  And grow.
And grow.  Holy Christ! This man's just like them! He's getting a
hardon. But, fuck, what a hardon! Something enormous slides down Keith's
right thigh.  Like he's got a cop's nightstick in there, and for some weird
reason he's sliding it down his leg. The tube doesn't stop growing until
it's just a little north of his knees. His snug jeans do little to hide
what's going on.

 "OK, son, that's enough."  He kisses the top of his boy's head, and
murmurs, "For right now."

"Thanks, Dad!" Jesse's lips shine with Keith's sweat. He trots over to join
his classmates. His throbbing dick is perfectly visible because he's
brazenly cupping his boner. Pulling the taut cotton tight to show off to
his buddies what his Dad does to him. His wet spot is so big it looks like
he's pissed his jock.

Not even Marines, as sexy as they are, make Jesse leak like this.

A semi-circle of horny seventh grade boys waits in front of Keith.  The
manfunk has established authority over the class. Prominent boners throb --
in many cases, leak; in some of those, it's the first time those dicks have
leaked anything other than pee -- in their shorts.  Erections aren't new to
these kids, but for some of them it's the first time they've escaped
chastisement or embarrassment for having one.  For being a boy.  For being
alive with unbounded energy, naturally horny, sleek, beautiful and sexy.

"You liked that, boys, didn't you?"

Enthusiastic nods everywhere.

"Good.  Let me tell you how to work up my kind of scent.  It's gonna be a
little hard for you to smell like me.  You're still young.  What you gotta
do is to slow down on the bathing.  Every other day at best. Every two days
is best.  You can rinse off, sure, but no soap. And no deodorant.  No
deodorant ever!  And fuck cologne!"

Giggles.

"All right.  Now let me ask you a question.  What was in my armpits that
smelled so good?"

"It was your sweat!" slender Devon says.

"Yes, but there was something in my sweat.  Something a man makes.  What do
you think that something is?"

"More sweat!" giggles Victor.

The boys -- and Keith -- laugh.

"Well, good try.  Let me tell you guys.  What you boys just got a whiff of
was testosterone.  Ever hear of it?"

A hand goes up. Ben Harrison. Is that a shadow of incipient armpit hair?
Keith resolves to explore his son's friend's body again soon.

"Yeah," says Ben. "It's the chemical that makes a boy a boy."

"You get a C," says Keith. "It makes a man a man. But you're on the right
track.  See, what boys need in order to become a man is testosterone.  A
boy's gotta take testosterone into their body in order to grow up.  So they
can be a man.  Now. Where do you think you guys can get testosterone?"

"ITunes!" Chris sniggers.

"Wal-Mart!" laughs another kid. "In the grocery section! I seen it!"

"At dee Kwik-E-Mart," chortles another, channeling Apu.

"All right, all right, enough with the smartassing. No. You get
testosterone from ..." --pause-- "... a man!" The boys, especially the
virgins, mutter amongst themselves. Keith lets his revelation sink
in. "Come on, guys. You know I'm right. Your bodies instinctively know
where to get testosterone, just the same way babies know how to get
milk. But at puberty, when you need testosterone the most, you don't go to
Mom. You go to your dad or, if he won't do it, any other man. And there's
lots of guys who want to help you boys out. Am I right, Coach Dusker?"

"Spot on, Mr. Peake." Dusker's eyes are fixated on Victor Franco's tempting
butt.

"Um, Mr. Peake," asks Devon, "so we gotta suck on your, you know, tit?"

Keith smirks. "Well. You can try that. Damn, son, I wouldn't mind you doing
that. Not at all. Not with a sexy boy like you."

Devon blushes because being called son by a man like Keith Peake almost
causes him to juice his jockstrap.

"But that's not how a boy gets his testosterone. A boy gets testosterone,"
says Keith, speaking more and more slowly, "by having sex. With a man."

Silence. The virgins exchange looks. What does this mean? Jesse, Ben, and
Chris slug each other's bicep.

Lewd as a construction worker, Keith palms the huge tube steak leaping and
dancing in his jeans' thigh.  He watches the boys watch him.  Yeah, they're
buying this. They always do, the horny scamps.  "Now. Sex is what I'm here
to show you guys how to do. But first, I want to show you
something. Something I'm really proud of.  Let me show you what large doses
of testosterone does.  Let me show you what you guys are going to look like
when testosterone works its magic over you. Let me show you a man's body."

Keith pulls his tank top off and flings it to the floor.

The boys gasp. Wow. There it is! Fuck, what a man. Muscled chest. Pectorals
thick and hard like tortoise shells. Thick chest fur, dense and long,
spreading like an eagle's wings, each tip almost burying sight of Keith's
big nipples.  He flexes, showing off biceps.

Slender Devon takes a few steps forward, licking and pursing his lips.
Keith's overwhelming masculine presence seems otherworldly to him. Poor
kid.  Spent most of his life fenced in by women. Yeah, Devon needs a man.
Needs to explore that mature body. Someone's gotta show him the secrets,
and it's going to be Keith Peake. The lad just knows it.

Casually but confidently, Keith points to himself. "See this, boys? That's
what testosterone does.  You need lots of it to make big muscles.  You all
want to be big, powerful men, right?  You want to grow up to be like me, or
like Coach Dusker, or like your Dad, right?  Well, what you gotta do is get
testosterone injected into your bodies."

"With a needle?" Devon whines.

"Hell no!" Keith struts and flexes. The tube steak jumps in his
jeans. Keith watches Devon closely to see if the boy is getting the
message.  But the boy has eyes only for that chest. Keith is happy.  This
is going great. Keith knows Devon's small hands need to be exploring his
body, low, throaty commands guiding those hands towards Keith's tube steak.
Well. Let's advance towards that moment. Slyly, he asks, "You boys ever
touch a man's muscles?"

Jesse sniggers.  Because he's heard this line before.  Keith shoots his son
a warning look, but there is an easy grin on his face.

Silence reigns. As best as it can, for the boys are beginning to breathe
heavy. The shirtless man is working is magic on these lads. The vision
fixates Victor powerfully.  The twelve-year-old breathes rapidly,
shallowly, almost hyperventilating.  And slender Devon?  Sweat mats his
black locks to his fine skull, and he is unabashedly stroking his young
dick through his shorts.

"Come on, boys.  Answer up. You ever felt up a man's muscles?"

Unbelieving looks pass back and forth.  Shit, dude, do ya really think
he'll let us?

Suddenly, way too horny to control himself, Devon starts polishing his
crotch using his palm.  Starts polishing it so hard his shorts are gonna
catch fire from the friction.

"Oh, come on, I bet Coach Dusker makes you touch him every day in gym!"

The Coach chuckles.  But he's getting a little impatient.  He wants Keith
to get to the action right fucking now.  He's spent way too much time
watching these fine specimens in the shower, wrestle one another in tight
singlets, run a half-mile in nylon shorts. Let the man-boy party begin!

"OK, guys.  Come on up here.  Feel me up."

The boys move diffidently, like virgins approaching the marriage bed,
because this is too weird. And too exciting.  Sometimes one pair of eyes
will flick to the floor, as if embarrassed, but the smell of manfunk
restores their courage, and they will look once again at Keith's muscles,
on display for them.

Keith's getting a fluttery feeling in his stomach.  It makes him flash back
to the first time he had sex with a boy, when his lust had carried him
through what he'd been sure was a boy's impenetrable virginal armor. His
eyes sweep across the ring of approaching young bodies. Yeah. This is
life. He grins.

"Come on, guys. Touch me.  Feel my muscles. Run your fingers through my
hair.  Learn what a man's body is all about."

He spreads his arms wide as if he were a messiah inviting salvation.

Devon's the first to touch this man, a real father -- a blessing the lonely
boy's never known. He shudders. It's like gripping iron. Wow. The feeling
makes his groin sizzle.

Victor is the second. The sleek lad won't meet Keith's eyes, but he senses
when the man is looking elsewhere, and he takes a nervous moment to try and
fathom the power glowing in Keith's eyes, while his hands streak sweat
across skin and his fingers draw feathery patterns in Keith's chest hair.

The others aren't far behind. Slim young hands, trembling with curiosity,
stroke Keith's body as if he were a kitten.  Keith's eyelids flutter as boy
fingers trace his biceps and triceps, explore the rippling muscles of his
forearm, sketch the outlines of his pectorals, and caress his deltoids. He
shivers as the seventh grade boys comb his body hair.  His nipples stiffen,
spiking up high enough to appear above the furry canopy.

Jesse, polite, sensitive to the needs of others, hangs in the back while
his classmates feel up his Dad's boss body.

Victor becomes the most aggressive.  The boy yearns to touch the muscles of
another man. A man who isn't his beloved Da.  His young dick strains
against his shorts.  He feels the muscled man everywhere north of Keith's
waist.  Hair.  Nipples.  Flat belly. Deltoids. The twelve-year-old's mouth
is bone dry.

Looking down at Victor -- the boy's eyes are fixated on his body -- Keith
purrs, "That's really nice, Victor.  I like that.  You make me feel
... warm and tingly ... down there."

The kid looks up at this, licks his lips. "T-- they're pretty big,
Mr. Peake," stammers Victor.

"What's pretty big, Victor?" asks Keith.

"Um. Um. Your nipples."  The twelve-year-old leans in and gets another
whiff of Keith's armpits, and begins drumming on the man's big nips.

Keith grins.  "You like playing with my nipples, boy?"

Victor raises his gaze up to the man's face, expression earnest. "Don't
they make you feel good? Don't they make you feel tingly ... down there?"

Keith pats the kid's ass.  "Yeah, boy, they do."  Keith swallows.  "Do you
do this for your dad, too, Victor?"

The boy blushes and is silent.  He can't go that far.  Not in front of his
friends.

Devon -- and many other boys -- have been staring at Keith's
thigh. Wondering if, maybe, they should dare to touch the man ... you know,
down there. But something's going on with that big baton he's got shoved
down almost to his knee. It's bouncing. Bouncing hard enough that the thin
denim ought to rip.

Keith doesn't miss this. He takes Devon by the chin and turns the boy's
face up. "You want to ... see how big and muscly my thigh is?"

The boy swallows, eyes wide. But he says nothing.

"Any of you guys?"

There are no takers. This is too much like pedophilia, that horrid crime
these poor kids here vilified every day.

It's time to get this thing moving again.  There's more to sex than letting
a boy -- even a group of boys -- cop a feel.

"OK, boys, that's enough."

Reluctantly, the kids back off.

Keith's eyes sweep over their shorts.  Yep.  They're all stained now.  Even
the most immature-looking of the boys, young Devon, sweet Devon with skin
the color of honey, sports a spot of precum on his shorts.  Fuck. Keith's
got these kids primed. He and Coach Dusker trade an evil grin over the
lads' heads.

Keith locks eyes with Jesse.  Even his son is totally enthralled to the
moment here. His blond bangs shade his eyes, but his son's eyes are clearly
focused on his Dad's crotch. Keith emits a short whistle. Jesse
starts. Looks up. Grins. Jesse makes a circle with his fingers right in
front of his mouth, makes blow-job motions.  Keith shakes his head.  He
makes a ring out of left forefinger and thumb, then rams the right
forefinger through it.  Excitedly, Jesse nods.

Keith resumes lecturing. "Now. How do you guys build muscle?"

"Testosterone!" the boys chorus.

"That's right, boys," says Keith, clearing his throat. "You've smelled
testosterone. You've seen what it makes out of a young, boyish body.  Now.
Let me ask you a question.  Where, exactly -- no smartassing! -- do you get
testosterone?"

A hand shoots up.  Devon's.  This is easy!

"Yeah, Devon?"

"A man's body!"

"You got it, boy," Keith chuckles.  "How did you know?"

"You're getting senile, Dad!" Jesse chortles. "You told 'em earlier."

"Oh. Damn.  Anyway. Now.  Where does it get made in a man?"

The boys who know -- Jesse, Ben, Chris, Victor -- share smirks.  But the
innocent boys, like Devon -- well, this is a puzzler.  For Devon
especially.  He lives with his mom.  No dad round the house, lounging in
boxers or tighty whities, showing off ballbulge to his son's insatiably
curious eyes.  His body is a complete mystery to himself.

Victor thrusts his hand into the air.

"Yeah, Victor?"

"In a man's nuts!"

So many jaws drop so far it's a wonder the seventh grade health classroom
didn't fill with the sound of bouncing ping pong balls.

"You get an 'A', Victor," growls Keith. He's gotta talk with Gene. Keith
craves this sweet boy's flesh. He could spend hours licking the boy's
armpit, listening to him giggle, feeling him grind his small boner into
Keith's hard belly -- focus, dude, focus! "Yep.  In a man's nuts.  So,
guys, let me show you my testosterone factory."

Grinning like a pervert, Keith pops the buttons of his fly.  The sound is
like gunshots.  The boys stare, entranced, as the opening fly reveals
Keith's thick pubic hair. Keith slips the jeans down just a bit. The boys
get their first look at the base of Keith's cock. Gasps echo.

Keith stares intently at them.  His mouth is dry. No matter how many times
he does this -- exposing himself to a boy's stunned eyes -- it's always a
special moment for him. He's also horny as fuck and needs to get this horse
into the final stretch.

In one smooth movement he rips his jeans off and steps forward.

There. In front of the kids, there's a naked man. A strong, virile,
man. Stark naked. Erect.

Yeah. This is how sex ed should be taught to all boys.

Eyes drop. Something has drawn the boy's attention from Keith's
chest. Keith's titanic cock.

It's a foot of solid, throbbing, daddy meat.  No shit.  One foot.  Twelve
fat inches.  Three hundred and nine millimeters.  Two-thirds of a
cubit. One-third of a stallion's cock. Dadmeat, greasy and hot, throbbing
and alive in front of worshipful boy eyes.

The son of a bitch is fat as a boy's arm.  Smelly, reeking of the need to
breed.  Webbed with veins.  The urethra throbs and precum gushes from the
pisslit. It rises like an obelisk from his hairy groin.  Keith's testicles,
each the size of large eggs, sag low in his hairy pouch.

"Yeah, kids," Keith growls, pointing at his hardon, proud as a
peacock. "Get a look at what I got!" Keith, a daddy with a huge boner,
can't help but strut a bit in front of these guys.

The boys stare, mouths gaping. No one's breathing. Well, Dusker is. He's
hyperventilating, perving on all those wonderful seventh grade boy asses.

"Ever see one this big, guys?" Keith asks hoarsely.

You could hear a pin drop.

"Yeah."  Keith wraps his fist around his gargantuan shaft. Shit, Keith
feels like a god.  "Foot long daddycock!" Keith thunders as he struts back
and forth.  Showing off that daddycock. Nuts swing, wang sways.  "Now,
boys.  What's it called. What do you call THIS?"

"Weiner?" says Devon, awed.

"Dick?' says Victor, eyes smoldering.

"Penis?" says another wiry-thin boy with floppy, curly black hair.

Keith shakes his head. "Those are all kid names.  This -- " he makes his
daddycock throb; a tendril of precum whipping around " -- is a COCK!" His
hand drops. He chokes his sack and hauls his big testicles away from his
body, displaying them to these kids. "And these are my nuts."

Open-mouthed stares.

"My nuts," Keith says, "Make the testosterone you kids need!"

Eyes shyly seek Keith's.

"Now get down on your knees, boys, and look at my nuts.  You, too, Jesse.
Stop that smirking and look at your daddy's nuts!"  Keith's in a mood,
yeah, feeling the power. He exults as the class of seventh grade boys drops
to their knees in front of him. Their eyes blaze like lasers at his swollen
balls.

Fuck yeah.  Keith is horny.  Keith needs to breed. Has needed it since
these sexy tykes sauntered into this class. Nothing -- absolutely nothing
-- turns Keith on more than a seventh grade boy. If you've heard rumors
about Keith and sixth graders -- well, those are just rumors, dammit.

The kneeling boys stare at the huge hairy spheres. Wow. Those manballs are
shifting slowly in their sack. Are they alive? They squirm with
power. Keith's giant cock casts a shadow over their worshipful
faces. Keith's erect dadmeat imprints itself on these guys' consciousness
forever.

Keith stands before the boys, hands on hips, cock up thrust, balls low.
Fucking proud.  Fucking arrogant.  Fucking male. "My nuts.  Is where.
Testosterone gets made.  In my goddamned, motherfucking nuts!  In any real
man's nuts.  In a jock's nuts. In your Dad's nuts. And look at this."  He
twitches his cock again. "You see how big my cock is?  Well, boys, you want
to have as big a cock as you can grow.  Big cocks mean something to
everybody. Big cocks make sex great.  If you got a big cock, they'll be
throwing themselves at you right and left, kids. And the best way you get a
big cock -- just like a hairy body and lots of muscles -- is to get lots
and lots of testosterone in your sweet boy bodies!"

"Mr. Peake," says Devon, his voice squeaking. "Can you show us ... test
... testosterone?"

Keith grins.  "Yeah, boy.  You bet I can.  Watch this!"

Keith spits into his palm.  A fucking huge wad of spit, thick with
phlegm. He wraps his hand around the base of his cock.  His dadshaft is so
thick that even his big hand barely fits around it.  He levels the
throbbing red cockhead directly at the boys.

"Now I'm gonna show you how a dad masturbates," Keith growls, sounding like
a tiger.

"Masturbate?" Devon asks quietly.

"Beat off," murmurs Ben from the side of his mouth. The boy stares,
fascinated as always, at his best friends hypersexed Dad.

Devon still doesn't get it.

"Just watch," says Jesse.

Keith slides his hand up to the head, making a wet slurping noise.  It
feels so good to be showing this act to innocent boys that his eyelids
flutter. Keith Peake almost blows his load like an exploding comet over
these bright young faces. He recovers. He slides his hand back to the
base. Groans. His pisslit opens and a huge droplet lets itself down on a
pungent thread of dadlust.

"See that?" Keith growls.

The boys nod eagerly. They can't see anything else. That man's making the
same stuff leaking from their own immature erections! The sense of kinship
between boy and man strengthens.

"It's got testosterone in it!"

Keith jacks himself slowly in front of the lads. Up again.  Slow and tight.
Then back. Dadcock shivers in the boys' worshipful gaze.

"Does that feel good?" whispers Devon. An imitative boy, he stuffs his
fingertips into the waistband of his shorts.

"Yeah it does," says Keith, grinning down at the boy. Keith loves virgin
boys. Their curious, eager innocence intoxicates him. Their need to be
initiated makes his heart blaze with fire.  They hunger for man/boy sex;
they just don't know it.  Keith lives to wake these lads up to their own
natural desires. "Tell me your name, son?"

"It's Devon."

"Come here, Devon," says Keith, slow pumping his dadcock.

The boy steps up quickly.  His eyes are glued to the masturbating man's
massive meat.

"Would you help me, Devon?" Keith says, voice throaty.

"What -- what do you mean?"

Keith takes Devon's hand. The boy's gaze snaps to the man's face. He's
shocked. He knows he's feeling spit. Yeah, and that stuff that's leaking
from Keith's meat. Wow. Devon feels special. Like for the first time in his
life he's got a Dad. Then Keith takes it a step further. Keith places the
seventh grader's hand on his throbbing, leaking adult shaft.

Yeah.  That's right.  Boy's hand on man's cock.

"Touch me, Devon.  Touch your Daddy."

Devon's never heard those forbidden words before. But the magic's there. He
begins to explore the meat.  There in Keith's footlong daddycock the
Cherokee boy feels the man's thundering heart.  His flesh is warmed by the
man's burning need.  There's fear in the lad's eyes.  Fear in his
heart. Fear of the unknown.

But in the boy's dick?

Devon feels lust.  Pure lust. The desire of a boy to couple with a man. To
absorb the man's power, and grow. Any boy's lust for dadmeat is far more
powerful than his fear of the dadmeat's gigantic size.

"You do that real nice, Devon," Keith coos.  "Now move it up and down.
Like I was doing ..."

Shivering, the boy starts jerking the man.

"That's good, Devon, real good.  You're making me feel good ..."

"I can help!" Victor blurts.

A slow grin spreads over Keith's face.  What a sweet boy.  Gene taught him
well.  Devon's hand can't fit around Keith's giant cock. Victor will be the
perfect complement. Keith nods.  "Sure, Victor. Come here."

Victor dashes to Keith's side.  He stammers, "D- don't tell my Da I did
this." Then he seizes the huge meat. He begins frigging rapidly.

"Oh, God!" Keith growls. Fuck yeah!  This is nice.  It's better than Keith
imagined. The stroking the boys are administering his dadshaft has two
different paces.  Devon, slow and steady, working the base.  Victor, quick
and frantic, teasing the delicate head. "Good job, boys. Fucking awesome
job.  You kids know how to take care of a man."

Jism boils in Keith's balls. The mercury is rising. The man's going to
explode.

"OK, guys," he pants.  "All you guys. Everyone else!  I want you to join
in."

Huh? What?  Jaws go slack. What does this stud dad mean? Can he want them
to --

"Drop your shorts, boys," Keith orders.

"Yeah," murmurs Dusker, his voice husky.

Oh. OK. Nineteen pairs of shorts plop onto the floor.  Nineteen teenboners
throb against slimy jockpouches. Nineteen chests rise and fall. Nineteen
pairs of lips are parted.

Puffing, huffing, happier than hell, Keith glances at Victor to his left,
Devon to his right. Neither boy has moved to drop their PE shorts. Both
stare at the forbidden contact between their small hands and the man's
illegal lust. Neither seems to be able to believe what's happening. Keith,
though, has his own agenda. "Here. I'll help you guys."

Though his body's shaking almost uncontrollably, Keith manages to yank down
Victor's shorts, then Devon's.

Now it's twenty-one dicks throbbing in jockpouches.  Twenty-one
overstimulated teendicks.

"Now take 'em out of the pouch, guys.  But," Keith growls, wanting more
than anything to see this spectacle, "leave your jocks on."

No one hesitates. Twenty-one seventh grade dicks leap in the air,
glistening with sweat and boyish precum.  Hands hanging at their sides, all
of the boys look poised, ready for action.

Keith fishes out Victor's dick.  Six inches of boy lust. The base is naked
of hair. Fucking nice. Keith sniffs his palm -- and almost blows it.  Yeah.
Young boy, no crotch hair.  This sexy kid must be fun to breed. Lucky Gene
Franco. Keith flashes to a vision of himself, creeping one night into
Victor's bedroom through the kid's window, stark naked, hard, ready to
fuck, while the kid hastily strips, flinging his pajamas everywhere.

Devon's next. The Cherokee boy almost goes crazy when he feels, for the
first time in his life, a man handling his little dick. The lad squirms. He
giggles. He dances.  He never knew how much he wanted for a man to touch
him down there, in that private place that makes him feel so deliciously
naughty. Fuck! Why was life so unfair to horny youngsters like Devon? Like
this entire class of horny fuckers?

Keith growls his command: "Jack 'em, boys!"

The boys jack 'em.  No need for further explanation. They've just had the
best kind of lecture any boy can get on the subject of masturbation.

"You don't mind if I touch you, you know, down there, do you?" Keith asks.

Victor and Devon stare at Keith like he's crazy.

Keith's hands close on the two shafts. The two gasping voices are music to
his ears. He begins to move. He doesn't need spit. Both lads are slimy with
precum. With sweat. They coo and squeal and squirm but neither boy releases
their grip on Keith's gigantic mancock.

The air gets rich and fetid, swamp-like, scented with the odors of
masturbating teen boys and a stud man's raw crotch funk.

Coach Dusker?  Coolly he surveys the action from the back of the room,
slowly rubbing his big throbber through his sweats.

The stud dad throws his head back.  His footlong daddy cock, erratically
stroked by boys almost as excited as him, sprays precum everywhere.  Slimy
daddy sin flies like diamond dust.  Slender Devon is going crazy, trying to
watch each drop fall, mesmerized by the male emission. Keith, soaring
higher and higher, is going crazy himself. Lewd fantasies flash through his
head.  Of Victor, speedos looped around one foot, bending over a poolside.
Of Devon, in a shadowy forest, untying a loincloth, gazing at Keith with
eyes glowing with eagerness.

 Fuck! Boys make Keith Peake hot!

"Shit, guys, you're doing it ... yeah, fucking awesome.  Oh yeah, jack your
Daddy.  Yeah, harder, faster ... yeah, touch your Daddy, yeah, you like how
your Daddy feels in your hands ... fuck ... fuck ... FUCK Daddy's gonna
blow, gonna blow a big one, gonna make my ... my ... my goddamned fucking
DADDY JISM!"

Hiroshima?  That was nothing compared to the explosion that blasts from
Keith Peake's cock.

Two-foot long strands of pure white daddyseed streak through the air. So
powerful is the force of Keith's orgasm that his titanic cock bucks out of
the boy's grasp like a monster, a great dragon, rampaging, violently
spewing reeking ropes of jism onto the crowd of boys worshipping this
perverted dad who gets his rocks off with kids.

Does Keith consciously wag his cock from side to side, spraying the
semicircle of teenboys with his jism? It doesn't fucking matter.  It's
happening.  A Gatling gun fires nutbutter all over the goddamned
classroom. Sperm crashes into tank tops. Onto young skin. Splatters
disbelieving faces. Rains onto desks in the back of the class. Spatters the
posters of male and female anatomy. Hangs like spider silk from the
ceiling.

When his cock stops firing, every boy has a rope of Keith's jism hanging
somewhere on his body.  Thighs.  Neck.  Shorts. Jockstraps. The smell of
sex fogs the air.

The squealing begins.

The teenboys begin to cum. Those who can shoot -- Chris, Ben, a few others
whose surprised faces reveals this is their first time juicing up -- toss
off teen loads: rich strings of bubbling jism.  The others?  Well, their
balls struggle and strain, but there's just nothing in them to shoot.  For
these guys, there's nothing but the electric tingle of their nerves, and
the sudden knowledge the fucking around with their cocks feels good.

Shuddering, coming down, the Cherokee boy stares at the gray slime on his
fingers.

"What the hell is that?" Devon turns wide eyes on Keith's sweaty face.

"Jism," Keith gasps.

"Sperm," Coach Dusker contributes. "that's the right word for it. Don't
forget it. Your final exam is going to be all about sperm."

Devon lifts his fingers to his eyes and inspects the man's ejaculate. It
dangles like snot.  "Is that what babies are made of?"

"Well," Keith gasps, "yeah, if you shoot it in a woman.  But it's also
testosterone. If you shoot it in a boy, you help him become a man."

Devon frowns.  "I don't understand. How do you get this --" he sways his
hand, and Keith's sperm makes like a jump rope -- "into a boy?"

The virgin boys nod agreement. There's still a big mystery here.

"Well," Keith says, "one thing you can do with it is ... eat it."

"Whaaaaaaaat?"

Keith staggers over to Jesse.  His son is sweaty, panting, happy and eager.
Keith scrapes a rope of cum off his son's crotch. Turning so Devon can see,
Keith lifts it up on high.  It sways, a powerful white worm, looking almost
alive.

"Like this!"

Keith lowers it into Jesse's mouth like a string of spaghetti. Jesse gulps
like a piranha, then belches. He and his buddies giggle.

Oh.

So Coach Dusker's seventh grade health class partakes of its first dose of
manspunk. The braver boys move first, scooping off some of Keith's jism
from their bodies and gingerly tasting it. Hmm. Not bad. They slurp down a
second helping. The shyer ones watch them, then -- once they confirm that
their buddies haven't turned into werewolves; the only effect of eating
Keith Peake's jism seems to be a reinvigorated hardon, though maybe that's
due to simply pubescent horniness -- they join in. Spunk's on the menu,
lads. Eat up.

Watching a classroom full of seventh grade boys eat your jism is a
sure-fire method of instantly revitalizing your cock. Keith's meat, which
had slumped in a drowsy arc from his groin, lurches skyward again.  He
struts back to the desk, the massive shaft a towering monument to man/boy
lust.

"OK, boys.  You just found out what testosterone smells like.  What it
tastes like. You know you can only get it from a man's jism.  But!" He puts
hands on hips.  His cock lifts higher and higher.  The veins begin to throb
again.  Keith's balls quiver with power.  "The most effective way ... the
way that'll help a boy the most ... is for a boy to get a man's cream up
his butt."

Huh? Holy shit, is this dude nuts?

Keith rests his butt on the edge of the desk. His eyes roam the boys. He's
the center of attention. He likes it this way. He spreads his thighs,
showing off his nuts and his daddycock. He lets his revelation sink
in. He's not sure if it does. Many boys eye Keith's footlong shaft with
naked fear. Put that humongous thing up their butt? Impossible! Others --
especially Devon -- are trapped like flies in amber, unable to speak or
move. It's as if they're hearing the word of God for the first time. A
perverted, hot God, who doesn't promise salvation but jism.

"Want me to show you guys?" Keith asks.

Victor, Ben, Jesse, and many others eagerly nod. The rest simply wait.

"Hey, Dusker," Keith calls. "Got any Vaseline?"

"Sure thing, bossman." Coach Dusker pulls a small tin out of his pocket and
tosses it across the room. As a Boy Scout, Dusker learn to always be
prepared.

Keith's eyes flash like a demon's.  "Jesse," he growls.  "Come to Daddy."

Jesse pumps his fist. "Woohoo! Hot damn!" Then, chagrined, he whirls and
looks at Dusker. "Sorry, Coach. Didn't mean to cuss."

Dusker nods indulgently. ""Get your butt up there, Jesse. To your Dad."

Jesse trots towards his Dad. A mischievous grin decorates his face. That's
for Keith. Both father and son are glad to get to the climax of this
lesson. Jesse's classmates are treated to a spot-on view of his slim butt,
framed by his jockstrap. A teenbutt that turns Marines into pedophiles. Low
whistles escape Ben and Chris. Light begins to dawn in other boys'
eyes. Jesse, as he walks, gets more and more excited. Wow. He's gonna have
a whole herd of sex partners after this! He stops in front of his Dad, his
dick stiff and slapping against his flat belly.

Keith's eyes roam north and south over Jesse's slim body in a way most
father's never dare to. His gaze lingers on his son's spiked
nipples. Crawls over Jesse's flat belly. Admires his son's brazen
erection. No, that's not a man's cock Jesse's sporting. But, Keith
suspects, it's going to be fucking huge by the time Jesse is done growing.

"Anyone ever tell you," Keith growls, "you're a sexy kid, son?"

"Yeah, Dad! You!"

Keith turns his attention back to the class. "All right, guys, listen
up. The way you get testosterone into your bodies is to ... have sex. With
a man." He palms his nuts to emphasize his point. "Now you boys are gonna
learn what real sex looks like. Right, Jesse?" He winks.

"Right, Dad!" Jesse says brightly.

"Now, Jesse. When a boy has sex with a man, what's the most important
thing?"

"Lube, Dad!"

"That's right, son. Lube. You know what lube is, guys?"

Victor murmurs, "Yeah. Something to make your butthole slippery. Like
butter. Or Astroglide."

"You got it. Show 'em, Jesse." Keith hands the Vaseline to his son.

Jesse uncaps the Vaseline. He digs out a dollop of grease and holds it
up. He shoots a grin over his shoulder -- exactly the way they do it on The
Price Is Right -- wiggles his eyebrows, then he bends almost double,
spreading his legs wide.

"I can see his butthole!" one boy murmurs.

Everyone can see Jesse's tiny treasure peaking from between his parted
cheeks. Classmates trade disbelieving looks. How the hell can something
that tiny open up enough to take a cock? This is an important question
these lads need answered.

"Been there, done that," says Ben Harrison, rolling his eyes.

"Seen it, ate it, got it pregnant," intones Chris, bored.

"Shut up!" Jesse hollers, his inverted face looking back at the class from
between his calves. "Anyone ever tell you you're a jerk, Ben?"

"Well, not you," says Ben. He grins and, speaking in falsetto, imitates
Jesse. "Oh oh, Ben, put it in deeper, oh oh, Ben, hurry up so Coach ---"

"Jesse!" Keith rumbles. "Get on with it."

"You smear a lot on the outside of your butthole --" Jesse's finger swirls
around his tiny pucker, anointing it with glistening Vaseline. While
working his hole he flips Ben Harrison a Vaseline-smeared bird.

"He's touching his butthole!"

Devon stares, slack jawed. He can't wait to get home. His Mom works
late. And he'll be alone, and can experiment. Somehow he knows that what
Jesse's doing will feel really, really nice.

"-- and then," says Jesse, "you got to push some up inside so your slippery
up there, too!" His asshole seems to eat his finger all the way down to the
root. Jesse's eyelids flutter as he indulges in a quick prostate-tease. He
pulls the finger out, stands upright, and displays it. "See? Nice and
clean!" He kisses it. He flings the Vaseline back to his Dad.

Keith watches, bemused, as Jesse marches up to the desk and bends
over. "Um. You forgetting anything, son?"

"Oh, shit!" Jesse bobs upright. "Well, Dad, you gotta stand up!"

Keith stands. He turns to face his son.  The class tenses as Keith's
cockhead barely misses Jesse's chin. Then they relax. Thank God there'll be
no incest here -- hey, what the fuck? Jesse's just dug out another huge
teardrop of grease and -- holy shit, he's just grabbed hold of Keith's
cock! My God, sin alarms have got to be going off in purity defense bunkers
all over planet fucking Earth! A son? Touching his Dad's cock?

No boy can look away as they watch Jesse lovingly anoint Keith Peake's
footlong meat with a thick layer of grease. In fact, the sight draws them
closer to the pair. It's as if their sin is a drug and they want to be
addicts.

"With big cocks," says Jesse, trying to close his fist round his Dad's
shaft, "you got to use a lot."

Keith's chest is heaving and his eyes blaze with fire. A worm of precum
wriggles free and falls, laying a stripe across Jesse's sneaker.

Jesse again caps the Vaseline. Casually he tosses it away. "Now --"

Keith lays a hand on Jesse's shoulder. "I'll take over. Boy." He pushes
Jesse forward and bends the boy over the desk. For a few moments Keith
gazes, mesmerized, at Jesse's sweet ass. It's a lovely sight. Two small
buttocks, small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. Snowy white because
Jesse always wears swim trunks or Speedos outdoors. The lad does not want
to get his ass sunburned. Keith paws Jesse's buttock. "Oh, that's a nice
butt, son. You got a really nice butt. It turns your Daddy on."

The boys are pressing excitedly around father and son, their eyes flicking
between the steely, mad look on Keith's face and Jesse's tiny, vulnerable
ass. Something about Keith's expression frightens the guys a bit. Something
about it attracts them. The boys, especially the virgins, feel the same
sense of trepidation anyone does the first time they approach a roller
coaster.

"Now. A man's got to loosen a boy up. Boy butt is tight." Keith slips a
finger between Jesse's cheeks. "So when you guys do it, ask your man to use
a finger. You just need one."

Jesse stiffens as Keith's finger slips inside.

"Does it hurt?" cries Devon.

"No," Jesse purrs, sawing his butt back and forth on his father's invading
finger. "It's the best thing I've ever felt!"

Keith realizes no one can see the penetration. "Hey Devon. Do me a favor."

"Uh. Sure."

"Hold my son's buttcheeks apart so everyone can get a good look."

Devon shudders. Wow. Touching Jesse's butt ... isn't that, like, you know,
sex? With trembling hands, he peels open his classmates white butt. The
boys press close. Some drop to their knees behind Keith, peering at the
juncture. All watch as Keith's finger slowly churns in and out of Jesse's
ring.

"It's sucking on his finger!"

"It's going all the way in!"

"Put another in, Mr. Peake!"

"No, no," says Keith, voice husky. "I like 'em tight. Men like their boys
tight. Don't forget that. Jesse? You ready?"

"I'm always ready, Dad!"

"OK, guys, get ready to have your minds blown," says Keith.

He wrestles his steel hard shaft down and presses the gigantic cockhead
between Jesse's cheeks. Jesse's eyes roll up the moment his Dad's cock
makes the first forbidden touch with his ring. Keith's panting as if he's
in the midst of a marathon. Keith Peake loves fucking his young son
Jesse. His fingers clamp to Jesse's waist, but the thirteen-year-old has no
intention of going anywhere.

"I'm gonna put it in now," Keith purrs.

"'Bout damn time, Dad!"

Keith pushes.

The boys watching from below and behind get the best view, though they have
to cluster round Keith's calves to get a line of sight free of the Dad's
big nuts. They watch Keith's gleaming cockhead open Jesse's ring. Open it
wider and wider and wider. Some of them expect to hear a ripping sound as
Jesse's tiny ring simply gives up, but it never happens. Jesse's hungry
flesh yields to his Dad's lust. The boys gasp as the cockhead slips
inside. Eyes sweep along the eleven visible inches of quaking manmeat
bridging slim, hairless butt and furry mancrotch.

The boys watching from above and in front don't get as clear a view of the
start of this incestuous coupling. What they do see is the rapturous look
on Keith's face as his son's tight rectum opens on his shaft. And they hear
the soft cry of delight that escapes Jesse.

"Now this, guys," Keith breathes, sinking ever deeper into Jesse's
trembling body, "is sex. The best kind of sex. Doing it. With your son!"

"Is he going to take it all, Mr. Peake?" asks Devon, staring down at the
parted buttocks and the giant manshaft.

"Every inch," Keith promises.

He delivers. Jesse pretends to struggle to absorb his Dad's meat at its
widest point: a few inches behind the head. He makes a big deal of it,
pounding Dusker's desk with his fists, but this is show, though it's a show
that gets the seed boiling in his Dad's balls. After that its one long,
smooth glide, until a father's pubic hair nests in the forbidden crevice of
his thirteen-year-old son's butt.

"Wow!" says Victor, hanging on to Keith's right leg. "I saw your balls
bounce off his!"

"You're gonna see a lot more ball bouncing, you sexy bastard!" Keith shakes
himself. "Now! Watch me! This is fucking, guys! This is what men do best!"

At first Keith's strokes are long and slow. He wants these boys to see what
he's doing. Wants to be clear what he's doing to his kid. The seventh
graders watch the fat footlong dadshaft emerge from Jesse's rectum like a
dragon squeezing itself out of a cave. They all feel a thrill in their guts
as it pushes its way back inside. Jesse's delighted whimpering sounds as
his father's cock fills him. The lad takes it all. All the way down to the
base. The way good boys do.

"Do it, Jesse," says Victor admiringly.  His father's cock isn't half the
length of Keith's monster.

The doubts these guys may have had about taking an oversized mancock up
their cherry buttholes is fully dissipated by this spectacle of father/son
lust. Yeah. They can do it. It's possible.

Young, innocent Devon stares wide-eyed, frigging his dripping dick. Gosh,
this sex thing is awesome! Why has Mom kept it from him? He looks
admiringly at Keith's muscles. There's something hypnotic about the way
they bunch, tense, and relax. Something he'd like to experience for
himself.

"Yeah, Jesse," sneers Keith. "Show your buds how you take your Daddy's
dick."

Well, to be honest, Jesse has been mindlessly impaling himself on his Dad's
shaft since Keith began moving within the boy. But those words make him
show off. Make him arch his back, press his tender young buttocks against
his Dad's hard, hairy body. Make him whoop and chortle and, when the
sensation is really intense, drool. Yeah, Jesse lives to get buttfucked,
but we all know that all ready. Nevertheless, it's dad doing him, and doing
it with dad is always special for any boy.

"You like it, son?" Keith grunts, pumping steadily.

"Oh, fuck, Daddy!"

Keith pops an asscheek.  "Watch that language, son.  We're in a public
classroom." Sweat runs down his nose and dribbles onto Jesse's slender
back.

"Jesse's hard!" one boy whispers to Victor. He points.

Trapped beneath him, Jesse's dick thrusts down the side of the desk. Precum
drools from it.

"Getting buttfucked ... by your Dad ... is the best!" explains Victor. But
Victor, as much as he loves his Da, looks admiringly at Keith's
muscles. Wonders what it would feel like to have that man's titanic
erection stretching his guts. Victor feels all loose and shivery
inside. He's tempted to push Jesse out of the way and take his rival's
place. Yeah. That'd be awesome!

Jesse, off in a secret world of boyish pleasure, babbles deliriously. All
he wants to do is yield.  Give it up to his Dad's powerful lust.  Yield,
because yielding is the only way a boy can get hold of that precious
breeding sauce a Dad totes about in his nuts.

"Feel my fat breeder up your tight boy butt, Jesse?" Keith growls. He
rotates his hips, skewering Jesse. "I got it right where it belongs, kid."

"Huh-huh-huh-huh--" Brainless breaths explode from Jesse's mouth as Keith's
crotch rams his tender butt harder and harder.

The atmosphere in the classroom is electric. Keith's hips, hammering
against his son's ass, sends the message: Incest is best. Ignore all the
laws, guys.  Man/boy. Father/son.  Do it. Their flesh sings with the thrill
of the forbidden contact. All the boys present ride along with the ecstatic
pair.

Keith seizes Jesse by the waist, rotates his son still impaled on his
footlong boyfucker, and lays the sweet cockstuffed boy flat on his back.
Jesse's legs rest on his father's hairy chest. Keith pumps. It's a perfect
display.  Framed by Jesse's jockstrap, the fat dadshaft stuffs the
thirteen-year-old boy's most treasured possession. The boypucker stretches
so tight all the corrugations are gone. It strains on Keith's huge
horsemeat. Hairy man ass saws away.  Hairy fat man balls, churning with
breeding sauce, bounce off tender smooth cheeks. He jams deep. The dadshaft
throbs in the boycunt's sweet embrace. Jesse's belly swells every time his
Dad fills him to the brim.

"Now, guys," Keith growls over his shoulder, "watch me, 'cause I'm gonna
show you how I fuck boys!"

Keith withdraws.  Slowly, groaning with despair as less and less of beloved
soncunt encompasses his rock-hard boyfucker.  Inch after inch of glistening
dadcock emerges from Jesse's tight rectum.  His son's flesh slurps lewdly
on Keith's meat.  Keith extracts eleven inches, leaving that final inch
inside his son, holding the spasming sphincter open.

"See it? See it, guys? See my cock in my boy?"

The boys crowd father and son closely, masturbating crazily.  Devon and
Victor jostle for position, each needing to see the point where Keith's
giant cock disappears into Jesse's squirming body. The class is too stunned
to say anything. You probably shouldn't expose seventh grade boys to a live
porn show of this intensity. I'm sure it warps their minds.

The tight ring struggles to eject the titanic invader. It loses. Keith
stuffs himself back in. Slowly. Jesse's toes curl. He cries out!

But not in pain. His cry stems from the bottomless lust he feels for his
Dad's titanic boyfucker.

There's nothing of civilization and little of humanity left in Keith. Boys
do that to men. Sons do it more intensely. Keith rams faster and faster,
panting and grunting and growling. Gotta fuck his boy. Kid needs it.

"You like it, don't you? You like it, you little slut? Tell me, Jesse!"

"Fuck yeah, Dad, I love it!"

"Gonna ram you, son! Gonna ram you all motherfucking day! You need it. You
know you need it!"

Keith powerstrokes his son.  Sweat flies as his strokes hammer Jesse harder
and harder.  He wants the boys to get a good look at his nuts while he
fucks.  To see his fat dadshaft in glorious boyfucking action.  To see it's
the perfect instrument to open his son's butthole.

And the boys do.  Mouths hang open.  Drool falls.  Hands fly on boydick.

"Oh fuck, Jesse," Keith pants, hips working, piledriving.

"Yeah, Dad." The blond boy's head lolls on Dusker's desk.  "Deeper!"

"Can't go any deeper, kid," Keith pants.

But he can fuck harder. So he does.

The desk begins jumping on the floor, clattering like mad.

This is too much!

Boys begin squealing as orgasms explode in their brains.  Drycums strike
first.  Lithe Devon falls to the floor, writhing, hips pumping madly, fist
jerking at his dick, trying to shoot what doesn't yet exist. But real juicy
action follows. An arc of white seed leaps from Ben Harrison's dick. The
teen's been fighting it for a while. He's experienced Keith's cock. The
memory causes a flood of juice to spackle Keith's sweaty back.

Dad and son grunt, groan. striving, writhing against one another.  Hairy
flesh. Smooth flesh.  Mature flesh.  Flesh needing that maturity.

"Yeah, boy," Keith murmurs.  "I got my cock in you again.  Just like that
first time, yeah. Remember that, kid?  It hurt, didn't it, son, getting my
daddy dick up your butt the first time?  Yeah.  But I wanted it, so Daddy
fucking took it.  Shit, Jesse, I wanted your hot ass since you were nine.
Sweet boy.  Yeah.  Daddy's got his fat dick where it belongs ..."

Jesse arches his back, rising up into his Dad, and screams. They probably
heard it in Raleigh.

White goo flames out of his cock as if someone's set off a
flare. Yeah. Sperm. From a smooth, hairless boy like Jesse Peake. The first
gout catches in Keith's sweaty chest fur. The second shoots like a meteor
and splatters on the whiteboard behind the desk.

See, even though a Marine can be hot as hell, there are things only a Daddy
can do. Only his daddy, the boyfucking Keith Peake, can make Jesse spurt
the wet, gooey cum he craves to spatter the universe with.

Jesse's dick fires rope after rope of cream like a machine gun. As he comes
down from the high that only a boy whose taken his Dad up his ass knows,
the intensity relaxes, and ropes of it streak his smooth chest.  It was a
fearsome thing. The classroom now resembles an ice cream factory that's
suffered a catastrophic explosion. Strands of Jesse's cream sway from the
ceiling. It dissolves yesterday's lesson, scrawled in dry erase marker. Fat
slugs of it wriggle slimily over Keith's heaving torso.

Victor Franco, staring in shock, topples over, jerking his dick, twitching
and orgasming in epileptic abandon.

"I'm gonna breed you, son, oh yeah, daddy's gonna breed you, yeah, Jesse,
fuck that, daddy's gonna inbreed you, yeah, show you what I can SHOOT!"

Keith's mouth gapes open.

In the hot swampy night of Jesse's bowels, Keith's cock erupts.

Keith can't make a damn noise.  Can't scream.  Can't yell.  Can't bellow
his boys name.  To make noise, you gotta have a brain, and right now
orgasm's eaten Keith's brain away. Yeah. He's coming. Coming in his
son. Nothing is finer than juicing your son's ass. Keith's in boyfucker
paradise.

Keith shoots. And he shoots. And he shoots. It's less spectacular than
Jesse's orgasm, because it's all going inside. But if you were measuring
it, you'd have to measure what Keith floods Jesse's guts with in
pounds. Every function of his body is devoted to pumping his
testosterone-rich nutbutter into the hungry void of his son's ass.  Only
reason his heart beats is to shoot cum.  Only reason he breathes is to
shoot cum.

Keith collapses onto Jesse. The smell of spunk overpowers even Keith
Peake's powerful smell. The seventh grade health classroom reeks like an
orgy palace. Boys lay as if felled by gunfire, chests heaving, dicks
slackening. They stare at the ceiling. At the massive load Jesse spewed
everywhere. The virgins are thinking thoughts they've never thought
before. They're wondering -- but no, surely their Dads wouldn't do it with
them.

Keith withdraws his spent cock.  For a moment his son's butthole gapes.
The class can see hot nutbutter boiling inside Jesse's loose rectum, like
lava in the throat of a volcano. Then it closes, trapping all that magical
testosterone inside.

The point of the lesson has been driven home. Yeah. These seventh graders
gotta get mancock up their tight holes. Somehow. Some way. But they're
gonna do it. They've got to follow Jesse to those places he's been
exploring while his Dad fills his immature body with meat and spunk.

Jesse's legs collapse on both sides of his father's thighs.  He sighs,
contentedly, stroking his Daddy's sweaty spine.

The father kisses the son.  Each becomes lost in the other.

Clamor!  Tumult! Mayhem!

Everyone jumps.  It's the bell, ringing. Class time is over.

"OK," orders Dusker.  "We're done here.  You boys go change in the locker
room.  You're gonna be late but I'll give you a pass."  He smiles.  "I'll
assign homework tomorrow."

The boys rouse themselves and begin filing out.

"Hey!" calls Dusker. "Don't be rude to our guest! What do you say to
Mr. Peake?"

"Thanks Mr. Peake!"