Date: Wed, 27 Mar 2013 19:58:39 +0400 From: Ivan Ivanocich Subject: Russian Choirboy Pubes - pt 8 Pasha the Smooth Spunker - an interlude This story contains scenes of a mild sexual nature and if you are not allowed to read it please don't. If you are not old enough please don't. If by reading this you are breaking any laws in your state, town, city or country then please do not read any further. If however you do, you can legally and want to, then read on and enjoy the story. Please DO NOT make copies, or post this story in any other sites without my specific permission. I promised to get the boys to the banya in this installment, but Pasha has interrupted our story, so we must wait yet again. Sorry about this, but enjoy the examination of 12-year-old Pasha. Russian Choirboy Pubes Pt 8 Smooth Spunkers Early next morning, Artem awoke before Dima and got up to prepare breakfast. Soon he was calling to Dima to come to eat, as they would have to leave for school in some minutes. Dima came into the kitchen, looking at Artem rather sheepishly. He took the boy's head in his hands and kissed him on his beautiful forehead. The boy looked up and hugged him. "Do you think we went too far last night, Artem?" he asked, stroking the boy's smooth cheek. Artem looked at him for a moment before answering. "Dimka, what do you think? Don't you know I love you very much!" After this, Dima tried to explain to the boy that of course he knew that he loved him, and that he loved him just as much. "But don't you think we should love each other just as best friends, and not go so far? "he added. "Dimka, I wank myself every night, sometimes twice a day, and that most often I think of you; although, sometimes I think of girls too," he teased. Dima took the boy into his arms and hugged him. "Artem, it's good that you think of girls, too, but I am very glad you think of me!" Dima added, with relief, thinking that it would be possible one day for Artem to take a wife. As you know, it is not easy to be openly "blue" in Russia, although no-one minds what you do quietly as long as you can take a wife also and have beautiful children. "Come on, Dimka, let's finish breakfast," Artem commanded. And with that they quickly ate, and then cleaned the plates. It may be of interest to our western friends to know that in Russia it is necessary to eat a good breakfast of Kashsa, bread, or sausage, or maybe some cheese products. But today, Artem had cooked eggs, and provided salad, bread and cheese, which they were eating with tea sweetened with jam. "Will you give me a singing lesson tonight after school?" he asked, as they were hurrying for the trolley bus? "You know, we could invite Pasha and little Dima. To be quite honest, I want to find out Pasha's attitude before he comes to the banya on Saturday. I think we should try to get to know him better, as, at present, we practically only know him as a school comrade, and I know about his spunking ability from seeing him wank in the shower. "Fucking puberty, Artem, of course you may invite Pasha. Do you think he is still smooth?" he asked as he thought about Artem's description of the boy as having the biggest balls in the choirs, and of his thick spunking. But Artem did not get chance to answer, as their last moments of private conversation before enetering the school were short; and at that moment they entered the school, Dima waiting for Artem as he gave his coat to the woman in charge of the cloakroom. Children were very active today, running here and there and being happy that the warmer weather was at last arriving. Dima had noticed that Artem had not put on winter tights under his trousers, and assumed that in general most of the boys would be without them. This made feeling a boy's bottom so much more sexy, as one could feel the flesh better when only covered by thin briefs and silky trousers, not thick woollen tights. In the case of the more well-built boys, the absence of tights enhanced the bulge and sometimes even revealed the outline of the penis in the trousers. "Okay, Artem, go to your class; I have to greet my class in five minutes," he said, patting Artem on the bottom in a friendly way. So, at 2pm Dima's telephone rang: it was Artem: "Where are you, Dimka?" "I'm in my room, 407, come up now if you like," Dima added. There was a noise at the end of the telephone as if there was some disturbance in connection, but some minutes later, Dima heard the sound of running in the corridor. He opened his classroom door and saw, to his delight, Artem, Pasha and little Dima hastening towards him. Pasha was the first to speak: "Artem tells us we need not use your father's name when we are alone; is it true?" he asked smiling. "Of course, Pasha," he replied, taking in the gorgeous sight of the 12 year old boy before he put his arms round his shoulders to hug him. Close behind him was little Dima, so cute in his school suit. As you know, Dima was quite small, fair and underdeveloped for his age (13.5) and could easily pass for ten years. Pasha was a full year younger than Dima, dark, medium height and slim, but OMF - his bulge! "Don't forget that Dima is our great friend," Artem said. "Come on, let's go to my home; my mother is still away so we can have our music lesson in peace." Dima carefully locked his classroom and walked with his three boys to the stairs. Of course, Artem loved to slide down the bannister and to perform extreme tricks which would not be possible in western countries, as the stairs would have been made perfectly boring and safe by officials of the health department. "Be careful, Artem; I don't want to pick you up broken on the first floow," Dima admonished in a light-hearted way. "Dimka, you can do it too: let's all slide," little Dima said. "Dima,don't you know I am not a boy of 13 years," Dima added. "But you are as crazy as us, and we love you," Pasha retorted, much to his teacher's delight. And so the banter continued until all were safely on the first floor being chided by the cleaning woman for making such a noise on the stairs! "I'm sorry, Comrade; the boys are rather active today," Dima explained, as he picked up the bucket that had been accidentally upset in the commotion at the foot of the stairs. Being addressed as "comrade" passified the woman, whom Dima knew to be of old Soviet attitude, and so all was well. "Shall we take the trolley bus or the marshrutka," Artem asked. "If we go by marshrutka boys, we must pay, as our cards will not work." "Let it be the bus," Artem continued, as he saw his trolleybus trundle round the corner. (Our boys have introduced a word unknown to many people outside Russia, so I must explain that in Russia children, pensioners and invalids go for reduced rates on public transport controlled by the administration. But the litttle mini-buses (marshrutka) are not so controlled and all must pay - usually 20 rubles. But they are fast, exciting and convenient, if you like to sit in a tin of sardines! But our boys and Dimka boarded the slow trolleybus, and only Dima had to pay his fare of 15 rubles. It is a flat fare, so one need not state any destination, and some people sit for long, connecting to the free wi-fi provided! Our boys had to travel just a few stops to Artem's house. The boy had called to his grandfather, who was still out in the city with his long lost "Little Vova" (about whom more later), and Artem had been told that he was to take the boys and Dima down to his grandmother for supper after the lesson. Soon they were in Artem's apartment where the boys shed their outer clothes and took off their trousers. I must add that this latter action is very usual when friends are together in a house in an informal situation. It is quite usual to sit around in underpants and vest, and so it was so. "Pasha, take off your clothes," Artem had commanded. "Dima does not mind, and we are all friends. Let's fetch chairs from the kitchen, so we may sit at the piano." Little Dima went with Artem to the kitchen to fetch chairs while Dima watched sexy Paska undress. First he took off his waistcoat and then his tie. Then he unfastened his belt and started to open his trousers. "Fucking puberty," Dima thought, as he watched the boy lower his zip and reveal the truly amazing sight. He had expected to see rather a large bulge, but despite this he had not been sufficiently prepared for the sight concealed by blue briefs. "So, Pasha," he said. "You would like to train as a soloist as we have lost our leading boys, with the exception of Artem and Dima, of course." "You, please, Dima; if you think I am good enough," he replied, sitting down on the chair his ample penis outlined against the blue material. "You are 12, I think, Pasha. The problem is that you are not a small boy for your age, but I think you voice may last some time. Our other soloists, with the exception of little Dima, are advanced into puberty, and their voices may not last long. I am hopeful that Artem's voice will last another year at least, but we need to train successors." As he was speaking to Pasha, Dima was aware that be boy certainly was not small, and - as Artem had described - had a very impressive development. At this moment little Dima and Artem returned with two chairs so that all could gather round the piano. "Well, Pasha! " Artem teased as they gathered round the piano. "What will you sing for us?" "Maybe you will all sing together," Dima suggested. "Let's do some scales. Artem and Dimka, show Pasha the top A in the solfage and we will bring the scale down from there. Try to hum the note very quietly at first." And so, little Dima and Artem hummed the high note and then brought it down the scale, resting it on a soft vowel to encourage good tone. It is the old soviet system of training boys inherited from past masters, and not now known (or at least now forgotten) in the west, I believe. It encourages good tone from top soprano to rich contralto in a smooth progression and sublimates the rough lower register. "Great, boys, it was very beautiful and rich. Pashka, will you now try," Dima added. And so Pasha did and very easily copied the beautiful sound, although he was a little weak in the lower register. Pasha swelled with pride and took a rest. Dima expained to him that he needed three more soloists now to replace the two head boys, whose voices had hardened. "So you may join Artem and Dima. But we really need to train some younger boys. "You will be the youngest soloist, Pasha, but the problem is that I fear your development is quite advanced. Only Dima's voice will last maybe up to three years, if he is lucky. Artem is into adolescence, but we think his voice will last at least another year. So you three could be very successful together for the next year." "Oh, it's very good, Dima," Pasha replied. "You know I love singing; you have made it so interesting for us. But how can you tell how long my voice will last? I'm the youngest here, so won't mine last the longest?" he asked, rather puzzled. "It depends on your balls and your will-power," Artem added mischievously. "Artem, you are embarrassing little Dima," Dima replied with a grin. "I'm not as innocent as you think, Dimka," little Dima interjected. "Don't forget, I'm much older than I look," he added. "Just because my balls haven't dropped much yet doesn't mean I don't know all about it! I'll be 14 in six months, remember!" All this was very friendly banter, all the more so now the two boys realised that Pasha would fit in nicely to their inner circle. Although their teacher was of course the expert, the bond between him and Artem made him almost a brother and - in some ways - the younger, Artem always seemingly taking command. Have you noticed that when a boy and a man are very much in love emotionally, that the younger often has the upper hand? It was so with Dima and Artem, but Artem had too much respect for his teacher to ever take advantage of his privileged position. "Don't you think we should examine Pasha to ensure his development is not too great, Dimka?" Artem suggested. "Yes, it would help determine how long your voice will last, Pasha. Do you mind?" Dima asked "Of course not; we are all boys, so who will mind," Pasha replied. "Maybe examine Dima too?" he added. "OK, let's look at you both. Take off your shirt," Dima asked, in which request the boys readily acquiesced. "So, boys,let's look at Pasha first," he said, as the boy stood in front of him looking into Dima's eyes, as he ran his hand over the boys beautiful black and slightly curly hair, pushing back the fringe to examine the forehead. "Look at the face. It shows a little early puberty. Notice the little reddening around the nose as if some hormones are affecting the complexion. But it is in a very early stage." Dima said, as he felt the boy's throat. He then looked closely at the boys upper lip. "Fucking wanker, Pasha, I do believe you have been shaving just your lip; is it true?" he asked, feeling a strong awakening in his penis as he examined the boy. "Yes, Dima, I shave it lightly once a week as the down has been thickening for some months," he replied proudly. At this, both Artem and little Dima were also paying close attention as Dima ran his hands over the boys neck. "No sign of a pronounced lump here, Pasha; although your voice is deeper than some boys of your age. So,to your arms; let's see if you have any hairs," he added, as he lifted the boys arms to examine his armpits. "Still smooth, Pasha. No, wait! There are three hairs under your left arm. Fucking puberty, can you see! Compared to little Dima here, - lift your arms, Dimka. Pasha, you are into puberty now about as far as Artem was when the choir was formed eight months ago. But little Dima, here, remains the same. Dimka; come, stand next to Pasha." The little boy, a full year and four months older than Pasha, readily agreed. Standing together, it was plain that although the difference in actual physical size was not so great, Dima being four or five centimetres shorter than Pasha, one could see the difference in sexual maturity. Dima's voice was still high and childish: Pasha's sexy and exciting, but not broken. Dima was completely smooth, with a fresh complexion: Pasha, as described, displayed early pubertal development. Dima was now comparing the two boys' chests. He was gently rubbing Pasha's puffy nipples, whilst commenting on Dimka's flat and smooth chest. "Careful, Dima! Artem grinned. You don't know what might happen." "OMF", Dima, Pasha whispered, looking down at his tenting briefs, the blue waistband completely pushed forward by his huge penis revealing the bare public region. "You're making me hard. No, keep doing it, Dima." Dima gently took hold of the waistband and lowered the briefs to reveal the largest balls he had ever seen on a young boy. Still smooth and shapely like a great pear hanging low and far down his thighs. "Fucking spunker," Pasha," Dima almost shouted, as he watched the boy's penis slap against his stomach, the foreskin already partly retracted revealing the pinkish-white head. "Dima, if you keep doing that, Im gong to be spunking," the boy murmured, as Dima pressed his finger into the little dimple at the base of Pash's penis which was pulsating wildly. "Not a fucking hair, as yet," Artem added in excitement, as he pulled his own penis out of his briefs and started wanking, little Dima looking on in excitement, his own penis now erect, the skin fully back, and wildly wanking. "Sorry, boys; this is too much," Dima (their teacher) added, as he took Pasha's penis into his mouth, savouring the tender head. Not a word more was spoken until Pasha had exploded into Dima's mouth. Blast after blast of thick creamy choirboy spunk was swallowed by Dima, whilst, at the same time, Artem ejaculated strongly as he watched little Dimka. shoot two thin blasts of spunk into the air. "Oh my fuck," Dima said. "Let's clean up this mess and continue our singing lesson."Pasha will be a great addition to our circle." To which remark, Pasha grinned, pulled the foreskin over his penis and composed himself. "So,Dima, you didn't answer my question: will my voice last long enough to train as a soloist?" "Paska: we can only hope; but I will train you," Dima replied, as the boys prepared to go down to Artem's grandmother's for supper. Let's hope we get to the banya in the next episode. Comments welcome. Vanya -- Ivan Ivanocich