Date: Tue, 18 Jan 2005 19:16:21 -0800 (PST) From: Steve Storyman Subject: Boys' Joys and Sorrows at Sex Ed School - Chapter 3 ________________________________________________________________ Boys' Joys And Sorrows At Sex Ed. School - Chapter 3 by Steve Storyman stevestoryman@yahoo.com (text only) Copyright 2005 Steve Storyman January 18, 2005 DISCLAIMER: This story is for adults only. If it is not legal for you to read erotic stories, or you are not of legal age to read this type of story either where you reside or are accessing this page, or are offended by male to male sex, spanking, or other application of pain or pleasure to the body, homosexual or otherwise, then click off this page, and do not read this story. Contains gay sex scenes. Other standard disclaimers apply. _________________________________________________________________ PLEASE READ THIS AUTHOR'S REQUEST FOR HELP, "IT'S UP TO YOU" If you like my stories, please send a note. I would love to tell you that I write for the pure pleasure of it--but the truth is, I write for the pleasure of reading your email. Continuing a story depends on your emails. Without your help, I lose the drive that impels me to write--and focus only on stories that produce email. (I write in "real time." There aren't any pre-written chapters.) Your email address and your words are confidential and secure. I am not associated with any web site, and do not and will not give out, sell, share, print, nor copy--or anything else you can think of--your address or anything you tell me. PLEASE, NO ATTACHMENTS AND NO 'IN LINE' PICS OR OTHER MATERIAL. I CAN ACCEPT TEXT ONLY. Steve Storyman stevestoryman@yahoo.com (text only) I'll reply to all substantial. (If you have a privacy issue and would prefer that I don't write back, please tell me.) Thank you. --Steve _______________________________________________________________ Jeremy Miles, Headmaster, Miles Academy Phil Wertz, 21, supervisor Brent Hallman, 17, student being converted Phillip Ankleton, 14, student helper, blond hair Michael Lanikker, 13, student helper, darker hair { Mark Ericmann, 22, teacher coming { Sean Ballinger, 15, student, rewarded in { Ethan Dremmond, 17, student, wise guy, punished next { Kyle Roland, 15, student, a cute bottom chapter { Simon Kelms, 17, student with a big lap { Dennis Rex, 16, student, basketball player { Alan Richards, 25, assistant to Mr. Miles _______________________________________________________________ SEE UPDATED LIST OF MY 4 STORIES AT END OF CHAPTER _______________________________________________________________ THANK YOU TO ALL WHO MAILED ME, DOUBLE FOR THOSE WHO MAIL OFTEN Please don't stop. stevestoryman@yahoo.com _______________________________________________________________ A Note to the Reader: >From now on, to increase the action content of this story, I plan write a minimum of long, descriptive passages such as school policy, philosophy, and technology, for example. I plan to write (maybe) shorter chapters now (30K)? or so, to avoid long waits between chapters. Sometimes the scale of the chapter's content will not permit a shorter chapter, as is the case with the chapter you're now reading--a very long chapter, I hope filled with things you like. Do long chapters normally arouse your interest, or discourage you? I'm soliciting your comments on these changes, as well as comments on the story and of a general nature in order to help keep the story in line with your wishes. (Remember, there is nothing written in advance.) Also, if you liked or disliked something in a chapter, tell me. Don't be shy. :-) Thank you. --Steve stevestoryman@yahoo.com _______________________________________________________________ For Peter CHAPTER 3 ABOUT BRENT _________________________________________________________________ NOTE: Brent's ritual and classroom discipline will be the topics of chapters four and five. Coming within the next several days or so. ABOUT BRENT Brent seemed astounded at his own words, yet he looked more obstinate than aghast--panting furiously, his sweat-spattered, crimson face and fiery eyes a menacing glow radiating angry waves of heat in all directions. With his body stretched on the elevated, cross-like apparatus-- his sculpted feet dangling unsupported--the stomach pulled inward, calf muscles convulsing, protruding rhythmically. The more obvious, strenuous shifts of Brent's body masked the lesser, stinging pulsation of muscular exhaustion. The ribs of the 17-year-old stood out gloriously under his thick, rippled pectorals, the hollow of the concave stomach lending a gaunt sensuality to the bewitching boy as he twisted in humiliating torment. Adorned with strands of the lad's dripping fluids, Brent's enraged penis--red, swollen, throbbing with the wrenching ache of extreme sexual denial--whipped and swerved furiously, his man-sized organ a colossal, thrashing finger condemning us all. The deep, torrid breaths of the enticing adolescent pierced the silence with erotic tones and the labored exertion of fierce desire as the animal craving transformed his anguish into mountains of agony that wracked him mercilessly. His face possessed with resistance and impossible defiance, his hard stare captivating, formidable--and irresistible. Stunned and silent. That described the three of us--two boys in their early teens, and one young, untrained supervisor, age 21. Even if I hadn't used the hydraulic mechanism to raise the device prior to the session, the image of Brent would have been no less intimidating. Watching Brent carefully, I closed my parched mouth, the fear subsiding now, as my eyes confirmed the squirming lad had not ejaculated. I studied the mysterious mixture of the boy's turbulent emotions. If Brent was alarmed, we were more alarmed--expecting him to shout obscenities at any moment. The hardy, agitated 17-year-old flushed red, but seemed intact. The anger in his face began to fade. The fear was momentary--Brent was the boy, I was the supervisor. There was no need to fear what Brent might say. Tied to the device, there was nothing he could do. I saw Phillip, wide-eyed and statue-still--his small, bare foot frozen to the big pedal that pressed a dildo into Brent's slippery back-tunnel--the little lad's lips motionless, stretched over the thick glans of Brent's penis. Brent shifted his head downward to look at Phillip. The urgent expression on Brent's face implored the petrified young teen to pull away. Brent's body shuddered--the tremors accentuating his firm muscles--the tight, quivering flesh testimony to the recent demands upon mind and body. Michael and I stood immobile. To us, Brent's explosiveness might erupt again at any moment--he needed attention, but first I had to un-freeze Phillip. "Slowly open your mouth, Phillip," I said, to make sure the captivating adolescent we called Brent would not ejaculate at the last moment, "and carefully come away from him." "Huhhhhhhhhh!" Brent gasped as Phillip opened his mouth. The poor lad shivered all the worse from the faint stimulus. I cursed my lack of training and the storm that caused it. Privately, I asked Phillip what should be done. I assumed we would not be allowed to act on Brent's frenetic offer to suck Phillip now--an assumption Phillip confirmed. "He has to agree to the five blow jobs or the one fuck," Phillip said softly, taking a sheet of paper from a small desk nearby, his little hands trembling. "He has to check one of the two boxes and sign it. Then we can take the form to the Prep Center." "I see." All the while I was impatient to attend to Brent. One-hundred twenty-eight years of computer and printer technology, and here we were with a crude paper form, one that required hand-delivery, no less. "When the Prep Center is finished processing everything for Brent, Mr. Miles will have a meeting. Then everyone will show up, with all the boys 17 to 23, to see Brent's first boy-sex." "And over 23?" "They don't have to come." "The Prep Center? Wait--I thought that's where new boys went before their initiation." "It's used for a lot of things," Phillip said. From his tone, it was apparent that he was not accustomed to working with an inexperienced supervisor and knew I had a lot to learn. There were no windows in the room, and I wondered if the snowstorm had let up. I suddenly recalled I was told the school's doctor had his office in the Prep Center. Exasperated over the delay in checking Brent, I decided to put a stop to this conversation. "And before you take him down, you have to whip him," Phillip said. "Yes, of course," I said blankly, stunned at the boy's words. I knew a whipping could awaken the lad from his current state, but it could depress him, on the other hand. My mind spun with thoughts. Brent looked too unstable. "Put that paper aside, for now." Then I pointed to Brent. "Get him some water," I said, flipping up the footrest that would allow Brent to stand in relative comfort. I checked to make sure Brent was all right. I also wanted to confirm that he really had given in when he'd said he would suck Phillip. I never took my eyes off Brent, watching for signs of his mental and physical well being. I was relieved that Brent did not tense at my approach as he had earlier. I had to ask the boy if he had any sexual desire for males now, but I didn't want to give Brent an 'out' by wording my question poorly. I rehearsed different phrasings in my mind. Brent looked more than frazzled, and it wasn't all due to his sexual denial or the strapping he'd received. He could be on the verge of mental trauma, for all I knew. Brent's condition may well have been extreme fatigue, but I would find out. I picked up a towel, planning to wipe the sweat off him. Immediately, I confirmed one condition for certain. The potent effects of his 55 hours of sexual denial--compounded by the teasing his sexual organs received--became clear when I first touched the towel to his abdomen. "AH!" he shouted as the towel made contact. He shook with a great jolt--the alluring hard muscles contracting suddenly. "Did that hurt?" I said, jerking the towel away. "No. My balls hurt like a bitch, though!" That was stated clearly enough. His penis probably ached, too, and not just for sex. Phillip arrived with the water and I fed it to Brent gradually, helping him lift his head slowly each time I brought it to his lips, parched from his hours of affliction. "We can take care of that, Brent. I'll have Phillip bring some ice." From my own personal experience as a student at a different school, I knew the stress Brent had been through. Phillip was full of anxiety. As he looked on, I could see it-- his little body trembling somewhat, having been the object of Brent's vehement exclamation, moments ago. When I put the towel down, it grazed Brent's erection. "OHHHWRR!! AH!" he shouted, the sensual, aching tone unmistakable as he convulsed again, his monumental need overwhelming him. "What can I get you?" I asked the beautiful lad. "J-just the ice." His voice was strained, the tone neutral. "Any moment now," I said, wondering what was taking Phillip so long. Feeling unsure of myself, I called Jeremy Miles' office and asked Mr. Miles how to proceed. We had special communicators with signal scramblers, so no outsider could intercept our conversations. The first priority was to see if Brent needed any help--medical or psychological. The second injunction was to keep Brent far from the point of sexual climax. The third and most difficult task was to see if he had developed any sexual desire for males. There wasn't time to ask Mr. Miles all the questions I had--all the things I wanted to know about having the talk with Brent that Miles explained was crucial--the so-called 'post-tease' interview, a term I hated. Nor was there time to discuss all the cautions, and things I must do to get Brent to speak freely--and I could not discuss those standing next to him. I had made the call in full view of Brent, hoping this might help gain his trust. Brent knew I was a rookie, and there was no shame in asking for information. Aside from the answers to my questions, Mr. Miles told me to do what I thought best, but that Brent should not be allowed to ejaculate, or be sexually stimulated to a point close to orgasm; that it was unwise to touch his penis, but we were free to do so if I thought I could keep him from orgasm. Miles explained that Brent must not attempt to practice or rehearse any sex act on another boy, including masturbation. There were to be no trial runs of Brent's supposed, newly declared sexual desires until the formal conversion ritual, or whatever they called it. In short, touching another boy in any sexually explicit way was prohibited, other than trivial or accidental contact. But I neglected to ask about the whipping. At least Miles had given me the proper phrasing for the first question. "So, why'd you give in, Brent?" I said casually, though there was little likelihood that his answer would end the interview this soon. Brent seemed to rouse himself, as if from a dream. His face went through several emotions, finally resolving to a look of loathing, disgust maybe. If this were directed at me, I would be gravely disappointed--my night of passion in bed with Brent would mean nothing to me if he despised me. But his face softened, his beauty a salve for my doubts. "I'm not sure I gave in," he said, the sweat-drenched eyelids fluttering with fatigue. His hair dripped with the perspiration of adversity--the sweat flowing in rivulets down his chest, one stream crossing a nipple. "Fuck the rules," I said. "I'm getting you down from there." I heard what I thought was a grunt of thanks, as I grasped his shivering torso. "Get a robe," I said to Phillip, taking the ice from him, "I'm taking him off this thing." They always had robes, everywhere-- I knew that much. "Michael, find the ladder and help me cut these ropes." Startled but obedient, Phillip ran to the supply cabinet. I suppose he was bewildered with my unconventional methods. Michael and I found that getting Brent down from the tease apparatus was no easy task. Brent's temporarily weakened muscles were little help. Phillip appeared at the critical moment and prevented us from dropping the lad. We helped Brent into the robe, and got him seated in the nearest chair to recuperate. I rubbed the terrycloth material into his chest and back to warm him. In contrast to the agitation of moments ago, Brent seemed sluggish now, but life soon returned to his face. Phillip and Michael looked on, open-mouthed. "Can you walk okay?" The panting boy nodded. I needed to be alone with Brent to make sure he was okay, to interview him, and to be sure he'd remain stable with his attempted change of orientation, if that's what it was. There were a few other things, too--things which my young helpers must not see. "Sit here for now. I'll be right back," I said. I took Phillip and Michael over to the restraining pod and pulled down four wrist restraints, which hung from the ceiling from cables that could be raised and lowered with an electric winch. Each pair of cables had its own winch. The cables came down freely when pulled--until you turned on the winch motor or applied the brakes. "In you go!" I said--installing the well-padded and very long arm restraints--to two impish faces that typified, 'But we're your buddies! How can you do this to us?' I took up the slack so their arms pointed to the sky, and locked the cables in place by applying the brakes to the two winches. The little pair wouldn't be going anywhere or getting each other off, in my absence. I stripped off my clothing except for the tennis shoes, according to Mr. Miles' instructions. It seemed strange that I was going to conduct an interview in the nude, but there I was, naked. Brent gave me a curious look. "Feeling better?" "Man, I gotta pee something fierce!" he said. "Okay--over here," I pointed toward the hallway. With the interview delayed and our need of entering a more public area of the building, I retrieved my shorts and put them back on. The bathroom in the hall was the nearest one. I got Brent up and helped him walk, his erection protruding through the robe's opening. As I opened the door to the hallway, a sign greeted me "STUDENTS: NO CLOTHING IN THIS SECTOR." I removed Brent's robe, and we entered the bathroom. I thought it was nice being able to stand next to him at the urinals and watch him stand there with his erection in hand. He stood for quite a while. I'm sure the silence and my staring made for a tense moment. He took a nervous breath and began to struggle. "I can't pee with this," he said, shaking the stiff, stubborn thing, his frustration mounting. "Yes, I wondered," I said with a wry smile. I made my decision. "I have just the thing to help you get your erection down, and solve your problem." "Yeah, I'll bet." "Let's go," I said, opening the door and scanning the hall for a training room. After short walk, we arrived at a smaller version of the room where Brent had his ordeal. Part of me wanted to put this boy to bed and massage him, but I couldn't let myself go soft at this point. At least he seemed more normal now, except for some fatigue. I put him in a standing position, spread his legs and locked the bar, and pulled the overhead wrist restraints high and wide. He was spread-eagle now. Compassionately, I let his feet have full contact with the floor. I took what I needed from the supply cabinet, and began to oil his hard, smooth back. "Fuck," he whispered softly with a tone of resignation to the inevitability of what would happen now. There was no fear in his voice. He looked at the floor. I played with his cock, causing the boy to hiss. "Speaking of fuck--when you're not right under my watchful eye, you'll be in a chastity belt. So, it looks like Brent junior won't be seeing much fucking action for a while." "Shit--the only action is my right hand." "Oh, that's right. Straight boys don't get to mingle much with the main crowd," I said, rubbing it in. "At least you get to see all the other boys. Watching the sex training is mandatory isn't it?" "Yeah, but most of the time the sup passes me out," Brent said, referring to the supervisor giving him a pass to go to another room such as the entertainment lounge or library. I didn't do any preamble, I just let the first stroke speak for itself. WHIIIPPP! "AH!" he said, in that low groan of a boy in his late teens, accustomed to being whipped. The sound was not unlike that of a man who jumps into a pool on a hot day, but Brent's had an edge to it. I decided to give him a few more moderate strokes, a little harder, as my cock jutted out, making a good tent in my shorts. WHIIIPPP!! "AH!" WHIIIPPP!! "AH!" WHIIIPPP!! "AH!" Realizing his body would be on display for his ritual tonight, it would be best to avoid severe strokes. Instead, I would strive to criss-cross his back moderately, go easy on his reddened butt, and give him a few bad ones on the upper legs. But first, I did my artwork with the milder strokes. Time for a change-up, right-back, wrapping just a little around the ribs. WHHHIIIIPPPPPP!!! "AAHHHHhhhhhogghhh!" He jumped at that one, head and torso coming back at me, shoulders and thighs straining with effort. I returned to the lighter strokes, making a denser pattern on his back. It was light, decorative--enough to give the crowd something to look at, tonight, enough to make Brent hurt, but not in agony. It was time for a wicked one to the back of the legs--a brief moment of agony. CCRRRAAAAAACCKKKKKK!! "Aawwwwaaarffffff!" he screamed, bending backward with the pain, biceps and shoulders bulging and straining magnificently, perspiration snapping off his hair. I went around to see his face--sweating profusely, red--not angry red, but the red of suffering and the anguish of resistance. Good. The boy had spunk. CCRRAAAAACCKKKK!! "NAAaahhhrrrrrrrr!!!" he screamed, twisting now, two nice marking on the legs. A few more. The last one vicious, culminating in a long, savage scream. A few more to his buttocks, and Brent was well-marked, pretty almost. I had not drawn blood, but I had marked him nicely with the fewest strokes possible. I took a bucket of water and tended to the boy, now heaving with ragged breaths. "Ah, ah, fuck," he said as I splashed him with the cool water, rubbing lightly with the sponge. The water was an antiseptic solution. I hunted for some tea tree oil, and found a good synthetic. The aroma of the oil give it away. "Ah, yeah," he said gratefully, as I soothed his marks with the oil. I put a hand to his abdomen to feel the heaves of his rapid breathing. "Hold steady now." "Thank you, sir." The way Brent had said it, I was certain it wasn't just slave and master protocol--the boy seemed very thankful. "Don't often get this," he said. "You deserve it." Of course we both knew I could have whipped him much harder. "I deserve it?" "Sure," I said, "special occasion tonight." The truth was, I didn't want to make it any harder than necessary on the boy. In addition, we had an interview to do. It loomed over my head like a distasteful chore. But I suspected I would at least enjoy being with Brent, an intriguing young man. Before I released him, I held a slop bucket under his cock. He had no trouble letting go. Once Brent was free of the restraints, I pointed to the subject's wash-up area. "Clean up a little, if you want." "Can I shower?" he said, sounding half his age. A boy of 17, a subject at least, usually wasn't so open-faced friendly. "Sure you can." Brent went for the student shower next to the sink--a drain in the floor and a chain-pull, cold shower in plain view. "Use the staff shower. I'll lock the door." Brent was so dumbfounded, he remained silent. That was fine with me. He grinned just before he disappeared into the staff-only shower room. He wasn't 100% lively when he emerged, but a definite improvement. His eyes looked directly at me. His nod and smile were thanks enough. I walked Brent back through the training room to the utility room--a series of rooms, really--a standard feature of all training rooms. The utility suite had many rooms typical of an apartment, and included a large, commercial-looking lunch room. I chose the spacious lunch room for our interview. As this was interview time, I slid my shorts off, and poured three glasses of orange juice--two for Brent, one for me. Brent gave me his odd look again as I stripped off. "Have a seat," I said. "AH!!" The hard chair aggravated his soreness. He recovered quickly, "Thanks," he said, taking a glass and gulping it down. "How bad off are you?" I asked, sitting with him, and having finally found the phrasing I wanted. "Could be worse," he said, subtly shrugging his shoulders, a corner of his mouth upturned briefly. Brent's matter of fact manner and calm behavior were startling to me. Had I been a dumb ass and taken too much pity on him? Then again, he had been at the academy three years, and presumably had some very tough supervisors. And now I knew, the boy was tough. It wasn't just wishful thinking on Miles' part when he told me that boys develop a strong, addictive sense of pride in their ability to 'take it like a man' in the training sessions-- especially if other boys were allowed to confirm this by witnessing the session. That was the wisdom of having group training and punishment in addition to one-on-one sessions. Age groups were often mixed. "Stand up." I wanted to test his battered buttocks for pain, just to see the truth. "Okay," he said looking puzzled. He obeyed. I rubbed his bottom vigorously--on the reddest welted areas, watching for signs of pain. He never flinched. When I gave him a tougher test and slapped the two mounds, his face tightened at times, but he never made a sound. The yell he had given when sitting down was one of surprise, not pain, after all. "You're incredible, man!" I said to him, now treating him more as a school chum than a subordinate whom you were supposed to call, 'boy.' He looked me in the eye then, maybe sizing me up for sincerity, maybe getting ready to vent his frustration. Eventually his eyes found my erection. "Sit back down," I said softly. Brent was not erect, but in a half-hard state. "And relax. Say what you want." I was avoiding the formal phrases. "Why'd you restrain the kids?" he asked. Strange, I hadn't thought of Phillip and Michael in those terms. Yes, they were boys, but 'kids' had an entirely different inference to me, especially when someone else spoke the word. "To keep them out of trouble, but other reasons as well. You'll see," I said, poker-faced. This was incredible. Here we had cock-teased and strapped this beautiful boy, I had just whipped him--and he was asking questions like he was chatting poolside. I stood and looked at Brent. "Stand up," I said again--in a firm but neutral tone. This time, I looked the young man's body over quite thoroughly. I had some semblance of nursing skills, which helped qualify me for this job. Brent's tight, athletic build shouted strength, stamina. His face told of inner capacity and character. Except for the marks on his buttocks, and from my whipping, I found nothing unusual. "Sir," he said after a pause, as if he'd suddenly remembered his manners. "Lay off the 'sir' for now, Brent. It's just you and me here." "You're a pretty cool guy," sir--Phil, I mean. Coming from a subject--a boy, especially this boy, I was taken with his remark. I blushed at the deep compliment. "Question is, are you hot?" Did he understand my subtle question? "What do you mean?" Brent said, a blush starting to form. I suspected he knew damn well what I meant. I was glad the question registered, at least. "Sit down," I said, indicating the seat across from me, this time. Now I had to get to the heart of the matter. Had we broken this boy, or not? Had he actually given in? Was he responding to gay stimuli or just going along with the program? Or was he going to deny any real effects of his ordeal, and sentence himself to more of the conversion, cock-teasing treatment? "Are you horny from two days of teasing, or do you want to have sex with boys and sign that paper?" I was a good-looking, young guy, myself, but Brent was magnificent. Part of me wanted to ask him, 'Am I turning you on?' I studied his face. Brent fell silent. He lowered his head and stared at the table. He took several ragged breaths. He suddenly looked fourteen years old to me, not the full-fledged adolescent I had seen on the rig. He lifted his head and looked at me, face blushed. "I feel like shit," he said, suppressing a lot of emotions with his over-simplified statement. "I can sign you out of this for a week, while you think about it," I said, watching Brent try shake himself out of it. "You're serious, aren't you?" "Yes--Why?" "Thanks," he said, "but waiting will make it worse." "I understand." I did, partially. If nothing else, I had no doubt of one thing he was referring to. "The guys I talked to that went through conversion got their asses beat when it was over." "I see. I whipped you but we both know that wasn't a beating," I said. "Do you want a beating? That severe kind of pain?" "Fuck," he said, and then apologized for cursing. This was different--normally a subject could cuss when doing a scene, but not at other times. "Don't apologize. I'm not into academy protocol right now. But I don't see the harm in telling you--we do have masochists here, some as young as 14." "Geez! No, I'm not a pain freak, but--I don't know, man," he said, lowering his head again. "I guess I can take a lot of it." "What don't you know?" This got him to raise his head and look at me. I knew from my past treatment at Chenkor, that there were times when you wanted the pain, for complex reasons. You could talk about that with your peers, but you never mentioned it to a supervisor unless he asked you directly. "You win! That's what I know." This wasn't so much an answer to my question as the conclusion we were hoping for. I was happy to see a smirk--puzzling as that was--and not anger on his face. But it wasn't over yet. "For real, Brent?" I said, searching his eyes again. "Yeah." "Ready to suck some dick?" I said crudely, as a test. "Yeah," he said, as if resigned to a depressing fate. He was holding back. "You can't FAKE this, Brent. You sign that paper, and you'll be having sex with males only, for the next four years or more-- sucking, fucking, rimming, kissing--the whole program." I managed to say it without distress, but I was uneasy. "I wanna try it, now. My heart won't be in it a hundred percent, maybe--but I didn't want to, till today. It happened to two of my buds. Once they started doing it with guys, they really got into it." My reply was the doubtful look on my face. "I can do it," he said quietly. Brent's face had a hint that he might be looking forward to that. Obviously, this boy was highly intelligent. I had to ask the obvious. "What made the difference today?" "Huh!" he exclaimed with a half-smile, "You, mostly, I guess. You didn't take advantage. You didn't strap me hard; the whipping wasn't bad. And Phillip and what's his name . . . . You didn't just walk in and boss them around, you were a team together--and they were good." 'Team' registered with me. "You're in the sports program?" "Football and track." That explained a few things. Playing a sport may not take a boy's mind off sex, but it does enlighten him and toughen him in very good ways. "Did you like Michael and Phillip?" "I hated them. At first. But today, seeing them with you--" he said, nervously running his fingers through his hair, "they sorta turned me on . . . I mean . . . some." He became tense again. "Okay, go on," I said, gulping with excitement. "Well . . . It--It was weird. I . . . When I thought of gay stuff, it always turned me off because . . . I figured they would put me in with guys my age, maybe older, but I--" "It's okay. It doesn't have to be that way. Have some more juice." "When I saw those kids, and how you guys went at it . . . I don't know . . . I never thought of having sex, or whatever, with young guys. Sorta turns me on, now," he said, standing up to stretch, his fingertips rising slowly toward the eight-foot ceiling. He was so nonchalant, it was starting to unsettle me. "I understand. And you're not alone," I said, looking up and making solid eye contact. "It's easier with younger guys. I felt the same way." "You mean--you went through this . . . conversion?" he said, his slowly stretching body snapping to attention. "Well, not THIS conversion, but yes, two years ago--right after the laws changed," I said, a slight smile escaping. "Damn! THAT'S why you went easy on me! Then you know--I mean, you can understand me. That's exciting." "What do you suppose I think YOU are?" I said. This put a nice, white-toothed smile on Brent's face. It was how I thought a boy should look, having been paid a compliment--a bit shy, but a wide grin breaking through. "I know," he said good-naturedly, obliquely informing me of his awareness of my attraction to him, a touch of embarrassment showing. "It was totally different, then. I was at Chenkor Boys School." "Whoa! I heard about that place. Rough." "Yes. A far cry from Miles Academy," I said, studying his sheer beauty. "Wow." I felt a little out of control with Brent standing and me sitting. I thought of a way to get his attention. "Brent," I said loudly, startling him, then continuing in a normal tone, "How do you know the reason I went easy on you was that I went through it myself and took pity on you? Maybe I want to get into your pants." He blushed badly, looked down at his nakedness and grinned, "WHAT pants? You got that far already. I guess I did, too," he said more softly as an afterthought, but his whole little speech was welcome comic relief. We laughed, but the seeds of sensuality had been planted and were sprouting. With all this, I felt I'd earned his respect on more than one front. He'd certainly earned mine. I stood up and motioned him to come closer. He was hard. Fully. "Just stand there," I said, "don't move, or do anything." "Can I talk?" "Yes." "You really want to know about me--how I feel?" "Yes." That was a great compliment. "I'm scared." I had no answer, but was pleasantly overwhelmed he'd admit that to me. Standing, we faced each other. I was within two feet of him, watching his eyes, occasionally glancing at his erection. I got closer. And waited--for a long time. I was about to give up on a response when he leaned in and hugged me--a warm hug. I put my arms around his waist. He needed this. I needed it, too. Brent was a strong kid--a neat kid. Masculine to the bone, with a compassionate sense about him. I thought I felt his chest heave once or twice, but if he was starting to cry, he controlled it well. His erection faded. Eventually his body stiffened, as if a with change of mood, and he pulled out of the hug. "Let's get this over with. Where's that paper?" "Wait. Not yet. How else do you feel right now?" The two of us remained standing. "Fine. A little weird." "Who's sexier--Michael or Phillip?" I saw the shock on his face. "Shit, I can't believe this," he said, running his hand through his hair again, less tensely now, "I'm thinking of two young guys and getting hard again." He touched his cock, giving it a good squeeze and a light stroke. He was nearly erect. I smiled, hoping that would encourage him. "You don't think of the older boys--ones your age--as guys you'd get it on with?" "No--it's not just that--it's all the other stuff." Now he was sliding just one fingertip up and down the length of his dick. "What stuff?" "The jealousies, the--Most of the guys are nice, but there's some really fucked-up boys around here." "I hear you, Brent." "And that DOCTOR," he said, pausing with fear in his eyes. I knew that could be a concern because of the weekly checkups. The wrong doctor could mess up your head and body. But all the boys' bodies looked healthy. "Yes, I heard he was a little . . . unconventional." "Nice word," Brent said, a frown accompanying his little laugh, "for a really weird dude." His masculine coolness was genuine. Brent's cock finally got fully soft. Then I remembered. I could TEST him! Not that I really needed to. We were both still standing. "I know you need to get off, Brent." He nodded in honesty. "We'll see about that later." I said that, thinking it would be part of the ritual, later on. "Really?" he said. "Yes. Get up on the table, and stand." As Brent complied, I could see the position wouldn't work. "Go to the other end of the table so you can lean against the wall. Face me." I pulled the chair out from under the lunch table and stood in its place, pressing into the edge of the table. "Good. Get closer to me. Lean your shoulder against the wall for balance. Can you lean back a bit, too, without falling?" "Sure." "Don't slip, now! Bend your knees a little. Keep your shoulder tight to the wall." I loosely grasped his ankles, and sensuously slid my hands up his incredibly beautiful legs--a silky layer of light brown brushing softly against my hands. My cock throbbed. I pressed my face to him and sucked his balls gently, tonguing them slowly. Then I pulled off, licking the sac firmly. Finally, I stroked just the hair of his balls swiping my tongue at the tips of the hairs, and thrilled to this enthralling young man's erotic shuddering. "Urrrrrrhh. Ahhhh." I backed away to look at him. Brent Hallman was erect. So far, so good. I thought probably a ninety-year-old man would get a hardon with the kind stimulation I'd just given the lad. I was erect, myself. I held out my hand to help him down from the table, but he jumped off gracefully, unaided. We stood within easy reach of each other. I decided to touch his penis. I watched his face as I brought my hand up and out toward that thing he must surely prize. I prized it enough for both of us. I kept a keen focus on his eyes, looking for signs of emotion. It's difficult when you KNOW in advance you're watching for clues from a facial expression. Then you must interpret what you see. I held my hand close above his beautiful organ. It seemed to me, the position of my hand indicated what I intended to do. I felt the heat of his body as we stood, facing each other. I waited. Slowly an expression came, first to his lips--they tightened, and his eyes studied mine for a moment. He subtly bit his lower lip, eyebrows furrowing in the process. His eyes shifted to my erection. Soon his face relaxed, the expression not unpleasing, but neutral. His eyes warmed, seconds before he smiled and grasped my penis. I didn't hesitate to grasp his erection. Brent jumped somewhat, and again a moan escaped his lips. My response was similar. I can't say I returned the smile, because the grin on my face was spontaneous--a smile that erupted, not because I cared at that moment whether Brent was straight or gay or anything else; not for any sense of accomplishment I may have felt. It was the warmth, the satisfaction of approval, sign of potential friendship, the excitement of a human interchange that flooded me--symbolized by our mutual cock-holding--an assurance of association unique among men. The young man I admired recovered quickly from his initial deluge of sexual stimulation, face still brimming with his enchanting grin. He was out of breath. My smile widened. "Well . . . how is it?" I said with an edge of uneasiness that didn't lessen my smile, nor did either of us loosen the intimate grasp we had on each other. "I thought it would feel weird," he said, looking in wonder at our hand-covered organs. He had released volumes of information in a brief sentence. The smile on his face and the robust, rhythmic throbs of his penis spoke for themselves. I resisted the temptation to tell him that his hand, this whole scene, was raising my sexual barometer. I could imagine how much more intensely HIS craving heightened at this exotic touching. "It feels incredible to me--" I started to say. "I know. That's . . . why I did it," Brent said--to my partially-disguised surprise and suddenly pulsating erection. I made some sort of garbled, elated sound upon hearing that, but my delight was evident on my face. "That's pretty cool," he said, releasing his grasp and looking down at the jumping thing, as if seeing a throbbing cock for the first time. "It feels fantastic," I said, totally forgetting my mission. 'To hell with the mission' I thought, taking my hand from his quivering penis. "Yeah, speaking of that," he said, staring intently at his engorged organ, "um . . . COULD you?" I knew what he was asking. 'The poor boy!' I thought. "I'd love to," I said, then hesitated too long before continuing, because on his face I saw a look of lust and relief I will never forget, "but it's forbidden." I stated it as strongly as my current condition would allow, having just experienced such erotic familiarity with him. But I had to read him carefully now. He gritted his teeth. I had expected a flood of objections, complaints, pleas--but there was none of it. His low moan and momentarily clenched teeth were the only clues to what I believed was the boy's deep disappointment and frustration. Apparently the years of training at Miles Academy were not wasted on Brent Hallman. And apparently he thought enough of me to ask me to suck his dick. "Brent, if there were any way I could--" "It's okay!" Part of me wished he hadn't said that. Part of me wanted him to plead. That would break down my resistance eventually, and I would alleviate his suffering, rule or no rule. "Do you want more ice?" His scrotum had swollen quite a bit, just as Phillip had said. He paused. "Yeah," he said, looking a bit defeated and ashamed that he needed any help to overcome his suffering. After I filled a bowl with ice and put it on the table, Brent clumsily tried to apply a handful of it to his distended sac without much success. I found the pouch designed for this purpose and inserted the ice. Brent applied it properly, although its design made it necessary for him to hold the pouch against his painful testes. I was very glad to see some relief come to his face--after he recovered from the shocking cold. This 17-year-old was so much of a man--yet I had seen his more youthful behavior, his boyish charm and adolescent sexual responses, his engaging reactions to humorous antics, especially of Phillip and Michael. Had he really hated them? A small thud got my attention. At first, I thought someone had entered the room. It was the ice pack--Brent had dropped it, but I only realized that after he fell into me with a desperate embrace. The dam of cries and sobs let loose. How I felt for him! And I felt some pride, some sense of gratitude that this stunning young man should trust me with his tears. Of course, I didn't know what he felt, or what to say--but I thought either he was filled with regret or fear of his newfound sexuality, if that's what it was, or he was crying with relief that this landmark had passed, so to speak. I had to keep in mind that he was 17 years old, not an adult. Brent's chest heaved as we stood and embraced. I tried to think of things to say. I decided silence was most eloquent at a time like this. I held him tightly, quietly admiring the taut knots of muscle that pressed into me, my head spinning with thoughts of his strength and sheer manliness, as I firmly returned the hug--with the hope that somehow this was helping him. Surely the other supervisors didn't go through the wrenching emotions I was having, I thought. I deeply regretted this snowstorm and my lack of training. His hands rubbed my back absently as I felt his strong arms relax their grip somewhat, and finally they slid down, and he released himself from me. We both looked at the floor for a few moments, then the motion of my head caused him to look up. "Thanks," he said, warmly looking into my eyes with confidence now, his recovery surprisingly rapid. I returned his thanks with an affirming look and a nod. "There's a lot of activity coming up," I said, "You'll need to be feeling your best." "I know what would feel the best," he said heartily with a charming sly grin and a firm grip on his penis. We both laughed. I was practically drooling to have it in my mouth. Maybe after the ritual, after he had his fill of public display, I could take him away to my bed. 'Be patient, Phil,' I told myself. More importantly, I'd let him sign the paper now. I motioned with my arm and Brent took a seat. I went to a supply cabinet. There were forms of all kinds in each utility room. Looking the form over, myself, I saw that the so-called conversion form was not a declaration of normality--male to male sex being the norm--but a formal promise to perform sex acts with another boy, specifically for this upcoming ritual. But Brent had said it himself, and I knew, that once you had a good taste of it, with the right partners--when you were ready for it--you wanted more. Now I saw the real point of this interview--determine if the subject is ready. In 2108, with 80 percent of the male population exclusively gay and well-accepted in society, there was honor in signing that form. I set the sheet in front of him. "Are you ready to sign this?" "Yes," he said with some conviction. Curiously, he read the form both before and after signing it, lingering on the second reading. "Wow," he said, staring down at the simple document, "Feels weird, seeing it in black and white--with my signature at the bottom." A charming gulp and weak smile accompanied this. "What do you mean, Brent?" I asked, knowing full well. "Might as well put it on audio to all the rooms, 'Brent Hallman will suck off five guys tonight--he's gay now.'" "I see." "But, um--how long will I have to wait?" he asked eagerly. First he was bemoaning the fact, now he's anxious to get dick in his mouth. Of course, the boy needed to come badly, and knew or hoped he'd get his opportunity during the ritual. "Don't know, Brent. Better not be too long a wait, the way your cock's throbbing." He smiled when I called him by name. "Yeah, I think it's a permanent throb," he said affably, looking at his hard pole, and blushing. I thought by now he'd be over the blush stage, after what he'd been through. I could hardly take my eyes off his erection. I saw him glance over at my bone as I took a breath to speak. "So, you're worried--you think you're gay? That bothers you?" "No. Maybe I'm getting there. I don't care anymore," he said with a sincere grin, shrugging his shoulders lightheartedly. "I won't be seeing girls for a while, anyhow. I guess--I might as well find SOMETHING that feels good." "As long as you keep that healthy attitude, you'll be fine." At this point, Brent was teaching ME. I no longer felt he had to believe he was gay to go through with this. The way Brent was approaching it, my 'licking the balls' test meant nothing. "Cool," Brent said, breathing more easily. "I know guys can be addictive. Pretty soon I'll go looking for it on my own, just like my buds," Brent said, referring to things he'd seen in the past--nevertheless sounding wise beyond his 17 years. If he hadn't grown up straight, he wouldn't be having to struggle. I needed to restrain myself--I wanted him very badly. He was still erect. Maybe this boy had his head together--that he knew he was a man either way. Maybe he felt, deep down, that even if he ditched the opposite sex and went with guys, he was still a man. Maybe his confidence made it unnecessary for him to care, or know any of that. Shit--and only seventeen! "Brent--this is difficult, but--there will be things I must do to do you, that I--" "I know," he said, "you're a supervisor. I have to call you sir, and all that. But now I know you guys aren't all the same." I was thrilled to hear that. Having had my training at a cruel, poorly run school, I had to keep in mind that we had the rule that a boy could always call time out, or call it off if his session became too much for him. Then I started to think of the opposite of cruelty, and I had a few tricks up my sleeve. I looked at Brent. "Let's have some fun," I said, walking toward the door that led out of the utility room's lunch area, and back to the familiar, middle-sized training room where Brent had spent two exhausting days. "Fun?" Brent said, accompanied by a look that said, 'You gotta be kidding!' The boy had no idea how much fun we could have now. Or maybe he expected a beating. I didn't know all the details, but I had a feeling Brent would get his share of leather enthusiastically applied to his skin during the upcoming ritual. As we came into view of Michael and Phillip, their eyes widened when they saw Brent's erection. That hardon was my doing, and I was feeling proud of myself. I had forgotten about the form! It had to be delivered to the Prep Center. I concluded it would be all right to delay its delivery and have an amusing time out. Besides, Brent needed to rest up. Since the two helpers were literally hanging around--from their wrist and arm restraints--I thought it would be fun to rotate the winches, just enough to pull the boys to tiptoe level. I accomplished this quickly with the controls. This meant that there was now a greater upward pull on their arms, since the cables now held some of the weight that was previously supported by their feet. Their little straining muscles were rather charming. "Ah! OW! Oh, man!" "Oooo! DAMN! OW!" "I'm sure a little stretch feels good to you boys," I said, with Brent amused, looking on and nodding A few rounds of, 'OW!' and 'Oh, please' came out of their mouths before they realized I wasn't letting them down any time soon. What actors they were! This couldn't possibly be the first time they'd been suspended--and they still had their toes on the floor. The specially-designed restraints were long and well padded to prevent undue discomfort, or wrist damage. Brent was smiling--enjoying himself already. TBC? (Scroll down for updated list of my stories) Steve stevestoryman@yahoo.com (text only) Comments welcome. I'll reply to all substantial. STEVE STORYMAN'S STORIES AT: www.nifty.org (Approximate Age Ranges represent current and future characters) 1. hot-little-brother-series 8 CHAPTERS SO FAR Nifty Incest/Athletics A slim 18 y/o athlete wants his 16 y/o brother; caring; some football & locker room fun; no long game-scenes. Kevin & Josh. (Ages 15-22) 2. i-wanted-my-big-brother 3 CHAPTERS SO FAR Nifty Incest A hot 15 y/o admires and pursues his brother--a sexy, 17 y/o high-school quarterback; caring; no sports scenes. Chad and Adam. (Ages 15-19) 3. hot-teen-brian 3 CHAPTERS SO FAR Nifty Adult-Youth A cute, smooth 17 y/o and some of his older friends discover a liking for younger guys; hot fun; all consensual; Goes deep into Brian's thoughts. Brian, Peter, Matt & friends. (Ages 10-32; Most action: 13 to 19) 4. boys-joys-and-sorrows-at-sex-ed-school 3 CHAPTERS SO FAR Nifty Adult-Youth Teens trained for mutual sex; some spank, paddling, etc; no cruelty; some orgasm-delay teasing; exciting; individual and classroom/group punishment scenes; all consensual; group and couple's sexual scenes. (Ages 13-35; Most action: ages 13-20) stevestoryman@yahoo.com (text only)