Date: Sun, 1 Nov 2015 14:41:45 +0000 (UTC) From: fiveholepunch@comcast.net Subject: Larnin' At School Part Three Please fund this online educational resource with a generous contribution! Larnin' at School Part Three "Now, Billy, I am going to show you men can make their seed come out whenever they feel the need." "Yes, Mister Wilkens." Stepping back a few feet from the naked boy, I proceeded to unbuckle my trousers and unbutton my fly. I was nearly fully erect, but bent somewhat aside, encumbered by folded fabric, slowing my progress in freeing my engorged organ. Upon dropping my trousers to my ankles, my undergarment proved no hindrance whatsoever and my manhood sprung upward, tenting the thin cotton. Two quick flicks undid the buttons containing my rampant staff and they fell to my feet forthwith. Billy looked at my displayed gifts in the dusty late afternoon light of the woodshed with boyish wonder. If I may be immodest, in service to the truth of the narrative, I had always had, since I left boyhood, a thick and quite sturdy shaft. The base may be likened to an oak tree, broadly spread. Clearly visible green veins entwined its stout trunk like ivy. The crown of this tree of life spread wide and, at its top, a shiny abundance of sap drizzled from the dark, crowning ring. "That's a nice lookin' peter, Mister Wilkens," complimented the boy ingenuously. "Thank you, Billy," I politely replied, "But I wouldn't be mentioning that to anybody else, understand?" "Oh, yes, Sir. I understand." "Now, Billy, let me give you a lesson on how a man deals with giving rise to his seed," I began my lecture with a most attentive pupil. "It is most effective if a man, or a boy, uses his hand to stroke his generative engine, or 'cock' as it is informally referred to, like this." Billy laughed, "Cock! That's a good name for it, Mr. Wilkens. They're always up first thing in the morning!" I laughed heartily, impressed by Billy's countrified grasp of the analogy. But, my member was demanding attention. Protruding prominently to the fore as it was, I grasped it demonstratively for the boy and gave a handful of vigorous strokes, taking little of the edge off my priapic arousal. These rhythmic efforts alternately denuded and recovered my glans penis and, as my clear lubricating fluid flowed with such profusion, the woodshed was filled with the sticky sound of my masturbatory vigor. It did not go unobserved by my engrossed pupil. "Are you getting your seed, Mr. Wilkens?" "No, Billy, this is just a lubrication that Nature provides." "Like grease on a pump shaft?" "Why, yes, exactly like that. An apt comparison, Billy," I complimented. Billy received his praise with pride. Then I noticed a familiar change in Billy's facial expression that appeared when he was pondering something of great importance. "Mr. Wilkens?" the boy asked questioningly, "Could I ... um ... try ... um ... sliding your peter?" "Why, yes, Billy, you may." The lad immediately reached out and grasped my turgid muscle. A smile of delight passed over the boy's face. "Why, it's as hot as rock in the sun!" the tow-headed youth observed with amusement. "That's correct, Billy. You will find that to be true yourself as you gain experience," I explained, but, wanting to hasten the lesson I gave my pupil some direction, "Now, Billy, I want you to apply yourself and vigorously work my member. Don't be afraid, give it a good stroking." "Okay, Mr. Wilkens." With that the boy committed himself to the task I set, tongue pressed between his lips, one eye half closed with intense concentration. His rough hand and coarse technique elevated my manly urge, my agitated orbs rose in their constricted purse, my blood coursed. "Yes, Billy. That's it," I affirmed approvingly. "Are you gonna be getting your seed?" the boy queried with a serious mien, aware of the increased throbbing in the stiffness he held. "I am very close, Billy. Apply your greatest effort. Don't stop." "Yes, Sir, Mr. Wilkens. I won't!" the youth vowed. Billy gripped my male engine with his farm-strong hand and made good his promise, forcefully punishing my engorged shaft with exhausting intensity. My glans penis was a shiny deep purple as the swollen knob irregularly poked partially forth in a slime of clear, runny liquid. I hardened to my hardest at the sight. I felt the tide rising. I looked to my young student. "It's coming, Billy!" I declared raggedly, in a desperate state, "It's ..." The boy's eyes went wide as he looked to the obscenely bulging crown of my phallus. "Uhhnnggh!" My sperm shot forth in pearlescent eruptive pulses, whipping outward to fall in arcs of twirling jissom as my member jerked repeatedly upward. I grunted with the guttural satisfaction of my male urge. Billy halted his masturbatory efforts to watch, but did not fully release the convulsive organ in his grasp. The final pulses of my ejaculate poured over the rolled rings of my prepuce to hang briefly before running and dropping to the dusty planks at my feet. "Lordy, Mr. Wilkens! That's seed enough for a horse!" "Why ... yes, Billy, it ... is ... quite a voluminous ... discharge," I exclaimed panting with my expired lust, "It is a manly amount to be sure." Billy released my still rigid maleness and, with several determined shakes, shook dripping ejaculate off his fingers onto the floor to join the rest of the pearly globules arrayed there. "I hope I can get that much seed," Billy wished wide-eyed, favorably impressed. "You will soon, Billy. Just keep practicing." "I will, Mr. Wilkens, every day!" "That's a good boy," I praised just the slightest sardonic edge, knowing of the inevitable path of Youth. I couldn't help but notice that Billy's penis, still with the luster of his first ejaculation at its tip, had sprung erect during his efforts on my behalf and I had no doubt the boy would have been most able to achieve another acme of pleasure if I would have extended his lesson, but I felt that the boy should be on his way. "Billy, it is getting late, perhaps you better dress and head for home so your ma and pa won't be worried." "Yes, Sir, Mr. Wilkens." "Perhaps you can practice this afternoon's lesson later tonight," I suggested with a slight raise of my eyebrow. "Yes, Mr. Wilkens!" the boy replied enthusiastically. "But, make sure you keep it private, Billy," I cautioned. "Yes, Mr. Wilkens. I will," Billy promised. "You may put your overalls back on now," I directed. Billy picked up his folded denim from the woodpile and put his dirty feet through the leg holes one at a time. I, too, composed myself, pulling my garments upward. Billy and I tucked ourselves away in coincidental unison, sharing a moment of timeless male communion with knowing grins. With the straps replaced on his tanned shoulders, Billy waited for me to button up and fasten my belt before heading on his way home. "I will see you in class tomorrow, Billy." "Yes, Sir, Mr. Wilkens." "You may go now." "Yes, Mr. Wilkens." Off the freckled boy ran as I latched the door to the woodhouse. I took a moment to watch my young student go down the path in the golden light of the late afternoon. ---------- ---------- ---------- It was but a few days later that, while the students played outside during recess, I overheard a fragment of conversation between Billy Yarborough and Caleb Cooper through an open window. "Schoolmaster Wilkins said it weren't proper for a boy to go `round with his peter stickin' out." "Well, what should I do?" Billy's young companion complained. "Come on with me and I'll show you." Billy led Caleb off towards the outhouse. The pupil had become the teacher. All Rights Reserved. Copyright 2015.