Date: Mon, 26 Apr 1999 11:58:11 -0700 (PDT) From: bpell@anon.nymserver.com Subject: Chronicles Of St.Barnabas chapter15a 15. The Bottom of the Matter As you might imagine, I felt pretty rotten the next day. In addition to having a shattering hangover, I felt like a real cad about Ronnie; and when I passed him in the corridor he gave me a very funny took. Then, as if things weren't bad enough, I found out that Georgie had reported to the infirmary! So the little rat was going to fink out on his promise by faking sickness! There was a certain irony in the fact that he had gone there to escape my nozzle, only to be greeted with certainty by Miss E.'s smaller, but equally persistent, one- like going from the fire into the frying pan. I also wondered what Miss E. would make of the stripes on Georgie's bot- tom, for she was sure to notice them if they were still visible. I just couldn't worry about that, though. I made it through the day somehow, and after lights I brought Ronnie in for a talk. He looked at me suspiciously, as if I were going to pounce on him and rip off his pajamas. We sat side by side on the couch. He was cool at first, pouting; but boys don't bear grudges for long, and soon he began to thaw, and I began to "explain" my weird behavior of the night before, muttering things about "man's pas- sions" which he would understand some day soon, but Ronnie wasn't anxious to discuss it. And what was there to discuss, after all? One couldn't escape the fact that I had dragged him out of bed in the middle of the night and practically raped him-and all because of frustrated rage at not getting into another boy's behind. T'hrough halting conversation and non-verbal communi- cation, I finally understood that for Ronnie the fact of being raped had not hurt him as much as the feeling of being treated like something fit only to be raped, and that he wondered why I didn't love him anymore. When this matter had been straightened out, with some convincing demon- strations, both verbal and physical, that he was still Numero Uno with me and always would be, things were restored more or less to normal, and we went into my bedroom so that I could prove to him that I still loved him in the same old way. Afterwards, we lay on my bed and talked until nearly midnight. It was several days before Georgie got out of the infir- mary, and by this time I had decided it would be far better to let the whole matter drop and let him off the hook. For one thing, I found out that he really had been sick; for another, I had certain feelings of guilt about the whole affair-about my sneakiness in spying on him and Eric, about using this information to get into Georgie's drawers, and about trying to force my way into his unwilling behind, something which was against my principles. Tbus, when the boy was finally released from the clutches of Miss E., looking somewhat pale and even a trifle thin, I sent for him to release him from his promise. But things worked out differently. Georgie came to me just as the boys were changing for sports. Having just gotten out of the infirmary, he was to stay in. I had the pictures on the table, planning to burn them before his eyes; when he saw them he began to speak before I had a chance to say anything. "Yes, sir, I know. I haven't forgotten my promise. I really was sick, you see, not faking as you probably thought. So now I guess you want me to live up to my word, and I'm going to, sir. I am ready anytime." I was flabbergasted. All my good intentions went out the window. The boy was offering his bottom as a sacrifice. Was I going to turn him down? Perhaps I am weak, a man without scruples or principles. Yes, it was certainly my turn to be magnanimous. But just listen to me: "Thank you, Georgie, for being as good as your word.I admit I did suspect you of malingering, until I found out you really were sick." "Tonight, then, sir?" "Yes. Tonight. No, wait a minute. Why not right now? That is, if you feel up to it." "Sir, Miss E, wants me to lie down in the infirmary." "I'll see what can be done about that." I called the good woman on the phone and asked her if he could recline here instead, assuring her that I would see to it personally that he spent at least an hour lying down. She thanked me very kindly for all my trouble, obviously glad to be relieved of the responsibility. "Yes, Georgie," said I, "I think I can be as good as my word, and see to it personally that you spend a good hour lying down." The boy laughed nervously at my little joke. Perhaps an hour seemed an awfully long time to have to submit to my ministrations. Or perhaps the thought of the immediacy of the act gave him the butterflies. At any rate, when we got to the bedroom (door locked, blinds drawn) he asked if he might go to the bathroom. I heard him peeing, then water running. When he returned he looked flushed. His recent illness made him look very vulnerable. I drew him between my knees and unbuttoned his shirt. "If you're going to take a nap." I teased, "I think we'd better undress you first. You'll feel more comfortable that way." The boy managed a smile of sorts. I peeled off his shirt, then sat him on the bed and took off his shoes and socks. Then I stretched him out flat to finish undressing him. I unbuttoned his pants and pulled them down over his hips and off his feet. I gazed long and hard at his near-naked body, so pale and soft. His little pricklet was pushing up against the cloth of his jockey shorts. Being undressed by someone almost always excites little boys, I've found. Very slowly I grasped the elastic of his underpants and slid them down over his hips. His little rod popped out and stood up, waving proudly,I tossed aside his shorts and ran my hands over the smooth white skin of his nude body-his nipples, his soft belly, his smooth thighs, and of course his little pecker. Grasping the little organ by its base, I tickled the tip of it with my tongue, then nibbled further down, under the head, and finally gave a few sucks on the delicious little thing, mainly for the purpose of arousing the boy sufficiently so I could penetrate his bottom more easily. Then I rolled him over on his tummy and stroked his smooth back, running my hands down over the velvet mounds of his buttocks, down his legs and back up again. Finally I concentrated my attentions on the most lovely part of all-the little boy's bottom, which I was soon to deflower, I hoped. Georgie's behind was the epitome of everything a little boy's behind should be: round and firm, yet soft and pliable; pink and smooth, yielding under the fingers; and most of all, it had that indescribable impertinence of little boys' behinds-that certain something which makes them irresis- tible when displayed properly, so that if caught bending over the boy will feel a sharp spank from someone's hand- sometimes a compete stranger! -and a voice will say, apolo- getically, "I just couldn't help it; it was too tempting a target," meaning, of course, that it was so cute and round and saucy that you just couldn't keep your lecherous paws off it! Spreading apart Georgie's milky thighs, I sank down and covered the smooth skin of his bottom with kisses, as I had done the time before, after his spanking. I was not going to spank him today, of course, although there is something quite exciting about the idea of fucking a newly-spanked behind. Now I parted his sweet cheeks and sank my face right down in between them, drinking in the smell of boy- bottom which to me is as lovely as that of any rose. Finding the spot with my tongue I began licking around the opening. The boy squirmed under me as my tongue tickled his anus, but when it darted in between the pursed lips, he twisted and turned even harder. I lay there tonguing his hole for fully three minutes, my hands at the same time kneading the soft warm round cheeks of the little boy's bottom. There was no doubt about it, Georgie had the most perfect behind in the whole school, and there were some mighty toothsome ones. Ronnie's behind was delectable, but it was just not quite as perfectly formed; slightly imperfect, it was more mortal. Allen Burns had a bottom that was made to be spanked. And the rear view of Ericson was enough to drive sane men to rash acts, for it seemed to move lasciviously under the always thin, always tight material of his trousers; it was less chubby and saucy than either Allen's or Georgie's, both of which stuck out in back in an inviting manner; nevertheless it was extremely seductive, as the lean boy used his supple, willowy body in the most enticing way. Georgie's bottom, though, was simply perfection. It could not have been improved upon. After giving the boy a good rimming, I reached into my nightstand. I decided on Vaseline for this operation. I scoop- ed out a large gob from the jar and drove my fingers down between his cheeks, working the slippery stuff all around near the entrance to paradise. The boy squirmed as I worked one finger in past the tight sphincter. He seemedjust as tight as before. Nevertheless, I pushed in further, well past the knuckle, and then began working my finger around in his bum, twisting it this way and that in an effort to loosen him up. Georgie made little sounds as I worked my finger around inside his sweet virgin bottom. Perhaps he felt it wrong that anyone should take such indecent liberties with his little hole. At any rate, it was clear he was not altogether happy with what I was doing to him. Nevertheless, I continued the digital massage, stretching the walls of his anus with my finger until I felt them begin to yield a little under the constant massage. Reaching under the boy, I found him still hard, which led me to suspect that the massage of his bottom was not altogether displeasing to the boy. Finally I decided the moment had arrived. I turned him on his side and drew his legs up, flexing his knees. This caused his fanny to protrude, making access to his anus easier. I took a long look at his charms, displayed thus to the fullest possible extent. After Admiring the boy's charms, I posi- tioned myself behind him working my way up until I was pressed close against his smooth buttocks. Then, as before, I started knocking, all the while playing with him in front to keep him aroused. For a while, things went pretty much as they had the first time-that is, I had no luck. There was one important difference, however. On the first occasion, you will remem- ber, I had already unloaded a scrotumful into his mouth. On this occasion, I had been celibate for three days. This wor- ked to my disadvantage, for try as I might to hold it back, the act of working my rod against his slippery little bottom caused my fluid to rise. This meant I would have to stop and wait for the flood to recede. And this in turn meant that any ground that I had gained was also lost. This happened four or five times. I decided I would try to get in on the next attempt, then wait for a few minutes before beginning the actual fucking. But you know what they say about the best-laid plans, or of you prefer the best-planned lays. On the next attempt I suddenly realized I was past the point of no return. That part of me didn't care; an orgasm was an orgasm, after all. But my cerebral part did care; it wanted to achieve the conquest of this little boy's bottom. And so, I grasped the boy tight and prepared to go into him at whatever cost in pain. Already I could feel the fluid rising. When I felt the first spurt rise up in my shaft I rammed that shaft sharply into the small hole. The boy's cry of pain only excited me. Determined to taste, at least partially, the fruits of the boy's sweet behind, I pressed on. There was no time to lose. I was just barely inside the sphincter, so that only the very tip of my cock could taste the heat of his rectum, and I was spurting. And the boy was protesting that it hurt. I had to hold onto him like an octopus to keep even that much of me inside him, for his muscles were trying to squeeze me out. But I held my position, and now the orgasm swept over me in wave after wave, and I pumped the juice of life into the boy. Yes, every single drop went into his behind. As my pelvic thrusts grew less violent, the boy's efforts to expel the foreign instrument which was violating his bottom became weaker, so that when I had almost finished my orgasm I felt the boy's portals give way and allow my shaft to sink into his inner recesses. In short, by the time I was spent, I was inside him. But as my penis quickly grew flaccid, a slight motion of the boy's body caused it to slip out. 'Me boy rolled onto his belly and buried his face in the pillow. Apparently the shame at having his pretty virgin bottom deflowered was too much for the lad. I stroked his hair and called him nice things, telling him what a good brave boy he was. His only reply was a sniffle. I patted his behind, slippery with Vaseline. "Sir, may I go to the bathroom?" "Again? You just went." "I want to sit on the pot, sir." Of course you do, I thought, and get rid of all the nice hot spunk that's in your bottom. Well, nothing doing. I wouldn't let him. I also knew that he didn't really have to go, and that the feeling would pass very shortly. "Rest a bit first," I said, "your bottom muscles have been put to a strain, and it's better to let them fully relax before you sit on the potty." This was a medical theory that came to me on the spur of the moment, but it seemed to have a certain logic to it. At any rate, the boy submitted to my dictum, and lay passively as I wiped off his bottom with a towel, cleaning him carefully between his chubby cheeks. I told him to stay there and rest for a while, that I would call him when he could get up. I covered his nude body with a sheet and went into the front room. I sat down and smoked several cigarettes, getting hard again at the thought of him lying face down and naked, his deflowered bottom sticking in the air, full of spunk. It was disappointing, of course, not to have gotten into him in time to have given him a real fucking, but I felt an unreasonable triumph at having been able to inject every drop of myjuice into him, all the more so as he obviously disliked having it in him. After a while I decided to peek in at the boy. His deep breathing told me he was sound asleep. I pulled back the sheet and gazed at his lovely nude body for a while. He made a little whimpering sound, twitching his buttocks and draw- ing up one leg to reveal the little rosebud, inflamed from its recent attentions. I felt like pouncing on him again, but decided against it. Covering him up with a sheet, I went down to the infirmary to report to Miss E. that all was well with her charge. As I came in the infirmary she was cleaning her apparatus, getting it ready for the next victim. "Ah, Mr. Murchison! And how's our little Candy doing? If he's causing you any trouble just send him right back down to me." "He's no trouble at all," I said, "he's sleeping like a baby. He seems exhausted, for some reason." "I gave him a good flushing out this morning. That some- times induces sleep in children." "I see. He didn't tell me about it. Did he make a fuss about it?" "They all do. None of them like it the least bit. Well, there are exceptions, of course, but in general boys just don't like enemas. But then boys never like what's good for them, do they Mr. Murchison?" "I suppose not," I answered, I wanted to draw her out more on the topic of her favorite sport. "Though I've heard of children who enjoy being spanked. Rousseau for instance." "Rousseau?" "The French writer. He relates how he was spanked by his governess or someone, and how, instead of finding the experience thoroughly painful and unpleasant, as spankings are meant to be, he found it positively enjoyable, and sought a repeat of the experience." "How extraordinary that you should mention that! When Candy came in the other day-I can't remember whether it was Monday or Tuesday. Well, it doesn't really matter- As I was putting him to bed, helping him get undressed, you know, I noticed some strange marks on his posterior. They weren't cane marks. I know what they look like. They were thinner than cane marks. Well, the child was feeling under the weather, so I didn't ask him about the marks, just gave him something to make him sleep, but later on-was it the same day or the next day?-l can't remember. But I was giving him a good cleaning out, and sitting there on the edge of the bed regulating the tube, I noticed the marks again. 'Georgie' I said,'who's been taking a stick of your bottom?' 'Ma'am?' he asked as though he didn't know what I was talking about. Stalling for time, if you ask me! So I asked him again. 'Where did these marks come from, right here?' And I looked him in the eye. 'Oh, that,'he said,'that wasjust some game we were playing, you see. And I lost, so I had to pay the penalty.' 'I see,' I said,'and so the other fellows took a little stick to you, is that it?' 'Well, ma'am,' he says, 'not a stick, really, more like leather shoelaces.' 'Well,' I said, 'I shouldn't think shoelaces would leave such marks, unless of course the loser, or whatever you want to call him, was made to present his posterior in the state it is at the present moment-which is to say, of course, quite unprotected by clothing.' At this the boy blushed prettily and merely said, 'Yes, ma'am,' a reply I found somewhat ambiguous. But his blush had told all. Of course at the time I didn't think to ask him whether he had enjoyed the little whipping. I merely reflected that little boys think up odd games to play. Don't you agree Mr. Murchison?" I certainly did agree, and was also grateful to Georgie for his quick and plausible explanation of the thong marks. "Who's to say?" I mused. "There might well have been an element of pleasure involved. After all, if the boys detested being whipped, I would think they would not play the game in the first place." "Well, I can't speak for Candy, or for anyone else on that matter. Perhaps Father Sayers could enlighten us, if he should so wish. Nevertheless, I can tell you that not all of the boys hate my little cleansings as much as they pretend to. Some of them actually rather enjoy them, I suspect." "Really? How extraordinary!" "Yes, isn't it. Now you take little Ladd, for example. Of course, he's such a well-behaved child anyway, he wouldn't dare to make a fuss over such a little thing, such an ordinary matter, that is-or should be-so much a part of a child's daily experience. It's a pity all our boys aren't like him." I silently agreed with her. "So many children aren't brought up properly these days, and that's half the trouble with the world, if you want my opinion." She was getting off the subject, and I prodded her on. "You were saying-about Ladd." "Yes. Not long ago he actually came in here and told me he had a tummy ache and couldn't I please do something about it. Well, I asked when he had last sat on the potty and he said not for two days. A simple case of constipation! I told him he needed an enema, expecting some sort of fuss. But not at all! 'Yes,' he answered, 'I suppose I do.' Can you imagine? Well, I put him up here on the table and went swiftly to work, and not one word of fuss from him, the dear little child. He just lay here perfectly still, not squirming around and complaining that it's too hot and all, the way most of them do. He took it just as nice as you please. And it was just what he'd needed. It produced the desired results, and afterwards, as I was tucking him into bed to rest, he said he felt so much better. Most boys don't know what's good for them. Everyone needs a good cleaning out, now and then. Just like a house! You wouldn't think of not giving your house a good cleaning now and then, would you? Of course not! Then why neglect your body? After all, isn't it more important than a house? Anyone can build a house, but only God can make a body." "Or a tree," I put in. I was beginning to get bored with the woman's prattling, but I had picked up one very interesting piece of information. Eric Ladd would certainly bear culti- vating next year. If he didn't object to enema nozzles, per- haps he would not object to another kind of nozzle. Yes, that boy certainly had possibilities. I excused myself to go back and check on Georgie. "Keep him there as long as you wish, Mr. Murchison. The others won't be back from sports for some time, will they?" I assured her they wouldn't. It was a warm spring day, and they would stay out until almost six, when they had choir practice. Dinner wouldn't be until seven. Georgie was still sleeping. He was really out like a light. I sat down on the bed and pulled back the sheet, exposing his naked body. I ran my hand gently down his back and over his smooth round behind. I was content just to sit there stroking the bare buttocks of the nude boy. Time passed. I fell into a sort of trance as I ran my hands up and down the length of the boy's bare body, paying special attention of course to his delicious round ass. The trance was broken by the whoops and hollers of the boys returning from sports. I left Georgie and went into the dorm just as my boys, hot and sweaty from their games, bounced into the dorm flinging off their clothes as they came. I got Brinkley, one of the prefects, to supervise my showers, which he was glad to do, as he was something of a martinet. I left him there in charge of my dirty, sweaty, naked little boys, and went back to Sleeping Beauty. Then I resumed my caressing. Soon the dorm was silent. Then I heard the boys vocalizing in the rehearsal room. They were practicing an anthem, Mendelssohn's "Hear my Prayer." Ericson would sing the solo. The sound of their sweet virginal voices stimulated me. I began kissing Geor- gie's little bottom. This brought him out of his slumber, making me wonder if he had been feigning sleep. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, then looked at me. He gave me a fqint smile. Perhaps it amused him to find himself naked on the bed of a master. He looked very cute, sitting there naked and sleepy. I pulled him toward me, caressing him. I guided his hand down to my cock, to let him know how aroused I was by holding him naked in my arms. With my other hand I stroked his back. When I stuck my finger between his cheeks, pressing it against his still moist anus, he drew away. "Not again, sir," he said. I had been hoping, of course, that by some miracle he would be willing to let me fuck him again, as I wanted to get my prick all the way inside his bottom and really savor it fully. However, I wasn't surprised when he objected. "Well," I said, "if not that, then how about the other?" And I pulled his head down toward my crotch. He shrugged his shoulders. That was all the green light I needed. I undid my pants and slid them down. I lay back on the bed and he knelt, his back to me, and took my erect cock by the root and guided it toward his mouth. Soon his sweet young lips closed over the head. I caressed his back and bottom. But I wanted to do more than touch it with my fingers, so I had him get over on top of me so that he lay on his stomach, on my stomach. I pulled him back by the legs until his bottom was right in my face. In this position I could play with his behind to my heart's content while he sucked my cock in his expert way. I kneaded the soft cheeks of his ass, then pried them apart and touched the little hole. Now he had my whole cock in his mouth, and was taking long, slow strokes, using the flutter- ing tongue movements that had delighted me so much before. I stuck my tongue right in between his cheeks and began licking his tender hole. The sweet choirboy voices wafted up from the rehearsal room. My passion mounted. I squeezed his buttocks hard, causing them to squirm, and then thrust my tongue hard against his back entrance. He never missed a beat, but kept right on with his sucking, his tnouth closed tight around my cock so that I felt as if I were in a tight asshole. I jabbed my tongue in past his pucker. The little lips opened just a bit, and my tongue reached inside him. "Hear my Prayer!" The choirboys' voices rose in suppli- cation. My juices rose in response. I wrapped my legs around the boy's head and buried my face deep between the cheeks of his delicious bottom. Then it came. I felt the indescribable feeling as my orgasm rose and shot forth into the boy's mouth. As I pumped wave after wave into his hot mouth I tongued furiously at his hole, working his prick with one hand until his bottom began jerking back and forth, forcing deeper inside his hot little rectum as he pumped away his dry orgasm. After he had sucked me dry I pulled him around so that he lay on top of me with his face above mine. I kissed him deeply, tasting my own juice, and as my tongue explored his mouth, my finger pushed deep between his velvety buttocks and into his moistened hole, making his lovely little behind squirm. Later, in the other room, I burned the prints and negatives in my small fireplace and released the boy from any and all future punishment. The incident was closed. He had cer- tainly paid me in full. If I had not succeeded in totally possessing his bottom, well, one has to take the bitter with the sweet. And there had been plenty of sweet. We parted not as enemies, nor as lovers, but as friends who understood each other a good deal better than before. Just as Georgie was going out the door I stopped him. "One more thing. I must compliment you on your tech- nique. Wherever did you learn it?" He gave me a little smile. "From Eric," he said, and was gone.