Date: Mon, 26 Apr 1999 11:45:36 -0700 (PDT) From: bpell@anon.nymserver.com Subject: Chronicles Of St.Barnabas chapter14 14. Georgie Over a Barrel That night, after the boys were in bed, I sat in my living room, the pictures spread out before me, trying to work out in my mind what course of action to take. I thought back to the spanking episode of last fall, and remembered how relieved I had been when that affair had blown over. Of course there had been indications-hushed giggles in the corridors as I went by, and that graffi-ti on the bathroom mirror (C.M. is a K.A.)-that Georgie had not kept the matter entirely to himself-, but at least there had been no scandal. And now I remembered something else, which at the time I chose to put down as a figment of my pederastic imagination: It had seemed to me that, following the little flagellation scene in my bedroom, Georgie had gone out of his way to present his pretty bottom to me in the most fetching and provocative ways. Now I wasn't so sure it was all in my mind. I recalled, for instance, that when Georgie was in my room with some other boys, he always positioned himself so that I was afforded a perfect view of his posterior charms. I remembered once when he and an- other boy were playing chess on the floor, Georgie wearing his oldest, thinnest, tightest gym shorts, and how, if he wasn't kneeling with his sweet rump in the air, he was sitting with legs apart and drawn up, affording a view of the tender top of his thighs. And one day in the shower, he stood there with his back to me, lazily soaping his pink round buttocks, running the soap up and down his crease, then dropping it and showing me his rosebud as he bent to pick it up. Acci- dental? Maybe, but I wondered. Perhaps I had deliberately tried to ignore these little signs, because as much as I burned for that bottom-and still did-something always told me that here was a "bad seed," a boy named Candy whose sweet delights were tempting but which might prove to be hemlock in disguise. On the other hand, I now had the pretty little boy over a barrel: with the evidence spread out before me I could get him expelled. And if I could do that, I could also turn it to my advantage another way. The next evening, which was a Thursday, I sent for Geor- gie. The pictures were once again spread out on the table before me. I felt nervous, and when his knock came I said, "Come in!" just a bit too loud. "You sent for me, sir?" he asked, the perfect little choir- boy, a "what-have-l-done-now-sir" look on his pretty face. I stood up and paced the room, not looking at the boy, who stood in the center of the rug, his hands folded in front, his face lowered. I noted his long eyelashes, and the way his hair came to a point at the nape of his neck. I was near enough to smell his hair. "Yesterday," I began rather pompously, "while attempt- ing to photograph the nest of a barred owl from high in a tree-Did you know there was the nest of a barred owl in a tree on the school grounds? Well, there is, though perhaps you are not a bird-watcher. I assure you, Candy, bird- watching can be an extremely interesting sport. You never know what you're going to run across. Stop fidgeting, boy! As I was saying, while I was up in this tree I managed to obtain some photographs of a different nature, photographs which I am sure you will find of great interest, as I most certainly did." I glanced at the boy for some look of recognition as to what I was talking about, but there was none. Quickly I went to the couch and motioned for him to sit down. I gestured to the pictures spread out before us. It crossed my mind that I was guilty of the crime of showing pornography to a minor. I wondered if it was still a crime if the minor is also one of the participants. Georgie was looking hard at the pictures, his face flushed with embarrassment, not from recognition yet, but from the nature of the subject matter. "Sir, what are these? Why are you showing me these things?" How could he fail to recognize them? True, they were blurred and hard to make out at first, unless one knew what to look for. "Look closer," I said. He did so. "They seem-" And suddenly he stopped as a blush of recognition spread over his face. Then he turned ashen. His lower lip began to tremble as he looked from picture to picture. When he finally lifted his head at me, it was with an expression of genuine terror. "So you recognize them now?" "Yes, sir." He looked down. He gave a little sniffle. "It's'quite a serious matter, Georgie, as I'm sure you realize." "Yes, sir," he said, turning even paler at my words. "It's bad enough in itself, of course, but with a fourth- grader-" "But, sir, he-" "I hardly think excuses are in order, Candy." "Oh, sir... sir, please!" Tears welled in the boy's big eyes. His cupid's bow mouth started to tremble. "Sir, if my f-father... oh, sir... please don't..." And he broke into racking sobs. "Let's not get too dramatic," I said. But at the same time my arm went around his shoulder. "If my father..." I patted his shoulder a little. The truth was, despite my best efforts at being a schoolmaster, the little devil was getting to me. Maybe his father really did do cruel things to him. I wondered what things. "Oh, sir," said the boy, crying on my shoulder now, "please, sir!" "Now, take it easy. Get hold of yourself." "But I'll get expelled! And, and he'll send me to military school. He said he would if I ever got into trouble again. Oh, sir... " So, he had been in this sort of trouble before, apparently. I wondered how many times. This was his last chance, that was clear. If he didn't shape up as a choirboy and stay out of trouble of that sort, it was military school, and no doubt his father had painted a grisly picture of the regimentation and harsh discipline that would await him there. "Now, take it easy, Candy," I said. "I have no desire to see you get expelled, and-" "Oh, thank you, sir!" The pretty lad threw his arms around me and kissed me on the mouth. I tried to remain composed. "Not so fast, now! At the same time, this remains a very serious matter, deserving of the most severe punishment." "Oh, yes, sir, I know." "More severe than that little spanking I gave you last fall, for instance." The boy glanced at me a bit nervously at this, but quickly regained his composure. "Sir, you can give me ten spankings. I don't care. You can do anything you want as long as you don't tell my father!" "Anything, Candy?" "Yes, sir! Anything! I swear!" I thought for a second we were going to break into a buck-and-wing routine from Oliver! Once again I had to struggle for composure. "Very well," replied the stern schoolmaster, "I will handle this matter myself, then, in my own... ah... manner. Is that agreeable?" "Oh, yes, sir!" "Very well, then. Let me see. There's a movie this Satur- day, I believe. Rather a long one, I think. You will report to me for punishment at that time. Until then you may spend your free time contemplating your misdeed and asking God's forgiveness." What I really meant, of course, was that he could spend the time working himself into a sweat won- dering how I was going to punish him. "You may go now," I said, waving him toward the door. "Yes, sir," replied the meek, contrite, schoolboy. Playing the part to the hilt, he even rubbed his bottom as he went out. I felt the whole scene had involved a certain amount of play-acting on both our parts, and when he had gone I made myself a stiff drink and sat down, convulsed with laughter at the absurdity of the situation. I began to sing: "I'd ... do... anything... for you... sir... anything... for you... sir ... any- thing... at all... dee dum dee dum. Would you jerk me off? Anything! Would you suck my cock? Anything! Would you... By the time I'd finished my second drink it was time for lights out. I bedded down the dorm and returned to my room. I was in high spirits. That I was planning to pursue a rather dangerous course didn't occur to me until later. At that moment I was pleased with myself for having brought it all off-from the first inkling of hanky-panky in the forest, to the pictures, to the recent confrontation with the boy and my success in maneuvering matters into my own hands. Eric I would not confront. He was not in my dorm, and being a Squog, he was obviously the victim rather than the aggressor. Georgie, on the other hand, was over a barrel. I had no clear idea of what I was going to do with him when the time came to punish him. His "anything" implied carte blanche, but did he really mean it? Did he really expect just "discipline", or did he guess I might have something more interesting in mind? If, over the course of the next few days, Georgie lay awake wondering what I was going to do, I did my own share of wondering. There was no doubt that he was a very knowing little boy when it came to matters of sex. The scene in the forest had proven that. Also, his behavior subsequent to my spanking him, which had carried definite sexual overtones even if he hadn't been aware of my orgasm, indicated that he knew which way the wind blew. But could I be sure? Saturday night rolled around, and still I had not decided exactly what I was going to do, although I certainly had some ideas by then. I would have to play it by ear to some extent, substituting Plan B if Plan A seemed unworkable. I heard the boys whooping their way over to the gym, where the movie was to be shown. Then all was silent, save for my heartbeat. A knock. "Come in!" Georgie entered wordlessly, closing the door quietly behind him. "Good evening, Georgie," I said, rising. "I'm glad to see you kept your appointment." I stood facing the boy for several minutes. He was wearing a white terrycloth bathrobe over striped pajamas. "I see you had the foresight to change into your pajamas," I said. "That will... ah... simplify matters, won't it?" "Yes, sir," answered the boy miserably. "Good. Now, then, perhaps we shall go into the other room." For all my schoolmasterish rhetoric, I was some- what nervous as I escorted the boy into the bedroom, closing and locking the door behind me. I had left the radio playing in the living room, to cover any noises we might make. Georgie stood before me, nervously folding and unfold- ing his hands. He looked the picture of sweetness and inno- cence in his white robe, which contrasted beautifully with his dark hair. I turned off the overhead light, so that the room was lit only by a small bedside lamp. I sat down on the bed and motioned the boy to approach. Slowly I undid the belt of his terrycloth robe and slipped it from around his shoulders. I put it on the bed. I looked him up and down as he stood before me in his striped pajamas. I took the drawstring of his pants in two fingers and pulled. The knot came undone and the pants slid off his narrow hips and curled around his ankles. The shirt came down just below his hips; his thighs and legs were now bare. "Step out of them," I said, not looking at his face. He did so- I looked at him, and he returned my gaze. I tried to read his thoughts, but his face was a blank. He just stood there, holding his pajama pants in one hand. I took them from him, and placed them beside the bathrobe. "So much for the bottoms. Now for the top," I said. "Raise your arms." I lifted up his shirt and drew it off his head. He stood naked now between my legs. I put my hand around his slender waist and let my fingers stray over his hilly bottom. His small prick was moving almost imperceptibly, in time with his heartbeats. His face was flushed as I fingered his smooth round cheeks. He had no choice but to submit to the indignity of having his bare bottom explored by my inquisi- tive fingers. "Remember last year, Georgie, when we did 'The Mikado'?" "Yes, sir," a low voice answered. "Remember also the words of the Lord High Executio- ner? 'Let the punishment fit the crime.' Remember?" "Yes, sir." Even lower. "Well, that's just what I'm going to do." I paused, to let the words sink in. Suddenly, as when he had recognized himself in the photographs, he blushed as he understood what I expected of him, that I was planning a re-enactment of the charming woodland scene. His blushes increased as I outlined how we were to perform the little skit. I had decided on the bathroom as the best place, partly because being at the back it was more soundproof, and partly because there was a full length mirror behind the door which would afford me an amusing view of the little drama. "And now," I said, "shall we begin?" "I'm ready, sir," said the boy. "Good. We'll go into the bathroom, then." And I led him in and locked the door behind us. "This will represent the tree stump," I said, patting the bathtub. The boy's eyes went to the toilet seat, upon which lay two leather thongs which I had extracted from my hiking bwts. "I think they'll make a reasonable facsimilie," I said, picking them up and assuming, somewhat awkwardly, a position on the floor, leaning against the bathtub. "And now," I said, "let's see how you like being on the other end of the stick, ag it were." And as the b6y satik t6 his knees before me I opened my trousers and brought out my already rampant tool. Guiding the naked boy forward between my legs so that his head was poised directly over my crotch, I pushed his head and shoulders down, forcing his buttocks into the air. In the mirror I could see right up his crack to the little pink rosebud. The sight was almost too much. I grasped the thongs and brought them down on his tightly stretched buttocks. "Now, get to work," I said. Slowly the boy took hold of my shaft at its base, and, thrusting out his pink tongue, licked the very tip of it. The sensation made me shiver. His long lashes were lowered on his work as his clever tongue licked my engorged cockhead as if it were an ice cream cone. With his other hand he caressed my balls. He certainly seemed to know what he was about. On the other hand, it occurred to me that he was trying to induce an orgasm quickly in order to avoid having to take it all the way into his mouth. So I lashed his bare bottom with the thongs and hissed, "Take it in! And 'remem- ber, Candy, when the time comes, that, according to the ancient Greeks, a boy derives knowledge and wisdom from imbibing a man's seed!" He darted me a glance, then lowered his eyes. I felt his ruby lips encircle the head of my cock. He sucked in the organ for an inch or two, then partially withdrew. Each time he engulfed a bit more, and before long I felt the head of my cock hit the back of his mouth. My entire shaft was inside the little choirboy's mouth, which he had opened wide like this so often to sing sweet hymns in praise of God. As he worked away on my cock, his little bottom bobbed around, and I commenced lashing him lightly on those two soft round globes. In the mirror I could see little red marks appear. I lashed a bit harder. First one cheek, then the other, and then a carefully aimed shot right in the crack, which made him jump. I was in heaven! Between watching the boy's mouth working my cock in and out, and watching his buttocks squirm under my gentle lashing, I was having trouble holding back my moment of truth. Then the clever lad began to flutter his tongue on the outward strokes, causing shivers of ecstasy to suffuse me. My vision became blurred, and after one or two more of these strokes I pushed his head down into my crotch with one hand, and, lashing him on with the other, braced myself for the onslaught. It came. My body shook with convulsions as I pumped my hot spunk into the child's mouth. I watched his throat work as he swallowed the warm sperm. My flailing arm fell to my side. I lay back against the tub as wave after wave of juice pumped forth from my loins into the boy's willing mouth. If the Greeks were right, Georgie would become wise over- night. When the boy had milked me dry, and my cock began to grow limp, I raised his head. The boy got to his feet, wiping his hand across his mouth. I rearranged my clothing and also got up. As we went into the other room, I noticed how his bottom was streaked with red marks. I hadn't really whipped him hard, just hard enough to make it sting; never- theless, the marks were very apparent. It might cause problems. "Lie down on the bed," I said. "I want to put something on your backside." "Oh, that's not necessary, sir," replied the boy in a rather casual way. "Perhaps not, but I'm going to do it anyway," I rejoined, reminding him that I was still the master, even though I had just pumped my sperm into his throat. "Stretch out on the bed," I ordered. Obediently the boy flopped down on his belly, legs to- gether, arms under chin, his boyish behind sticking up provo- catively. I reached into the night table where I keep my arsenal of lubricants and took out a large jar of cold cream. T unscrewed the cap, swirled a gob onto my fingers, and spread it over his hot bottom like mayonnaise over a pair of ripe tomatoes. "This will make it feel better," I said, as I slowly began to work in the cold cream, delighting in the feeling as I smooth- ed the creamy substance over the hot little mounds. My guilt feelings began to recede. Desire began to mount once more. I lay on my side next to him so we could talk while I massaged his charming posterior. "You know, Georgie, that was very naughty, what you and Eric were doing." Nothing said of course about what Georgie and Colin Murchison had just been doing! "I know it, sir." "And Eric is such a little boy. Really, you should stick to boys of your own age, Georgie." "Yes, sir." "Tell me the truth, now, Georgie. How did you make little Eric do it? Did you blackmail him?" "Sir! No! I didn't, honest!" Georgie raised up on one elbow and looked at me indignantly. "I swear I didn't, sir!" "Well, then," I continued, still massaging his tender rump, "how much did you pay him?" "Nothing, sir! Not a thing!" Again there was indignation in his voice and eyes. "Alright. I believe you. But suppose you tell me just how it did happen, then." "Sir, it was his idea as much as mine. It was both of our ideas." "He had no objection, then?" "Sir, he likes it!" "Likes it?" "Yes, sir!" "He likes to do what he was doing?" "Yes, sir. He does. He likes it. Honest. He really does." "Well, then," I said very sarcastically, "I suppose he liked being whipped too?" "Yes, sir, if it's not too hard." "Oh, come on, now, Georgie." "It's the truth, sir. It reminds him of his old nurse or something. It's some sort of game with him. He likes being spanked." "I see." I was beginning to get extremely interested, not only in Georgie, but in little Eric-not to mention Timmy Tucker, his buddy. "Tell me, Georgie, do you like it?" "Not much, sir. I let Eric do it once. I didn't mind it at first, but after a while it started to hurt. Like when you spanked me before." I gouged out some more cream and drove it down between his cheeks. His thighs parted a little. A come-on? I massaged deeper, until I was running my fingers right along his crack, deep down between his thighs. "I never would have guessed it of Eric," I said. "No, sir, he doesn't seem like the type." "What else does he like?" "Oh, I wouldn't know, sir," he answered coyly. I screwed my finger around his anus. The bud was closed tight. I gave it a few tentative pokes, like feints in boxing, then jabbed in hard. He sucked air between his teeth and the hole closed tightly around my finger, but I didn't take it out. "Tell me, Georgie, what else do you like?" "Well, sir, I'll tell you what I don't like, and that's what you're doing right now." "Sorry," I said, letting my finger slip out of his behind. "Thank you, sir. May I go now?" And he raised his bottom in the air as if to get up hind end first, like a cow. I pushed his rump down flat on the bed again. "We're not quite finished yet," I said. "There is some- thing else I require of you." "But sir, that's not fair! You've already punished me!" "Well, let's put it this way, Georgie. Either you do as I ask or... well, I still have the pictures, don't forget." Georgie looked at me hard. A flicker of a smile crossed his face. I didn't much like that smile. "Sir, would you really show those pictures to Father Sayers?" "I knew just what he meant. How would I explain to Father Sayers that I just happened to be up a tree and that I just happened to get some pictures of two small boys playing dirty sex games? And secondly, and much more important, what was to prevent Georgie from going to Father Sayers and telling him about the most unusual punishment meted out by Mr. Murchison? And finally, the concept of "punish- ment" had lost some of its credibility and force in view of the recent information concerning Eric's complicity. It was sud- denly a very ticklish situation. I had underestimated the boy's shrewdness. "Let's be honest," I said, trying a different tack. "I don't give two hoots about what you kids do to each other out in the woods." This brought a smile from Georgie. "All kids fool around," I continued. "I used to myself when I was your age. I gave as the reason for punishing you that you had forced a younger, innocent boy into performing certain acts against his will. This, it turns out, was not the case. Am I being clear?" "Yes, sir, perfectly." "Furthermore, my proper course of action, as you know, would have been to report the matter to Father Sayers at once, as also in the case of the pea-shooter incident last fall." "Yes, sir." "Why I chose not to do so, but instead to handle matters myself, is, I think, perfectly apparent to you. Am I right?" "Yes, sir, you are." "And so, instead of saying that your punishment is not yet over, let me be more honest, and say that there is something more I desire from you. Clear?" "Yes, sir, very." "And now we come to those pictures. You are quite right in believing I would never take them to Father Sayers. But pictures do have a way of getting around, and they might, as if by chance, come to the attention of, if not Father Sayers, then perhaps someone else." "Sir! You wouldn't!" "All I said was that photographs have a way of getting around. And now we come to the hub of the matter: I have something you want very much, and you have something I want very much. I'll give you what you want if you give me-or let me take-what I want. Is that a deal?" "Well, before we shake on it, I think it's only fair for you to tell me what it is you want, because I'm not sure what it is." I placed my hand on his ass. "This is what I want." "Sir?" The boy looked up questioningly. I'm sure there was no doubt in his mind; he just wanted it spelled out. Still with my hands on his buttocks, I bent down so that my mouth was right against his ear, and whispered very softly, "I want to fuck you." A quick smile flitted across his lips, perhaps due to sur- prise at hearing this forbidden word from the lips of one of his masters. I said it again. "I want to fuck your bottom." "Sir, I don't think you can." "What do you mean?" "I'm afraid it's impossible." The boy's response surprised me. He didn't seem surprised or disturbed by my terms, but right away began to claim the act was impossible. "Why do you say it's impossible, Georgie?" "It's been tried before." "Well, not by me." "I doubt that you'll have any better luck, sir." "Have many others tried?" "Enough." '.Here?" "Other places, mostly. I guess I have a cute behind." We both laughed at this, and I pinched his cute bottom. We were beginning to get along a little better, now that certain things were out in the open. "You have a very cute behind," I said. "I've taken quite a fancy to it, as you may have noticed." "I've noticed, alright." "I thought so. And now, even though no one has succeed- ed in taking your posterior maidenhead, will you at least let me try?" "Well, sir, what can I say? I mean you've got me over a barrel, haven't you, sir?" "Yes, I have, and that's an ideal position in which to fuck a boy. So you just stay there over the barrel while I go to work." "Okay, sir. But I don't think it's going to work." "Maybe you don't want it to work?" "I want those pictures." "Then here we go." Spreading his legs and kneeling be- tween them, I parted the velvety round cheeks, admiring the pink orifice for a few seconds before lowering my face into it. Nestling down between his warm bottom cheeks, smelling and tasting the cold cream, I began kissing and tonguing the tight orifice while my hands played with his testicles. He squirmed under me and made little noises as I darted my tongue into his already lubricated hole. He responded to the tonguing, and when I thought he was ready I turned him on his side and drew up his knees. After working some more cold cream in between his cheeks, deep into the cleft, I guided my shaft between the slippery buttocks and pressed the head against his hole. I tried every trick, I knocked gently six times and on the seventh gave a push. He pulled away. I told him to take a deep breath and let it out slowly. This almost worked, but he tightened up just in time to prevent me from slipping past his pucker. "Let me in!" I hissed. "I'm too small and you're too big!" he protested. But I knew this wasn't true; he simply was not relaxing. I consi- dered holding him tight and forcing my way in, but this was against the chicken-lovers' code of ethics, so I went back to my bag of tricks. I worked his pecker until it got stiff, thinking that if I got him to shoot (being only eleven it would of course be only a "dry run") he would relax involuntarily. I worked his prick for ten minutes, but nothing happened. Meanwhile his back door was still shut tight. "I told you it wouldn't work," said the boy. That only inflamed me. I would rape him. I would force my way into that hot, incredibly tight chamber! I would force open those posterior lips, and once inside him I would ram it home until he cried for his Mommy. But of course I did nothing of the kind. The fact is, I was tired-not only from my present exertions but from having spent my load in his mouth not long before. I withdrew from between his slippery buttocks, intending to rest awhile. "May I go now, sir?" "I'm not through yet. I haven't given up." "Sir, if you'll stop for tonight, I promise to let you try again tomorrow night." This was exactly what I wanted, but I didn't want to give in too easily. Besides, he might welch on the deal. "What makes you think you'll like it any better tomorrow night?" "I won't, sir, but at least I'll be prepared for it." What did he plan to do, walk around all day with a peg up his ass? On the other hand, he would be more receptive, maybe, and I certainly wasn't getting anywhere. "Alright, Georgie. Tomorrow night it is. But remember, that's a promise." "Yes, sir, I promise." "Good boy." With a towel, I wiped the cold cream off his bottom and between the cheeks and around his rosebud which I had tried so hard to open. His bottom, softened by the cream, looked so desirable in its pink roundness that I almost decided to have another crack at it. Instead, I watch- ed him put on his pajamas, watched the shirt fall down over his fine boyish torso, watched the delectable round behind disappear under the cloth of the pants. "Until tomorrow night, then," I said as the boy fastened the terrycloth belt around his slender waist. "And don't forget," I added, as I showed him to the door, "I have those pictures." I made myself a drink and lit a cigarette. I reviewed the whole episode slowly, from the wonderful bit in the bathroom (what technique the boy had! Wherever did he learn to give blowjobs like that?) to the frustrating attempt at buggery on the bed. I saw again those lovely cheeks. I smelled my finger: cold cream and boy-bottom, Fool! Idiot! Youhadhim rightthere!Hewasyours! Whydid you have to pussyfoot around? Why didn't you just take him, whether it hurt or not? Why didn't youjustflop him over on his belly, spread his legs and ram it in? So what ifhe didn't like it? It was a punnishment session, after all, andboys aren't supposed to enjoy punishment. But no, you had to consider his tender feelings. The little boy didn't want to be tucked. Christ! Who cares what he wants or doesn't want! Jesus, what an opportunity muffed! You had him right there, all greased up and readyfor bear, andyou let him go. Sure he was tight-all little boy-virgins have tight little boy-cunts, but it wasn't that tight! He could have been tucked! If a boy won't open his back door then you just have to huff and puff and batter it down. But not you, you sentimental oldfool! I made another drink. There was always tomorrow night. He had promised. I began to plan. I would take him into one of the school rooms. Far from everyone. No one to hear him scream. I would gag him if necessary. I would take his pants down and bend him over a school desk. It would be just the right height. His toes would just barely touch the floor. I would take my thongs, or a paddle-yes, perhaps a paddle would be nice this time-and with his little bare ags sticking out over the edge of the desk, I would paddle his rump until he cried for mercy. Then I would give him mercy! Dropping the paddle, I would take a glob of Vaseline and jam it right in between his cheeks, right into his hot little crack. I'd give him a jolly good goosing with my middle finger while he squirmed helplessly. Perhaps I'd stick in my index finger, too, and give him a two-finger goose. Then I would pry apart his bottom cheeks with my thumbs and ram my tool right up into him, breaking through his pucker and forcing my way right up into his hot little rectum. He would cry out, beg me to stop, yell in pain, groan, twist and squirm; but I would hold his bottom and fuck him furiously, my big body pressed against his slim nude torso, ramming my cock in and out of his asshole until with one final lunge I would slam into him, pressing him painfully against the edge of the desk, and shoot quarts and quarts of hot spunk into his deflowered rectum, his racking sobs at having been painfully and humiliatingly raped only causing further spasms from my loins. Then I recalled how nice and obliging he had been for the first part of the session. I had never had such a good blow- job. He had put up with the finger fucking, too, obviously not liking it. He's done pretty well for one night. I shouldn't be too hard on him. Then I thought of that ass again. On my third drink I thought of Ronnie. Of course! He was my own boy, after all. I had not had him in bed since spring vacation, that wonderful time in our Central Park "hideout". I remembered the musky smell of his warm body next to mine, and the sun from the half-shut venetian blinds falling in streaks on his peach-colored body. Is there any- thing more lovely than fucking a boy in broad daylight, the time when most boys are out playing, shattering the still warm air with their shrill cries? Suddenly I lusted for Ron- nie. To hell with Georgie. Although I knew perfectly Well it Was after midnight, I went into the wing where Ronnie slept (luckily the opposite side from Georgie's) and went down the line of sleeping boys, drinking in their special nocturnal smell, until I came to Ronnie's bed. He was on his stomach as usual. I sat down on his bed and whispered, "Ronnie! Wake up!" I shook him gently, and he rolled over and started to say something. I clamped my hand over his mouth and whispered, "Get up! Follow me! Be quiet!" Slowly the dazed boy began to under- stand, and automatically putting on his bathrobe and slip- pers, padded down the corridor to my room. I looked back to see if any of the other boys had awakened, but all seemed quiet. He blinked in the light of my room, rubbing his eyes. There were creases on his cheek from sleeping on it. Quickly I ushered him into the bedroom, closing the door and turn- ing out the lights. Then he spoke. "Sir, what is this?" "Never mind," I said, undoing his robe, "just get undres- sed and into bed like a good boy and I'll explain everything later." The boy let me take off his pajamas, and when he was naked I pulled him down between the cool sheets. Stripping off my robe, I crawled in beside him. I took his warm sleepy body in my arms and squeezed him tight, my hands stroking his back and buttocks. He was too sleepy to respond much, but I didn't really care. All I wanted was to fuck him. I rolled him on his other side and pulled his butt down against my crotch. Then, without so much as a tender word or a warm- up caress, I spread apart his soft bottom cheeks, drove in some KY, and marched in like Sherman through Georgia. I'd forgotten what a tight fit he was, and of course he wasn't ready for my attack. The abruptness of it brought him to consciousness. "Ouch! Hey, sir!" "Sorry," I said, feeling more aroused than sorry. The idea of raping a boy was suddenly very appealing. I rarnmed in again. Again he protested. "Then open up!" I whispered. "It's not as if you were a virgin, after all." The boy looked at me over his shoulder. "You drunk or something, sit?" "Yes, I'm drunk, God damn it. I won't remember a thing in the morning and neither will you. But right now I need you in the worst way. So open up, because if you don't I'll screw you anyway and it'll just hurt more." "Okay, sir, though I'm not exactly in the mood. And for Christ's sake, take it easy." For Christ's sake! How fitting for a choirboy to invo e the Lord's protection while about to be buggered! Well, he would need that protection, because in my lustful state I wasn't about to take anything easy. I guided my cock toward his hole and gave a shove. Luckily for him (thanks be to 'Mee, 0 Lord) his muscles relaxed, his anal lips parted, and through the Grace of God my tool entered the soft hot canal of the choirboy. I rammed my rod joyfully home, ignoring the boy's gasp of pain. "Lord have mercy on me, a sinner!" I said aloud, holding the boy tight around the waist so he couldn't retreat from impalement on my spear as I withdrew part way in order to plunge in deeper. Now I started really fucking him with long, hard, deep strokes. He groaned a bit, but I paid no attention to him. He wasn't hard in front. My lovemaking, if you can call it that, had been too sudden to arouse him. Nevertheless, he lay passively in my arms as I pumped in and out, my face buried in his neck. I drove in as deep as I could, loving the idea that this was my own little boy, my private catamite whose cute little ass was always at my disposal. I tucked deeper and harder; and now my thrustings against his inner walls began to affect the boy, for his penis grew hard and big. I took hold of it and worked it quickly, for I knew I was about to come. His eyes were shut tight and his teeth were clenched as I pumped away on his cock, at the same time continuing my rhythmic thrustings in and out of his bottom. Then he spurted, and the involuntary constrictions of his sphincter muscles caused me to reach an exquisite climax. For the second time that evening, I felt my loins stiffen. Working the boy's spurting cock, I drove furiously in and out of his resilient bottom, pumping my juicy load into his boyish canal. After my cock slipped out of his behind, I licked his come off his belly and kissed him, letting him taste his own juices. Then, without the promised explanation, I helped the boy back into his pajamas and robe and sent him padding off down the corridor. I hadn't even wiped off his bottom, and the thought of his crawling into bed and going to sleep feeling all squishy back there from his recent fucking gave me a charge. I wondered if he would wake up in the morning, thinking he dreamed it all, and then feel the slippery feeling in his behind! Ali, boys should have their bottoms perma- nently lubricated, so that they would always be ready for buggery! That squishy feeling back there would serve to remind them what little boys' bottoms were made for! I shut my door, finished off my drink, and fell into bed. In a second I was asleep.