Date: Mon, 26 Apr 1999 12:09:38 -0700 (PDT) From: bpell@anon.nymserver.com Subject: Chronicles of St.Barnabas chapter16a 16. Bacchanalia After the affair with Georgie I sat down and reviewed the past year. First and foremost, of course, there had been Ronnie. I thought back over my seduction of him, and of how I had finally taken his posterior maidenhead with the help of a screwdriver or two. And then there were those halcyon days in New York during spring vacation when we had the "hideout" all to ourselves. I went over all the details of our lovemaking. Those had been among the happiest days of my life. I remembered the good times in Central Park, at Coney Island and Jones Beach, and it occurred to me that the sex wouldn't have been nearly as good without all the rest of it, having a boy for a companion and doing things that were fun together, and that here at school sex always took on a more or less sadistic flavor, probably because of the struc- ture of the school itself and the boy-master relationship that exists in all traditional boys' schools. My rather bizarre experiences with Georgie were completely contingent on school regulations against small boys going off into the woods and having a bit of fun and games together. I admit I was pretty nervous for a while after the Georgie business, and I had taken the precaution of keeping one set of prints, to be used as blackmail should I have to. But fortunately I didn't have to. There was still a lingering, bitter taste of disappointment at not having enjoyed Georgie's lovely bottom to the fullest extent, and I fantasied that I had been able to hold back my orgasm until I had thrust all the way in and totally possessed his behind. But you can't win them all, and I hadn't done too badly-probably better than any of the other masters, as a matter of fact. I didn't know exactly what went on between Max Sailer and little Everett Harrison, for Max and I never discussed boys. As for Clive Lambert, I knew he liked to blow the older kids, the ones who really had a load to shoot into his mouth. I'm sure he serviced half the eighth grade, but as this wasn't my particular bag I felt no jealousy. As for Percy Plimpton, I doubt whether he went much beyond kissing and bottom-patting. I never discussed any- thing with Percy. Ron Randall seemed as straight as Jack Armstrong, but then he was the type that fools you. Old Joe Cardwell had seen his day, but no doubt he had a lifetime of boy-poking memories to sustain him as he beat his leathery old meat in his shack out there in the vegetable garden. Or, who knows, maybe he had trained that dog of his to do a few tricks. Van Dennis, the assistant choirmaster, seemed content to play his sadistic little games like flicking bare boys in the showers on their legs and buns with the little switch he carried, making them dance as little wet marks appeared on their wet skin. Mr. Winters was another matter. He lived alone in a house half a mile from the school, and there were rumors about wild goings-on at his place. During vacations he always seemed to have a half dozen young house guests, boys of fifteen or older, some of them St. Barnabas alumni. I guess he liked older boys. Maybe he liked younger ones, too; but it was pretty hard for him to make out with them, living apart from the school as he did. Anyway, as I said, I had done pretty well, and I had resolved to give up sex for the rest of the school year, which wasn't too great a sacrifice, as there were only a couple of weeks left to go. I would have stuck to this resolve, too, if it hadn't been for the eighth grade dance. T'heir spring dance was always the big event of the year for the eighth grade boys, and this year they had outdone them- selves decorating the gym to suggest Dionysian orgies and bacchanalian revels. Alas! The dance itself suggested anything but. Boys in blue suits and girls in dresses of respectable length danced chastely together whilst faculty and ladies from the church watched from the sidelines. A nauseating pink punch was served. The only concession to the times was the music; the boys were allowed to choose it, so it was loud and contemporary. At eleven-thirty sharp the dance ended, and the boys reluctantly said good-night to their girls, some trying to steal a kiss from under the watchful gaze of the chaperons. After everyone had gone, the boys, after changing into old clothes, returned to the gym to clean it up. This made for a pretty late night, but it was only once a year; besides, most of them were no longer singing boys. I was in charge of the clean-up, and after they had finished one of the boys said, "Sir, could we take a quick swim to cool off.?" It was a warm night and the boys looked sweaty. "It's pretty late-" "Oh, sir, could we, just a short one?" "Just a quick dip, sir?" "Yes, sir, our last swim, sir?" And, seeing me weaken, they began shedding their clothes and running toward the pool, thanking me profusely even before I had granted them permission. Some of the boys were pretty steamed up after having spent a couple of hours with girls, so it was therapeutic to let them rid themselves of some of their pent-up feelings by cooling off in the pool. This at least was the official explanation I gave to mysell You know my real motive. I followed the boys into the pool. Some were already in the water. Some were standing on the sidelines bashfully covering their privates. Charlie Wright showed a good cock- stand as he dived into the water. So did Jim Dodge. These were horny boys, most of them over the brink into adoles- cence. Only a few, like Ericson and Branson, remained on the little-boy side of the fence, their smooth, hairless bodies and treble voices contrasting markedly with the mature bodies and deeper voices of their classmates, so near in age, and yet so far apart in every other way. As I watched the older boys, like Jim Dodge, Oliver Crowell, Charles Wright, and Don Brinkley, they seemed like restless young jungle cats, circling their prey, in this case Bruce Branson and Ericson. Branson was not aware that he was a target, never noticing the eyes on his smooth body, nor the hands which grazed his naked flanks. Ericson was quite the opposite. He played the coquette, teasing Dodge by imitating his girl, mincing and swishing his hips as he did so, or playing little games of tempting the boys to catch him, then wriggling out of their grasp with the agility of a young animal. "Ericson," I said "you'd better stop parading your rump around, or you may get more than you bargained for." There were giggles from those who heard me. Ericson didn't heed my warning, however, but went right on being the coquette. It was the only way he could relate to these older and more mature boys. Furthermore, he really enjoyed his role. Branson, on the other hand, didn't like being cast as the object of male sexuality; he didn't like still being a little boy in their eyes, and couldn't wait until he too sprouted hair and a big cock like the others. After I let the boys splash around for a while, playing their little grab-ass games, watching me out of the corners of their eyes, I blew the whistle and called "Everybody out!"- which of course was echoed by cries of "Oh, sir, just five more minutes!" It took me a while, but I finally succeeded in getting all the boys out of the pool. Locking the pool, I herded the naked boys into the shower room and left them there, telling them not to dawdle too long. Then I went to my spying post in the crawl space. It was pitch dark in the crawl space as I crept forward on my stomach. The boys and the showers were making enough noise so that I wasn't worried about being heard. Very soon I was in position to look right down into the shower room. If you want boys to dawdle, tell them not to. By the time I had reached my post, the fun-and-games had already begun. At first it wasjust grab-assing, with Branson and Ericson the chief targets. Then Charlie Wright soaped up his sizeable whang and began gleefully jerking himself off. Charlie had the longest cock in the school, a wand any man would be proud to call his own. Ericson had a ringside seat, so to speak, and giggled girlishly, his supple hips writhing in expectation as he watched the bigger boy pulling on his shaft. No doubt Ericson was imagining what it would feel like to have that great thing snaked all the way up his behind. There wasn't much'chance of his finding out, as Charlie was terribly straight, though I had heard that he sometimes let younger boys jerk him off when he was feeling randy; and it's quite possible he allowed them to take his fine big cock, which they admired so much, into their sweet little mouths. However, I think he would have drawn the line at anal intercourse, even when offered such a delightful behind as Ericson's. Ericson was coming in for a good deal of goosing and bottom-patting, and of course he was nice and hard in front, his well-shaped piece of meat, still without a trace of hair around it, pointing up toward his smooth belly. Jim Dodge had taken Bruce Branson over in one comer, I noticed. Jim was embracing the boy from behind. Then he began pushing his well-soaped cock, which was thick but not very long, in and out between Bruce's very fleshy buns. "Hey, look at Dodge!" someone said. "Not so loud!" said another. "You want Murch coming back and catching us?" "Oh, Murch wouldn't mind. He does it to all the kids in his dorm." This was Brinkley speaking. I had never liked Brinkley, and I liked him even less now, as he stood apart from the others, watching the proceedings. No one paid much attention to his remark, however. Either they didn't believe it, or, if they really thought I was having sex with all the boys in my dorm, it didn't shock them. Bruce Branson was pretending to enjoy the passive role as Dodge drove his soapy cock in and out between the cheeks of his plump ass. I don't think Dodge was penetrating the boy's rectum; he didn't have to-there was enough flesh between the boy's cheeks to enclose Dodge's organ snugly. It was like watching a three-ring circus. I was watching Dodge pumping away between the chubby buns of the reluctant Branson when there was a cry of triumph from the other end of the room, and I saw Charlie Wright spurt a great geyser of boyish sperm high into the air. Ericson the acrobat quickly positioned himself to catch the stream in his mouth as it fell. His long red tongue stretched out and caught a blob of the slimy white stuff and drew it back into his pretty bow-shaped mouth. He licked his lips. Some of the boys expressed disgust at this act, but this didn't bother Ericson. "And now, for my next trick-" he said. "For your next trick," echoed Oliver Crowell, a dark- haired boy who was already well into adolescence, "how about a taste of this?" He came over to Ericson, who was now sitting cross-legged on the wet floor of the shower room. Crowell waved his erect cock in front of the blond boy's face. Ericson suddenly got coy, and turned his back on -Crowell. "Come on, Ericson, as a special favor," Crowell coaxed. But Ericson was suddenly playing hard to get. He got up and went over to Tommy Wilson. At the beginning of the year Tommy had been a solo boy in the choir, and he and Ericson had sung some memorable duets together. Then, overnight, his voice changed. Now he had a bunch of dark hair around his cock. He would never sing soprano again. "Let's dance," he said to Tommy, taking the girl's part of course, and the two boys, wet and slippery bodies pressed close together, did a few turns around the shower room. Meanwhile, off in the corner, Jim Dodge was quietly coming between the rubbery cheeks of Bruce Branson. He held the reluctant boy tightly, while shooting his load into the boy's crack. I really couldn't tell from my angle whether he was in the boy or just coming between his cheeks. If he was really inside him, then Bruce must have had a very supple ass, for, as I said, Jim's cock was very thick. Having pleasured himself with Bruce Branson, Jim washed himself and left the shower room, as did Charlie Wright and some others. Soon no one was left but Crowell, Ericson, Tommy Wilson and Don Brinkley, the prefect, who was watching everything with a feigned air of distaste which was belied by his rampant hard-on. Crowell "cut in" on the dancers Ericson and Wilson, and waltzed Ericson around a few turns. This time, when he repeated his request, Ericson complied. Sinking to his knees, his arms around Crowell's waist, he took the older boy's hard cock into his mouth and began sucking it. All four boys were as if frozen in a tableau: Oliver Crowell standing, his head thrown back in ecstasy as the younger blond Swedish boy moved his mouth along the smooth shaft of his eager cock, his blond hair moving back and forth against the older boy's loins; the two others watching, Brinkley with arms folded, his cock pointing toward the two boys, Tommy Wilson standing on one leg, gently fondling his cock. Then the tableau was broken. "Wait a minute, Ollie, let me get in on the fun." This was Tommy Wilson. He came over behind Ericson, who was still diligently sucking away at Ollie's cock, his mouth buried deep in the boy's hairy crotch. Ericson was sitting on his haunches, his heels under his buttocks, his graceful back arched upward to allow his mouth to reach the older boy's cock. Tommy Wilson apparently thought he could bugger Ericson in this position, for he soaped up his cock, and, sitting down behind the Swedish boy, tried to work his cock into the blond boy's bottom. Of course it was futile in that position, and I felt like telling him so. I didn't have to, however, as I had an unexpected ally in Brinkley. "Why don't you change positions?" he suggested. It was so like Brinkley to be the voyeur, willing to watch anything, but qfraid to CoMproMiSe his reputation by joining in the fun-and, I might add, not above informing on those who did. Nevertheless, his suggestion had merit, and Oliver lay down on his back with Ericson kneeling between his thighs, his girlish rump waving in the air and presenting a perfect target for Tommy Wilson's eager young prick. Tommy rimmed Ericson's ass with a bar of soap, and, kneeling behind him and grasping his hips, pulled the boy back onto his hard cock. From my angle I couldn't actually see Tommy's cock go in, but from his groans of delight, and from Ericson's own writhings and groanings, there was no doubt that Tommy's cock was well-embedded in young Ericson's supple and willing behind. Both orifices of the pretty Swedish lad were well-plugged. While the three writhing boys acted out their elemental drama of lust on the slippery shower room floor-Oliver Crowell thrashing his arms from side to side in ecstasy as the artful Ericson mouthed his organ; Tommy Wilson pushing like an eager young puppy having his first real fuck, trying to get his not-yet-man-sized prick as far as possible into the wriggling, squirming bottom of the willing Swedish lad- Brinkley was standing apart from it all, quietly, surrepti- tiously beating his meat. I wasn't far from coming myself. Oliver Crowell was the first to come. With a cry of anguish-such is the intensity of an adolescent's orgasm- his hips jerked and he shot his hot load into Ericson's eager mouth. The boy swallowed it all. Tommy Wilson was not far behind. "I'm coming! I'm coming," he cried as if he were the first boy ever to come. His contracted buttocks moved faster and faster as he pumped his youthful come into his school-chum's bum. As he jerked his hot sperm into his young friend's behind, Brinkley, off in a corner, quietly shot into his own hand. Watching the ecstatic Tommy Wilson enjoying his little friend's bottom to the fullest extent, I asked myself why every young boy couldn't enjoy his friends' pretty bottoms like this. Why couldn't all cute twelve-year-.olds enjoy each other's behinds openly and freely? What a shame that the golden years of boyhood should fade before each and every chubby bottom had felt the eager young prick of his best friend? After all, wasn't that precisely what being "best friends" meant? That you shared everything, including each other's bodies? And since the nicest part of a twelve-year-old boy is his behind, this meant sharing each other's cute round behinds. But I didn't have time for much speculation. I knew I had to get out of there before the boys did, so I beat a hasty retreat back to the eighth grade dorm. Clive Lambert was out for the night, and I told him I would bed down his dorm. I'm very generous that way, as you have noticed-always willing to sacrifice my own free time to help out a colleague. When I reached the dorm things were pretty quiet, but of course there were three empty beds. "Who's missing?" I asked, as if I didn't know. "Ericson, sir, and Brinkley and Crowell." "Where the devil are they?" I demanded in mock anger. Just then they came in. "Sorry, sir," said Brinkley, all proper prefect, "these two were dawdling." While you watched, beating your meat, I thought. "All right, get to bed, all of you, and fast." Then, as an after- thought: "Oh, and Ericson, I want you down in the infir- mary tonight. I think you're a bad influence on the others." "Yes, sir," said Ericson, amid giggles all round. "Shall I get my pj.'s?" "No, you can use the infirmary p.j.'s," I said, escorting the boys out the door and flipping off the lights as I went. Most of the boys had put on their oldest clothes for the gym clean-up, but not Ericson, who was always the fashion plate. He had on a navy blue turtleneck and a pair of white bellbottoms with no back pockets. He looked the perfect cabin boy. As I watched his lithe buttocks moving under the thin material of the tight-fitting trousers, no pockets to mar the outline of his smooth round orbs, I reflected that a mere ten minutes ago this lovely bottom had been plugged with a raging boycock, and that his rectum was no doubt still slippery with the boy's sperm. I wondered if he could feel the squishy sperm in his bottom as he walked. I put my hand on the nape of his neck as we went down the corridor. My fingers toyed with the tuft of silky hair. I looked sideways at his face-the high cheekbones, the slightly almond eyes, the thin skin stretched tightly over his fine features. He darted me a sideways glance. "Sir, what will I tell Miss E., when she finds me in the infirmary tomorrow?" "Don't say anything. Just roll over on your side and she'll give you a nice warm enema!" "Oh, sir," said the boy, smiling and blushing. "That would be too embarrassing!" "Well, it wouldn't be the first time, and a nice hot water and soap suds enema is probably just the thing you'll need tomorrow morning. Besides, I haven't noticed any excessive shyness on your part when it comes to presenting your nether cheeks. After all, one nozzle is much like another, wouldn't you say?" "Sir," said the boy, looking at me with just the trace of a smile, "I'm not sure I know what you mean. All those big words." "I think you get the drift." "But what are 'nether cheeks'?" "These," I said, caressing his buns through the thin cloth. By now we were at my door. "But sir, I thought we were going to the infirmary." "Notjust yet," I replied, usheringhim in. "Havea seat." I opened a beer and sat down next to him on the couch. "Yes," I said, fondling the hair at the nape of his head again. "As I said, one nozzle is much like another." He darted me a somewhat fishy look, then smiled coquet- tishly. "What's all this about nozzles, sit?" "I think you know." "Sir. Really, I don't." "Well, I said," ever the patient pedagogue, "you know what a nozzle is, don't you? What is a nozzle?" "Well, like on the end of a hose. You attach a nozzle to water the garden." "And Miss E. attaches a nozzle to her tube for a slightly different purpose. Right? Now, what part of the human anatomy most resembles a nozzle?" "Oh, yes, sir. I see what you mean." "Tell me." "Well, sir, the penis, I suppose." "I suppose. And now are you going to sit there and tell me you are shy about presenting your nether cheeks-you remember what they are-and receiving nozzles, be they thick, thin, short, or long?" The boy was suffering from acute embarrassment. "Are you making fun of me, sir?" "Not at all. I am merely suggesting that you stop being quite so coy with me and admit that you like having nozzles stuck up your bottom." "But I don't, sir!" "You didn't seem to mind it in the gym a little while ago." The boy flushed a deep red. "But, but, sir! How did you know? Who told you? I bet it was that ratter Brinkley." "No, It wasn't Brinkley. I saw it with my own eyes." "You couldn't have!" "But I did." And to prove it, I recounted the entire scene in great loving detail, all the time caressing the boy's neck with one hand and rubbing his thigh with the other. After a while I placed my hand on his thigh. I felt his erection through the pants. "You seem to enjoy hearing me describe your little games," I remarked, rubbing his prick through the cloth. "At least, your nozzle does!" The boy smiled prettily at me. He didn't seem to know what to do with his hands. I paused to take a sip of beer. "Oh, sir, can I have some? I'm awfully thirsty." "No doubt from all that salty stuff you've been swallow- ing. Here, have a sip." The boy tilted back his head and took several swallows; I watched each gulp go down his smooth throat."You can finish that one," I said. "I'll get another." By the time I got back with the fresh can the boy had drained his. I gave him some of mine. Nothing like a little beer to make a boy feel like sex. "There," I said, putting down the beer and wiping off his lips. "That should get you good and refreshed for round two!" "Round two?" The boy cocked his head and looked at me inquiringly. "Sure! I intend to get in my licks. I don't mind sloppy seconds." "Sir, you're joking!" "Do you call this a joke?" I took his hand and placed it on my fly. I felt his fingers exploring the dimensions of my stiff shaft. "No, sir, that is no joke." "You're blushing! How pretty you are when you blush!" I caressed his face. "Such pink cheeks! Such red lips! They don't get that way from eating bananas. Nor from sucking on lollipops. Still, if you crave a lollipop, my pretty one, I have one you can suck on to your heart's content." The boy was confused by this sort of talk from one of his masters. I took a certain cruel delight in confusing him. I placed my hand in his fly again. If my talk was confusing him, it was also arousing him, for his cock was very hard. I played with it some more, until pretty soon he was squirm- ing around on the couch. "What's the matter, boy? You got ants in your pants?" "T'm still thirsty," said the boy. Instead of giving him the can of beer I leaned down and kissed his mouth, thrusting my tongue inside it. He contin- ued squirming around under my feeling of his crotch. "You really have an itchy behind, don't you? Well, I've gotjust the tool to scratch it with! Those otherboys'nozzles just can't do the job, but mine can reach way up there where the itch is." "Sir, why are you teasing me like this?" "I'm not teasing you. Or maybe I am. Maybe it's because you've been teasing me all year, parading your rump around like a simpering catamite, as if to say, 'Look all you want, but don't touch.' I know half the eighth grade has gotten into your pants, but how many masters have? Don't answer that! I'd like to think I'm the first. Though I certainly won't be the last! And now, my pretty, let me help you out of your things." "Sir, what are you going to do?" "Do? Why, lay you, of course. Didn't I make myself clear?" "I thought you were just making fun of me." "Of course I wasn't, you silly boy," I said, raising his turtleneck and slipping it over his head. "Why would I do such a cruel thing as that?" The skin on his chest was incredibly smooth as I ran my fingers over his nipples. I rubbed them until they got hard, then kissed his mouth again. His slippery tongue darted around, playing little games with mine. I let my hand stray down to his fly. His cock was still hard as a rock. I unzipped the fly of his bellbottoms and opened it up. "Ah, I see we're not wearing any underpants these days!" I said. "I was in sort of a hurry," he said. "Yes, I can imagine. And besides, it makes undressing so much easier. Just drop your pants and there you are, ready for anything." "You're teasing me again, sir." "Just a bit," I admitted, giving him a kiss. "But I never meant to make fun of you. You see I'm something of a connoisseur of pretty boys, and for my money you're the tops." This seemed to please the vain child, for he was like putty in my hands as I slid his pants down over his milky thighs and drew them off, tossing them on the floor. I drew him onto my lap and put my arm around his waist. "It's just that I too want to taste the delights of your pretty behind," I said, slipping my hand under his soft warm buttocks. "Of course I have no illusions about deflowering your posterior. I imagine I am several years too late for that. But better late than never. And now, let me just stick my finger in your pie." So saying, I pushed my finger deep between his buttocks until I found his hole. I drove my finger right into his slippery hole. The boy moaned as my finger thrust deep into his bowel. "No need for KY," I said, "for you are awash with nature's own lubricant. Yes, the road to bliss has been paved by lusty adolescent boys whose youthful seed is still swirling and frothing in your innards." I was engaged thus in finger-fucking the delightful boy on my lap, probing his hot juicy interior with my middle finger, when there was a knock on my door. In a trice my finger was out of the boy's hole, and he was off my lap and on his way through the bedroom door with the whispered words, "Go into the bathroom," in his ears. I went to the door and casually, I hoped, opened it. It was Clive Lambert. "Oh, Colin, sorry to bother you, but-" "I thought you were out for the night." "Oh, well, things didn't work out, so I came back." "Oh. I hope things are quiet in your dorm. Some of them were feeling their adolescent oats earlier tonight." "Well, there was a bit of hanky-panky in progress, not what you'd call a gang-bang, but not all quiet on the western front either." "Sorry about that. I should have checked again. Boys will be boys, I guess." "Yes, and some of them will be girls. Which is why I came to see you. They told me Ericson was in the infirmary, but he's not. I'm worried. There's no telling where he might be." I hadn't invited Lambert in. I stood there leaning my arm on the door, trying to think fast. I looked at Lambert, but he wasn't looking at me; he was looking over my shoulder, his eyes fixed on something in the room. I didn't dare turn around and see what it was. But then I didn't have to, for suddenly I knew exactly what he was looking at: Ericson's bellbottoms and turtleneck, on the floor where I had tossed them. "Ericson's here," I said. "He was kind of upset. Seems they got a bit rough with him after the dance." "He's goose-bait, all right." "Yeah. So I brought him in here and talked to him for a while. Got some things off his chest." (Like his turtleneck.) "Where is he now?" Eyebrows arched slightly. "He's taking a cold bath. I thought it would calm him down." Lambert's brows arched higher. "A cold bath? At this time of night?" "Cold baths are very soothing, you know." "Uh huh. Say, speaking of cooling things, you don't have another beer, do you? " He apparently had seen the two empty cans on the coffee table. I gestured helplessly. "Wish I did. Just finished the last." "Maybe I have a couple. If you'd like-" "I really have work to do. Make up exams. Look. Don't worry about Ericson. I'll take him down to the infirmary later, so as not to wake your dorm." "He really is a little fruitcake, isn't he?" Lambert seemed in a talkative mood, but I still hadn't invited him into the room, and I was hoping he'd take the hint. "I suppose he is," I answered, yawning. "Though perhaps he'll change as he gets older." "I doubt it," said Lambert. "'I think he has all the ear- marks. There's something about him. You can tell. And the other boys know it. They know, intuitively." It didn't take much intuition, I thought, wishing to hell Clive would leave. Was he stalling on purpose, waiting for Ericson to come out of his "bath"? Whatever his motive, he stayed and stayed, talking about what was going to happen to Ericson next year at prep school-how all the boys would be after his ass, and so on. I agreed with everything he said, in order to avoid getting a discussion going. Under other circumstances it might have been interesting to talk about these matters with Clive Lambert, but right now I just wanted him out. Finally he left. "Well," he said, glancing once again at the boy's clothing lying on the floor, "I can see I'm keeping you up. Take good care of pretty boy, as I'm sure you will." "I'll see he comes to no harm," I said, closing the door on Lambert at last. I sat down on the couch for a second. My heart was still beating fast. Maybe I should just send Ericson down to the infirmary. Maybe Lambert would be waiting to hear him go down. Maybe he would check the infirmary later. Maybe he was outside my door right now. Oh, screw Clive Lambert! I thought. He wasn't going to squeal on me even if he did smell a rat. Seize the day! Or, in this case, the night. School is almost over. To hell with the consequences! In the bathroom I found the nude boy crouched miserably on the edge of the bathtub. As he got up I saw his cock had gone limp. "It's okay," I said. "Just Mr. Lambert, wondering where you were." "What did you tell him?" "That you were here, taking a cold bath." "Sir! Why'd you tell him that?" "I couldn't deny that you were here. He saw your clothes lying on the floor. I thought the cold bath idea was an inspiration. I told him you were so sexed up you needed a cold bath to cool you down." "You didn't!" "Something of the sort. Anyway, don't worry. He won't be back. Come on, let's go back into the bedroom and continue what we were doing before we were so rudely interrupted." My fingers strayed down his back and over his soft rosy bottom as I ushered him back into the bedroom and closed the door to the study. I pulled back the covers, and he climbed in between them and lay down on his belly. I shed my clothes, doused the lights, and crept in next to him. For a long time we lay there without speaking as I stroked him from the nape of his neck to the base of his thighs. Each time my fingers slid over his smooth buttocks he arched them somewhat, the way a cat does when you stroke its back. Sometimes he gave little shivers of excitement at my tender touch. I kept up this gentle up-and-down massage for several minutes. Then, when I let my fingers stray between his supple thighs, he parted them obligingly, nor did he protest when I poked around his hole with my finger. On the con- trary, he wriggled his bottom, thrusting it up, inviting me to fuck him. I was tempted to climb on him immediately, he looked so cute and vulnerable with his pink bottom thrust up, his thighs apart, and his little pucker just itching to be penetrated. But I wanted to try a different position. When my backrub had gotten him sufficiently aroused, I turned him on his side facing me and pressed our bodies together, fingering his moist hole. "In a minute," I said kissing him and fingering his silky hair, "I'm going to give you what you need and crave-a good fucking. What do you think of that?" The boy smiled at me and sort of shrugged. Then, as my finger pushed deep into his hole, he clenched his teeth and gripped me tight, giving some indication of the height of his passion. "A good fucking. Yes, that's just what you need," I went on. "It's not only what you need, it's what you want-a good hard man-sized cock rammed all the way up your pliant ass." Now the boy was groaning in anticipation of the fucking he was about to receive. "As you can feel, my cock is ready. You can feel its hardness against your stomach. It's ready for your ass. But since it's pretty big, bigger than any cock that's been inside you before, perhaps, I want you to lubricate it first, with your mouth, so as to make it easier when I stick it in your bottom." Before I had even finished these words the boy had curled his face down and was taking my cock in his mouth. I mussed his silky hair as he sucked my cock, while my other hand toyed with his bottom. When he had sucked me for a while I raised his head. "All right. That's fine. Now let's get down to business. I want you to lie on your back and wrap your legs around your head, the way only you can do." The boy, who was in a state of passion, hastily complied, and though I couldn't see much in the darkened room, I could make out his smooth legs and thighs as he raised them up and literally wrapped them around his head. I felt down his smooth thighs, feeling the skin stretched tight across his bottom as he presented his moistened hole most advanta- geously for penetration. I got above him and aimed my cock down at his hole. Some of nature's lubricant having been absorbed during the finger-fucking I'd given him, I found that despite the boy's willingness I could not enter him. So, spreading his anal muscles even further apart with my fingers I tongued his hole, copiously lubricating it with my saliva. I mounted him again, and again I found it was not easy. I didn't want to resort to artificial lubricants, however; I wanted this to be a "natural" fuck. Once more spitting into his hole I climbed onto him and pushed down. This time I felt the pucker give way and my cock sink in. Once past the gates it was easier, and down and down I sank until I hit bottom. The boy gave a groan. Pain? Pleasure? A mixture of both? I didn't know or care. All I knew was it seemed to me I had never penetrated so far into a boy's behind. With his legs wrapped around his head affording maximum penetration, every bit of my cock was buried deep inside the hot moist bowel of the lovely Swedish boy. "You okay?" I asked. "Yes, sir. Oooh, sir!" This last was a response to my pressing down as hard as I could. "Does it hurt when I do that?" "Yes. But it feels good." I did it again. "Oooh! I think I'm going to come." "Don't come yet. I haven't begun fucking you yet." "I can't help it!" In the contorted position the boy was in, his prick was only a couple of inches from his face. It occurred to me that here was one of those rare boys who could actually suck his own cock. "Can you put it in your mouth?" "It's harder, with you on top of me." "I'll help you," I said, grabbing his head and pulling it down toward his throbbing cock. With some effort the boy managed to close his lips over his own prick. "Now I'm going to start fucking you," I said. Drawing out almost the entire length of my cock I pushed in hard and fast. As I hit bottom the youngster gave a cry and I felt his limbs jerk as he spurted his own come into his mouth. After waiting for the boy's orgasm to subside, I kissed him, tasting his young sperm, then slowly began fucking him, delighting in the smoothness of his pretty face almost as much as the hot tightness of his rectum. I soon found out the boy knew a thing or two about fucking. Each time I withdrew, he tightened his anal mus- cles, squeezing my cock with a pulsating action, then relax- ing them for the inward and downward stroke. At the same time he gyrated his hips, causing me exquisite pleasure. Fucking him in this position, I could kiss his mouth as much as I liked, and soon his arms were around my neck and his tongue was in my mouth, and all he time I was lunging in and out of his elastic ass, which he was tightening and loosening, twisting and turning, in the most expert and practiced fashion. My passion mounted. My strokes grew faster and shorter, his gyrations more violent as he felt my orgasm coming. Even though he had already had his orgasm, he was intent on helping me enjoy mine, as any well-trained catamite should be. I lunged in and out of the boy's hot rectum, my juices rising, until suddenly I saw stars as my loins unleashed their pent-up supply of love-juice; and as our mouths pressed together I boiled over, pumping a huge load of spunk into the already sperm-washed channel of the thirteen-year-old choirboy's hot slippery rectum. I lay there on top of the boy, who for the second time tonight had just been given an injection of hot semen. Then, without withdrawing, I rolled onto my side, pulling the boy with me. With my cock still buried deep in his rectum, I stroked his hair and kissed him. "Now I understand why everyone wants to lay you," I said. "It's not only your pretty bottom, it's what you do with XXX it. You're a real expert." "Thank you, sir," said the boy demurely. "Tell me, how did you ever learn such tricks?" "My uncle taught me." "Your uncle? How depraved! Was he the first?" "No, the first was our gardener." "Tell tne about him." "Okay. But first I have to let my legs down. They get to be sore if I keep them in this position for long." So the boy brought his legs down, and of course my cock plopped out of his nice warm bottom. I was sorry about this. I would have liked to keep my cock permanently encased in a boy's bot- tom, but there was nothing to be done. The boy contor- tionist deserved a rest. I pressed our bodies together, my slippery cock rubbing against his crotch, his own cock against my stomach. "Tell me about the gardener," I said. "Well, he was an Italian man, very good-looking, I thought, and I used to watch him work. I used to like to see his big muscles rippling under his bronze skin, and the sweat pouring down his back. He was a beautiful man, and I used to watch him a lot, just standing there like the stupid little kid I was. And of course he noticed me watching him." "I'll bet you were cute." "Mr. Angelini thought so, I guess, because one hot sum- mer day he took me by the hand and led me down to the tool house and, well, without saying anything to mejust took my pants down and did it." "Not so fast," I said, fondling the boy's naked behind, "I want all the details. What were you wearing?" "My sailor suit, I think. It was white with navy blue trimming." "Short pants or long?" "Short. Well, he just took me in the tool house and sat down on a stool and drew me between his legs. I could smell his sweat and the garlic on his breath. Then he began feeling me all over." "Like this?" "Yes, sort of. Then he undid my pants and I just stood there, afraid and at the same time kind of excited." "Didn t you ask him what he was doing?" "I knew what he was doing! He was taking my pants down. And my underpants, too. Then he felt my behind with his big hands. Then he took out his thing, and it was the biggest one I had ever seen. I began to get frightened, then, because the way he was feeling my behind I had a pretty good idea what he was thinking of doing." "And still you didn't object?" "No, I just stood there. And then he took some tool grease or something and smeared some on my hole, behind, and put some on his cock, which was very hard now, with all the veins standing out. He pushed his finger into my behind-" "Like this?" I asked, shoving my finger up the boy'sjuicy hole. "Yes, sir." "What then?" "Well, he turned me around and lifted me up and just sat me down right on top of it. I was too scared to do anything then, and so I just let him. It hurt a lot, but he put his hand over my mouth and pulled me down on top of his thing. And pretty soon I felt it going in me. I thought I was going to burst, and it hurt terribly, but he held me tight and raised me up and down on his thing until he was finished. Of course I didn't know about orgasms then." "Could you feel him coming inside you?" "Yes, but I didn't know what it was. Then he took it out and wiped me off and pulled up my pants and gave me a kiss and a quarter not to tell." "Did you tell?" "No, of course not. I liked Mr. Angelini." "Even though he hurt you?" "Yes, but afterwards, thinking about it, it felt good and I wanted him to do it again." "Did he?" "No, he went away soon afterwards." "How old were you at this time?" "Seven." "Seven! I don't believe it' He would have ripped you open"I said "Well, he didn't, and I really was only seven. I guess I was just easy to screw." "I guess you were," I said, feeling my cock grow hard again as it pressed against his scrotum. "Sir, you're getting big again. I guess I shouldn't tell you about my early life." "You just go right ahead," I said. "I want to hear about the uncle. How old were you then?" "Eight. He used to take me out for drives. One day we found ourselves by a stream and we went swimming. You know, skinny-dipping. He held me under my belly because I couldn't swim very well, and his fingers kept brushing against my prick." "Did you like it?" "Sure. It felt good. I wanted him to keep on forever, but it was my behind he was after, just like the gardener, because after our swim he took me on his knee just like Mr. Angelini had done, only frontwards. I mean so we were facing each other. And he stuck it up me." "Didn't he use any lubricant?" "Oh, yes. He had a little tube of Vaseline in his pocket." "Did it hurt when he put it in you?" "Yes, but not like the first time with Mr. Angelini. And it felt good, too. Afterwards he sucked me for a long time and told me I was a good little boy." "Did you do it again?" "Every day all summer." "What about your parents?" "They never found out. They knew I loved Uncle Tommy and that he loved me. They didn't know how well he loved me! Every day we went to a different place. Once he fucked me in the bottom of a rowboat. I can still see the chipped green paint on the deck planks. Sometimes we did it in the car. Sometimes he would lay me on the grass with my legs over my head, but usually he sat me on it, with me facing him go he could kiss me at the same time he had it in me." "And you really liked it?" "I loved it. Couldn't get enough of it. I guess I always will: Uncle Tommy used to say I was a natural. Do you think I am?" "I guess so. Although people change as they get older. How long did you and Uncle Tommy carry on like this?" I asked, my finger still probing his bottom. "Until I-oooh, sir-came here, when I was almost eleven." Ericson had come to the school as a fifth-grader. "Do you ever see your uncle any more?" "Yes, but we don't do anything. I don't know why. Maybe he's scared to. But I think it's because he really likes only very little kids of eight or nine, the kind he can put on his lap and screw that way." "Don't you miss doing it with him?" "Sure. Once I suggested it, but he said he was too busy." "Let's play a little game. Let's pretend I'm Uncle Tommy and you're eight years old. Do you want to?" "Okay, sir." "Good. Now, I've just taken off your little sailor suit. Come sit on my lap." I sat on the edge of the bed and patted my lap. The boy straddled my thighs and slid up until he was even with my hard cock. "Now, ups-a-daisy, there we go," I said, lifting up the boy and settling him down on my cock. After a bit of trial and error I got his bottom hole right above my cock, and, letting his body sink onto me, I felt my cock slide right up his behind. It was great, I twisted his hips and played with his behind, feeling at the base my own balls pressed against his bottom, my cock embedded inside him. I could see us in the mirror over the bureau, could see my cock appearing and disappearing like a piston as his bottom moved up and down. Wanting to get in even deeper, I raised his legs and put them on my shoulders, so that he was jackknifed on my cock. We put our arms around each other and I gently raised and lowered him on my shaft, while he twisted his hips this way and that in an agonizingly delicious way. "There's my little boy," I said, trying to sound avuncular as I fucked his succulent bottom. The boy was thoroughly aroused, too, and I took hold of his warm cock from time to time to help him along. He didn't need much help. The sensation of my cock riding up and down his sensitive anal passage was enough stimulation. As my strokes became faster and more frenzied, his cock bobbed up and down, and when I finally felt Old Faithful about to erupt I held the boy tight, and as my spunk shot straight up into his already well-laved rectum, his own cock went off and he shot sweet sperm all over my stomach. My orgasm lasted a long time, and I spurted wave after wave into his bottom while his hips jerked with pleasure. After we had cleaned up and dressed, I led him down to the infirmary, where I tenderly undressed him again and put him into one of the infirmary gowns which open at the back, giving easy access to boys' bottoms. As I turned him around and tied the little string, which only partly drew the cloth over his thrice-buggered bottom he looked so like a cherub I swear I could have put him over the examining table and fucked him again. I tucked him into bed and kissed him goodnight. He turned over on his belly. I kissed him again, and with one final feel and pat of his soft round behind I turned to go. Before leaving, however, I penned a note to Miss E.: "Ericson had some tummy trouble. Too much cake and soda pop, I expect. C. Murchison." It tickled me, the thought of one more nozzle being pushed up his behind the moment he opened his eyes. I knew he wouldn't mind. A boy who loves to be fucked so much couldn't possibly object to an enema. Besides, it would wash out all the tell-tale evidence!