Date: Sat, 31 May 2008 17:19:43 -0700 (PDT)
From: Charles Rascal <charles.rascal@yahoo.com>
Subject: Babysitting the Pastor's Twin Boys - Part Two

When I awoke, it took me a couple of seconds to realize that Pastor Brown
was softly kissing me on the cheek, then the neck, then he breathed hot air
into my ear. I kept my eyes closed, with a sleepy, satisfied smile on my
face. His hand moved down my body to my cock, already growing harder, and
he began to slowly fondle me inside our double sleeping bag.  I didn't even
open my eyes as I snuggled up against him, pulling our nude bodies closer
together. His warm man's body felt so big and strong against my young,
smooth one. He was much taller than me and I could cuddle up against him
and feel such wonderful comfort in his strong embrace. When I turned, I
could feel his hard cock pressing into my thigh. I smiled again. He smelled
a wonderful combination of a tiny bit of cologne or deodorant and
sweat. Dried, musky man sweat.

The wetness of our sweat from our lovemaking the night before and during
the night had dried on both our bodies and soaked into the flannel insides
of the sleeping bag. As the sun's rays began to lighten the window flaps of
the tent in the early morning, I buried my face in his hairy chest and
breathed deeply, and returned soft kisses, sucking slowly on first one
nipple, then the other. He patted me gently on the back of the head and
whispered, "I am going to pray, then I am going to suck you off - not once,
but twice --before we shower and make breakfast." He kissed me once
again. "Your cum is so lovely, so delicious, I don't think I'll need
anything else to eat!" I giggled. "You must promise me to do something nice
for my sons, OK? - 'snuggle' them and play some babysitting games with them
over in that cabin by the river where you won't be disturbed. I know they
miss sucking you, but you've been quite the hit of the camp this year and,
of course,
 sweetie, I've had Reverend Cock up in Little Boy Temple quite a bit, too!"
We both shook with laughter and kissed, this time on the mouth.  The pastor
delighted in making up special names for our games and our body parts,
names that had particular meaning to church and to the camp or both.

I loved church camp. I love it still today when I take boys and do to them
what Pastor Brown did to me - and to a lot of the other campers including,
of course, his own sons. It and the scout troop I help lead for the church
and the boys' choir are the only reasons I go to church. I am thankful for
my blessings - named Jonah, Noah, Issac, Brandon, Robert, and....well, the
list is quite long. When I am alone with the small choir and am trying to
get them to reach a high note, I remind them, out loud, that they had no
trouble opening their mouths wide for me when I offered them my thick
cock. They giggle and the organist smiles. He too has had every boy though,
in his case, he has had many of their cocks up his ass and he's swallowed
more cum than was in the River Jordan. He proudly tells me he's blown every
single boy, even the ones who are barely old enough to cum. And I can say,
in return, that I've fucked them all, many of them at choir camp or
 church camp along the same lake I went to as a boy. The organist - a good
title for him, we've agreed! - has often initiated the boys, allowing them
to use his ass for their first fucking, just as I've given them their first
fuck and their first blow job. Sometimes, we take one boy to his house and
pleasure him until he actually falls asleep from exhaustion. But, our own
naps will be interrupted when he awakes and wants cock in his mouth and in
his ass and he wants to fuck the organist, ramming him with the skill of a
professional.

Our pastor was the one who devised the idea of having mini camps around the
lake owned by a group of churches where one adult would be "Camp Father" to
half a dozen boys, camped in two or three tents, sharing a fire, food
rations, and, in his case, his big thick cock that he regularly worked up
our asses in the sleeping bag, out in the open by the firelight so the
other boys in our group could watch, and, in the daytime, in the lake,
where no one even with binoculars could tell that the smiling boy and the
laughing man, were not only nude from the waist up, they were totally nude,
and that the man's big thick cock was all the way inside the little boy's
ass, going in and out, the man's hips moving back and forth in the
familiar, ancient and respected ritual act of love between a man and a
boy. The lake, the joke was, was so full of cum that the fish could eat it
all day long and never have to seek any other kind of nourishment. The
pastor had
 decided that he would, on most nights, have only one boy in his tent (oh,
sometimes he'd have a three-way, especially with the first-year boys,
filled with wonder and awe at the attention he gave them). That boy was
chosen at our lunch at the picnic tables where he would call out a boy's
name and have him come to the front of the group and tell him to get on his
knees in front of him where he would put his hand on his head and "anoint"
him, saying to all that this boy was going on a special journey that night,
and we'd clap, even though we'd all be so jealous that it wasn't going to
be us.

But, this morning, it had been my turn to wake up in the pastor's sleeping
bag, wonderfully funky with the smell of the boys he'd had in there over
the past five days. Unfortunately, we had to return home later in the
afternoon and the pastor had calculated that he would only get off two more
times. His own sons were not in a good mood, as they always had to share
him with the rest of us at camp, but they made up for it by letting some of
the other boys fuck them, even though they preferred men, especially their
father. They allowed boys as young as themselves, eleven years old,to lube
up and slide it up their asses, coming in big spurts that dripped out their
holes.

Of course, two nights before, during yet another ritual, Pastor Brown's
boys were allowed to have sex with each other on an air mattress encircled
by most of the other campers, having sex while it was still light out so
they boys watching wouldn't miss anything. Several of the boys masturbated
while they watched and cum flew through the air onto the pastor's boys and
we'd cheer each time someone would shoot his load on to the little lovers.

His sons and I would also play "kidnap" where we would sneak into a boy's
tent in the night in one of the two "virgin" camps of the first-year boys,
put duct tape over his mouth, and carry him outside, before he was even
fully awake, remove his pajamas, drop them on the ground, and carry him to
a nearby sand dune where two of us would hold him down and the other one
would suck his cock. He would squirm in the sand, rubbing his butt around
as the pleasure of the blow job grew more and more intense, and then we
would trade places, quickly so he wouldn't run away, and we'd give him a
second blow job, and then a third. Then we'd run away in the opposite
direction of our camp so as not to reveal who we were. The boy would sneak
back to the tent, nude and sandy, so very tired, so very happy, find his
jammies, if he could, in the dark, slip them on, and lie awake for a long
time, touching himself and trying to reenact with his own hand the
wonderful feeling
 he'd felt for the very first time.

 By the time we ended up at church camp, I'd babysat for the pastor and his
wife probably 20 times and every time, of course, I had sex with his
sons. Very rarely did I have sex with the pastor on those occasions as he
and his wife were going to some church dinner or to someone's house and
there was no time. But, we made up for it by me riding my bike after school
to the church where I would go in to his office and we would have a hot 30
minutes before I had to get home to do my homework and chores. His
secretary only worked in the mornings, his idea so he could have
after-school sex with me and several others. He was so fascinated with my
body and with my cock. I was taller and my cock was bigger, of course, than
his own sons' cocks were, and he loved to suck me. I was surprised, but
pleased, because I thought he would want to have me suck him and fuck me
and not "bother" with my cock. But, instead, he had me undress for him and
hand him my underwear
 which he enjoyed smelling, moist with sweat by the end of the school
day. Then I would help him remove his shoes, on my knees on the floor in
front of him, and undo his suit slacks, and help him lower them to the
floor and slip one leg out of the pants so he could open wide. Then he
would unlock one of his desk drawers and pull out some lube and I would
take some of it in my hands. First, I would smell his afternoon cock, rich
with sweat, then pull down his underwear and let the smell of his groin hit
me, almost overpowering me. I would hastily lick him and kiss him and suck
on his cock, then he would guide my hands to it and I would lube it up. He
would turn me around, have me bend over, and insert one finger, then two,
with lube on them into my ass and we would be ready. Most of the time, I
would lie my head and chest on his desk and he would stand behind me,
fucking me, harder and faster, and deeper, until he shot his load deep
inside me. If I
 hadn't come, and I usually had, shooting on the floor under his desk or
perhaps into his hand cupped over the head of my cock, if he could manage
that and still ram me, but if I hadn't, he would squeeze my butt cheeks
together to try to keep his cum from dribbling out and give me a blow job
which didn't take long as I was so horned up, I was ready to blow in mere
minutes. Then, still holding my butt, he would walk me over to his personal
bathroom where he would slowly, lovingly clean me up and I would wash and
dry him in return.

Some of those days, I would be babysitting for his boys that evening and
we'd talk about what I was going to do with them. He eagerly followed our
progress and even kept a chart on his computer in a password-protected file
where he'd enter the date and have columns for each boy and for me and mark
what we'd done. For example, if Bobby, for example, had given me a blow
job, he'd mark that; if he'd swallowed, that was an adjacent column; if I'd
finger fucked one of the boys, he'd mark that; and on and on. As the weeks
went by, more and more columns were filling up and even more were created,
as we discussed and then experimented with new things. He wouldn't let me
do something new to his boys until he had, saying it was his right as the
father to be the first.

I was amused and, strangely, turned on by his detailed spreadsheet,
outlining what his two little boys and I had done sexually. We would review
it and he would discuss it, with me sitting, nude, on his lap while he
slowly masturbated me. He would be fully clothed, and I could feel his hard
cock pushing against the back of my leg. He would get sort of husky voiced
when discussing the various things we'd already done. Sometimes, when he
was ready to do something new with them, then have me do it with them or to
them, I would have to have it explained, as it was new to me. But it was
always exciting. For example, I hadn't known about rimming until he
described it to me and then, when I seemed slightly puzzled and maybe even
reluctant, he did it to me and, man, was I sold on it! I did it to him that
same day and he pronounced me "an expert" and ready to do it to his two
little boys whose asses I already absolutely loved.

In the same locked drawer he kept pictures of him having sex with his boys,
including the first time for every action. One was especially hot, when he
showed me the first time he fucked each boy. The camera was on a tripod, he
said, at just the right distance. The boy was facing the camera, sitting
pretty much on his father's lap, both of them naked, and the little boy had
his mouth open, grimacing, his own cock hard, his father's one hand holding
the boy to him, the other hand caressing his son's groin, but careful to
keep away from the cock so it would show in the photo. The pastor was
kissing the boy on the side of his head, near his ear. Each boy had struck
pretty much the same pose, legs wide apart, in agony both from getting
fucked for the first time but obviously in the deep throes of sex, taking
it, savoring it, and, if one could have heard them, there would be sounds
of moaning and gasping and giving out a little sob, not out of fear or
pain,
 but out of the joy of finally getting what their father had been promising
to do to them since they were too young to have appreciated it. He wisely
waited until they were wild with desire for it, old enough to want it,
demand it, beg for it, old enough to have holes a little bigger for his
thick cock that they could barely fit into their mouths, old enough to have
hard cocks themselves and a teeny bit of pubic hair. The photos were
classic, priceless, and never failed to get me hard, no matter how many
times he showed them to me. He liked to insert the disk in the computer,
bring up one boy, then switch back and forth, and nuzzle me while he
masturbated me, then have me unzip his pants and return the favor, until we
both shot into a pair of one of his son's briefs he kept in the locked
drawer. We would eat the cum from the briefs, not even knowing whether it
was his or mine, nor which boy's briefs they were, and not caring.

And, soon, we would go through the same exercise, looking at the same
photos, and I would listen to him describe, in that raspy voice, the
details of the day he fucked them both, about an hour apart, and how it
felt and what they did and how they begged for more, and I would shoot
another load and he would kiss me out of appreciation.

When I babysat, of course, I would talk about these things with Teddy and
Bobby and we would play non-stop, starting the moment I said good-bye the
pastor and his wife at their front door and locked it. (While I looked out
the little window at the top of the door, watching them get into their car
at the curb, Teddy or Bobby, whoever had won the coin toss, would have
unzipped me and be sucking me already while I smiled at their parents. Of
course, their father knew exactly while I was smiling, but the wife was
completely unaware of this -- or, of course, of her husband's constant,
passionate, down-and-dirty relationship with her two little boys.)

Later, the pastor would call the house number on his cell, let it ring
once, and hang up, usually calling from the bathroom of the building or
home where they were, to alert us to rush to get the boys in bed, get
cleaned up, make sure no wayward cum was on someone's chin or on the floor,
and when they walked in the door, I would be downstairs, watching TV, my
cock limp from another hearty workout, and the boys would be in their bunk
beds, masturbating quietly under the covers, their cocks wrapped around a
pair of their father's dirty briefs. They would tuck the briefs down around
their feet when their parents would come into the room to kiss them
good-night. If the mother did it first, and left the room, their dad would
give them a quick bit of tongue, sucking on their lips, and, if he felt it
safe, even reach down under the covers and feel his little boys' hard
cocks.

"Did you have fun with Charles tonight?" he would ask, all innocent-like.

"Yes, Daddy."

"Did he help you with your homework?"

"Yes, Daddy."

"Did you work on that new assignment?" he would ask, meaning, in code, "Did
you participate in yet another new sexual practice with him?"

"Yes, Daddy, we did," Teddy and Bobby would say, smiling slyly, and the
pastor would give them a knowing grin before turning out the lights.

But, before he flipped the switch, he would sometimes lean over to Bobby,
closer to the door, and whisper, "I'm going to fuck your mother good and
rough tonight. Be sure to sneak out of bed and listen by our doorway. I'll
make sure the door is open a little bit. She'll think your door is shut and
that you're asleep." Then he would shut their door, walk into the master
bedroom, approach his wife, kiss her in the certain way that meant he was
expecting some sex, and she would kiss him back, as he reached under her
blouse to undo her bra.

Soon, with two 11-year-old little boys crouched, naked, at the door, he
would eat his wife, her pungent cunt so strong and tasty, then he would
fuck her pussy nice and rough, making her moan and cry softly, "Oh, Daddy,
that's so good!"

The boys would masturbate each other, almost unable to believe it
themselves that they were cumming yet one more time that day. But they did,
catching it in their father's stained briefs and, as always, trading them
to eat the cum while their father grunted and panted, in such a familiar
way, letting them know that he too was cumming.

The boys would quietly stand up on the hall carpet, kiss each other and
rough up each other's hair, in a conspiratorial way, and hold hands,
clutching their father's cum-soaked briefs in the other, and tiptoe back to
their room, carefully closing their door to the bedroom that was the site
of so many sexual encounters with their babysitter and with their father.

This time, exhausted, they would fall asleep, allowing their little bodies
the chance to rebuild energy and strength and sexual desire.

They had such sweet dreams.