Date: Sun, 9 Dec 2007 21:21:06 EST
From: Glaucon55@aol.com
Subject: Punk Kids No. 8

Punk Kids: or Brent's Big Boner
October 16, 2005

Disclaimer:

If you are not yet 18 years of age, or if it is illegal to read materials
of this kind where you live, then please stop now. This story is for
adults, and contains descriptions of sexual activity between teenage boys
initiated by them and with older men. This story is completely fiction, all
descriptions and names are also made up, and any similarities are truly
just that, purely similarities. I do not engage in or condone sexual
activity between adults and teenagers which is regulated by law. These are
fantasies for sexual private sexual enjoyment, not for emulation in real
life.

I would appreciate comments on my writing which may be a bit rusty. I
certainly admire the good writers on the web, and consider myself still a
learner.  Please contact me at glaucon55@....

Chapter: 08

When Brent arrived at the church, he went straight to the alcove where the
confessional was maintained, and to the same booth he had used last time he
spoke with Father Richardson, as the Father instructed over the phone.  He
looked about furtively, and blushed as he walked into the booth.  The last
time he had been in that booth, he had shot scum from his aching pecker,
and the thought of it made his whorish prick stiffen and leak a bit.  Brent
still did not know that the Father had watched him masturbate during the
confession, nor that the screen between the two booths could be
removed---if necessary.  All he knew is that he was unable to control
himself the last time he had been here; the town's most handsome and
athletic boy, with an unruly penis that seemed to have a mind of its own.

For his part, Father Richardson was ready.  Earlier in the day he had
"counseled" one of the altar boys.  Morgan Kenney was a twelve year old
with an attitude.  Mature physically for his age, he already had a sprout
of hair above his penis, and that unruly member was only four inches when
erect, but stood straight up and had a fat cap, often wet and sticky from
the thoughts going through the boys head.  Morgan's mother had approached
Father Richardson about what could be done to bring her twelve year old son
under control.  Since his father had divorced Mrs. Morgan and married
another woman, moving out of the area, the boy had become more rebellious
and angry.  It wasn't enough to have him serve as altar boy, Mrs. Morgan
felt that her son needed a man in his life, one who could exert some
authority over him.  Father Richardson had been only to happy to assist.
He could play the part of stern father confessor, and soon had Morgan in
sessions where the boy's attitude was punished in unorthodox ways.  It
began with push-ups, escalated to humiliations like standing in the corner
with his pants at his ankles, and ended up with good old fashioned
spankings.  Fortunately, for Father Richardson, whenever Morgan got a
spanking, he developed a rigid erection.  Each time the priests open palm
connected with his taut buttocks covered by his white briefs, Morgan's
pricklet would become like a four inch bar of steel, and on more than one
occasion, Richardson had felt the tell-tale signs of shuddering and
writhing on his lap as he gave Morgan his punishment.

Soon the fiction was removed by the good priest advising Morgan that his
was a sin of sexual depravity at an early age, and that unless he
cooperated, he would be sent to a special camp where boy's like him learned
attitude adjustment and a disciplined work ethic.  Fearing the influence
that Father Richardson had with his mother, Morgan agreed to the priest's
regimen which included the weekly spankings now on his bare ass with his
briefs and pants at his ankles, and a ritual milking of his hard prick.
Morgan was disgusted by the thought of another guy handling his dick, but
he could not resist the sensations produced when Father Richardson's
calloused palm closed around his short, thick pricklet and brought him to
at least two and often three shuddering ejaculations at each visit.  Today,
after his spanking had resulted in the expected erection, Morgan had been
required to strip naked, and lean back on his haunches on the Father's
desk, his hands resting at his ankles, bowing his firm torso up and out.
The position accentuated his hard boy dick, it's ruddy knob, wet with
anticipation.  Father had prayed as always, and made Morgan do the same in
that awkward, lewd position.  Then the priest had taken some "holy oil"
anointed his hands and while one frigged the boy's willing boner, the other
had snaked in between his muscled thighs and found under his bouncing
testicles the ragged line of his anus.  Working with a determined stroke,
Father Richardson's index finger had wormed its way inside Morgan's
resisting sphincter, and coupled with his relentless fist, he had brought
the young boy to a shattering ejaculation, with pellets of his boy cum
flying from the expanded cock head as the priest ruthlessly twisted it in
his insatiable grip.  Morgan was given brief interludes, filled with
praying, and then two more times his helpless pricklet was thumbed,
squeezed, and roiled to delicious ejaculations.  The second time Father
Richardson had tweaked his nipples, sending electric shocks to his penis as
the fist slide up, over and down his stalk, and the third time he was
required to suck two fingers while he was masturbated.  Ricahrdson had told
him that the insertion of the fingers was a symbol of his silence before
God, but in fact it merely reduced the boy to a helpless, distracted punk
as his fat cock knob was mauled into submission one final time by the
greedy priest.  Before he left, Morgan was admonished to keep his hands off
of his penis, the priest reminding him that if their sessions did not
produce strong ejaculations he would know that the boy had been engaging in
proscribed behavior.  So Morgan left, realizing that his desperate boy need
to cum would only be satisfied at the hands of this young priest, and
resigned himself to another week of difficult self-control and spontaneous
erections as he waited for his appointment with the uncompromising cleric.
Father Richardson had enjoyed his session, and masturbated furiously after
the boy had left to relieve his own leaky prick.  But with Brent's call,
his ardor was restored, and already his cock was stiff in anticipation of
dealing with the most beautiful boy in the parrish.

When Brent entered the confessional booth, closed the door and sat down, he
was immediately greeted by the Father's deep voice: "My son, I am grateful
that you called me before you gave into the temptation of the flesh.  Let
us see if together we can find a way to keep your hands and heart pure, and
to transfer your guilt and sin from your shoulders to mine."  Little did
both of them know, that as they spoke, a third party was monitoring the
entire scene, Johnny was gently massaging his rock-hard dick, scratching
his nail across the sensitive tip through his shorts, and watching the
split screen that showed both booths as well as capturing the sound.

"Father, I did as you said, I kept my hands from my penis, and did not
masturbate to ejaculation...but, Father, I can't go this way for days and
days without gettting sorta backed up, you know, my testicles ache I gotta
find a way to release the pressure.  Can you suggest anything, please
Father, otherwise I feel like I'm gonna explode."  Assuming again that no
one could see him, Brent began to massage his big basket with his long,
thick fingers, and his cock hardened and lengthened, snaking up from his
loose briefs, beyond the waistband, towards his navel.  The fat knob rested
on his stomach against the depression where his hairy navel was located.
He unbuttoned his shirt and he let his thumb tease the leaky, fat knob that
was exposed.  He closed his eyes, and pulled out the flaps of his shirt so
that his cock drool would not stain it, and his thumb could have unfettered
access.  As he grazed his fat plum, his tits hardened, and made cones in
the material of his shirt.

"Brent my son, there are times when youth is beyond understanding the ways
of God and man, and we should turn our hearts, souls, and bodies over to
those who are experienced in managing the burdens of sin.  Do you
understand my son?"

"Ah, I'm not sure Father..." Brent's furrowed his brow in an inquisitive
manner, even though his eyes were closed and his fingers were toying with
his fat mushroom cap.

"Recently my son (Father Richardson lied), I had a case where a young man
who was about to be married was in your situation.  I reminded him that in
particular before his wedding, he could not spill his seed.  That he should
save for the wedding night, in the arms of his wife.  He begged me to help
him, because he did not feel he could resist the temptation of his strong
calloused fist, sliding up and down his rigid penis."  Father carefully
selected his words, growing more and more salacious as he spoke, making
Brent get hotter and hotter, and leading the teen to the precipice he
wanted him to fall over.  "Eventually, I had to take matters into my own
hands, so to speak.  The young man was going to slip into sin if I did not
act, and so for the sake of his immortal soul, and to keep him pure for his
wedding night, I volunteered to take on his pain.

Then there was the college boy who came to see me to confess his sin of
self-abuse.  He said he kept a soft white cotton sock under his bed, and at
night when his roommate was asleep, he would either slide his hand into the
sock to glove its sinful intentions, or he would slide the sock over his
long, thick penis and chaff the material over and over the sticky, prideful
head.  It got to the point that he would sneak into the room during the day
when he should have been in classes to play with his always rampant penis,
and even went into the bathrooms in the library to lower his pants and
briefs and expose the snake to his calloused fist." Smiling as he watched
Brent lower his own pants and briefs again, and begin to slide his fist up
and down his rigid shaft, Father continued his careful speech.  "I
explained that the only way he could achieve salvation would be to turn the
offending member over the God, and that I would help him cross over to the
path of righteousness."

"What did you do for them Father, can you do that for me?"  Brent spoke
even as his palm glided over the bulging knob, and smoothed the copious
drool it found around the sensitive, tingling prick tip.

"If there is no other way to counsel you into controlling your physical
demands and unholy wants and needs, I will perform for you the same service
I have for other young men who wish to live up to the gospels, to the
virtues and to their own honor.  Come forward to the screen."  By now,
Johnny had a painful erection as he watched transfixed.  The gullible Brent
McDermott stood and shuffled over to the screen, while Father Richardson on
the other side was firmly stroking his own erection underneath his cassock.
"I want you to rest against the wall, and close your eyes, and pray with
me...and I will handle your problem.  "Say with me...Father, help me to have
strength to resist my unmanly lusts, my desire to touch my flesh and spill
my seed; allow me to surrender to Father Richardson my wicked intentions so
that he may lead me away from the path of sin."

Brent was pressed up against the screen, his crotch and throbbing member
just under his unbuttoned shirt, drooling as it pressed against the
opening.  His face was pressed against the booth wall, his hands flattened
against the wall to the sides at shoulder level, and his legs slightly
spread.  He murmured low, the words that Father Richardson told him to say,
and he kept his eyes closed surrendering to whatever the Father was
planning.  The more he spoke the words, the more he seemed to drift away,
feeling almost detached from his body, relaxing deeper and deeper into a
state of mind that he hoped would make the throbbing between his legs
subside, and the tickle from the dripping pre-sap stop.

Johnny watched with rapt attention and while stroking his own throbbing
erection, and he listened to Brent's quiet incantations.  Then he saw
something that made his eyes good wide.  He took control of the camera and
zoomed in closer to the screen as he captured Father Richardson unhinging
the confessional barrier and removing it.  As he did so, Brent's long,
slender curved prick gently lowered into the opening and stuck through the
partition like some punk at a roadside glory hole.  As he continued to urge
Brent's repentance, the good father lifted his fingertips to gently stroke
the bloated cock head.  Brent gasped, but Father Richardson whispered
firmly in unison with the lost fifteen year old to keep him focused (or
distracted depending on your perspective), on asking for forgiveness and
guidance.  Brent hardly realized that his precious tool was being gently
masturbated, and Father Richardsonson's practiced fingers were making more
and more boy sap leak from the deep pisswell.  The turgid boy pole was soft
and yet rock hard, already reaching up beyond the elastic waist of the
briefs.  So Father's fingers danced up and down the wet stalk and circled
and palmed the oversized cock knob, tenderly ministering and gripping the
pole and allowing his own meaty thumb to slide around Brent's overly
sensitive corona to tease the wide flange of the helmet.  The lusty
teenager spread his legs further, and forced his hips toward the
sensations, the delicious feeling of someone's hand working his fuck-pole
and milking him slowly up the ladder to ejaculation.

Brent grunted now as he repeated his lines, and he squeezed his eyes
tightly shut.  What was happening, what was Father Richardson doing, oh,
but fuck... "aaaaaggggghhhhh" it felt so damn good, oh Jesus, my knob...my
fucking knob...what's he doing...."oooooohh" shit it felt so sweet!  Brent
forced his crotch into the opening as far as he could, and the large
opening, now allowed his entire crotch and half-way up his abs to be
available.  Father Richardson did not waste any time.  He kept his chanting
going along with Brent, and quickly used his free hand to unbutton the boys
shirt all the way up to his neck.

Johnny almost ejaculated, his drooling boy prick aching from what he was
seeing and recording.  He couldn't touch his own cock because he was so
close.  There was the object of his dreams, Brent's big boy prick, sticky
and wet, and rigid as a stick, its slender shaft widening as it went from
root to helmet, and on top was a fat, mushroom cap with wide piss lips.
Johnny was filled with lust and wonder as he watched Father Richardson take
control of the penis, he so coveted.  Brent had a sharp curve to his cock
from root to knob, and now the top of the shaft was reaching up to caress
the space just below his jutting pectoral muscles.  Father's hand continued
its slide up, till the hand reached the sticky cock head, and his fist
closed just under the corona, the thumb rubbing softy back and forth over
the jerking glans.  At the same time, Father took the chance to see if he
could get even more familiar with his big teenage prey.  His free hand slid
up inside the unbuttoned shirt, and moved gently up to the curvature of the
mounded pectorals.  This hand's thumb reached a pointed, rubbery tit
thrusting out from the edge of the curved musculature, and each time
Father's thumb grazed the ticklish tip, Brent hunched and moaned even has
he steadfastly continued to repeat his mantra.  As long as Brent just
ignored what was happening, he was in Father Richardson's capable hands,
literally, and the ache in his balls was being replaced by a tightening in
his balls.  Soon, his problem would go away.

Father Richardson's mouth was producing saliva as he stared at the huge
plum of Brent's oversized fifteen year old cock knob.  But he did not want
to break the spell that was keeping the teenage hunk pressed against the
confessional screen opening.  He slowly rotated his strong fist around the
boy's shaft, making him squirm and jerk, and used his thumb to tickle and
distract him even more.  And to make sure he got the most from Brent's
thrusting body, he began to gently pinch and tug on each of the boy's
sensitive teats.  Each pinch would make Brent's cock go rigid and his cock
knob expand, spitting out more and more teen pre-fuck, and causing him to
squirm and grunt.

Brent gave in, who the fuck cared...Christ, he needed to cum and he needed
it now.  Father Richardson's padded palm and thick fingers might not be
Amy's tight, gripping cunt, or her soft hands, but fuck, the delicious
feeling of someone other than his own hands on his pulsing penis and stiff
tits was a gift from heaven.  And in a perfect example of teenage denial,
Brent reasoned to himself, `If Father Richardson can't help me, then who
the hell can...?"  Then he gasped and whined, thrusting himself into the
priest's fist, turning over his most private act to another man who was
milking him with wild abandon, as he fucked the fist that worked his cock
like it was a cunt.

In the meantime, Johnny's cameras and microphones were doing there own
magic, producing the materials that would allow him to finally capture
Brent.  But now, he had a bonus.  He would be able to weave Father
Richardson into his plans.  As these thoughts went racing through his mind,
his cock lurched and began to spit wads of boy cum into a rag he was
holding over the spurting penis.  Because at that same moment, Father
Richardson's torquing fist squeezed and twisted around Brent's feverish
prong and his thumb scrubbed back and forth, urging the teenage piss lips
to split wide open and blast wad after wad of teenage cum up into the open
booth.  Father wanted desperately to engulf the spurting cock head into his
mouth and suction the sweet boy cum down his greedy throat.  But he was
afraid that Brent would freak-out, and pull away, leaving the booth and
perhaps not return.  So he steeled himself, and with a smile of lustful
satisfaction, he simply enjoyed the sight of Brent's teenage prick spunking
ropes of teenage fuck sauce over the floor of his booth.  One, two, three,
four, five, six, seven, and then smaller spurts and a long, drooling trail
of boy spooge.

Brent saw stars, and then surrendered, stopping his recitation and replaced
it with a long, stifled
groan...."aaaaaaaaaggggggggghhhhhhhh.... uuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhh,
fucccckkk....aaaahhh, yes, yes, oh God....oh God.... aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!"
His hips thrust forward into the swirling fist of the relentless cleric,
helpless to stop his body from wrenching every delicious sensation from his
long ejaculation.  His face and body were pressed tightly against the booth
wall, and he was up on his toes, grinding his crotch into the milking hand
that now was torturing his sensitive glans, thumbing it over and over.

"That's it my son," Father Richardson calmly intoned as his roiling fist
mauled the fat fuck tip of the spewing penis, "let the sin drain from your
body, release your temptation, and give up the stain that would separate
you from innocence."  As he spoke the good divine milked the remaining
dregs from Brent's still turgid shaft, and again thumbing the sensitive
tip, caused the young man to hunch wildly, trying to extract his penis from
Father's grip, and to bite his own fist to keep from squealing from the
agonizing sensations.  Finally, Father Richardson released Brent's
beautiful cock, and the teenager staggered from the opening, stumbling back
to sit on the bench and gain his breath as he struggled to put his prick
away and tuck his clothing back into place.  Father Richardson had replaced
the screen, and then licked his fingers and the palm of his other hand
where he had captured as much of the spurting ejaculate as he could when
Brent had cum.  Jesus the kid's cum was tasty, starchy and with a hint of
bleach, but not bitter or too salty.  Father vowed he would drink straight
from the spigot sometime in the future.

"My son, you are released from the tensions of sin and temptation.  You are
not to touch yourself again.  If you need assistance controlling your
urges, you contact me as you did this time, and we will arrange to exorcise
your demons, and purge the excess seed from your body before it becomes the
devil's brew.  Do you understand."

"Ah, okay Father, I understand.  Ah, thank you...I really appreciate your
help.  I'll be good, I promise."  Brent knew this was wrong, but fuck did
it feel good.  Besides, he couldn't be good all the time if Amy wouldn't
give him any, and if he had to sin, better with a priest than with one of
the loose chicks at school.  Brent was not counting on any regular action
with Amy, but now that he had an alternative to his sock, one that was
validated by the church, he would keep this to himself and take the
opportunity to relieve himself on a regular basis.  Who would guess that
the All-American boy with the perfect teenage body and the dick to die for
was going to get his crank milked by the local parish priest.  Brent
frowned earnestly as if he should reconsider his thoughts and actions, and
then he realized that no one would know.  It was perfect, and his cock
would get relief without him having to hide his masturbation at home.
Little did he know that his performance and the whole scene with Father
Richardson had been captured in high resolution.  The perfect solution
would soon become the perfect trap.

Father Richardson zipped himself up, and though flushed, would savor both
the taste and the experience of masturbating the big teenage jock hunk.
This memory would fuel a nice long session with his fist and his prick
tonight, before he went to sleep.  But what neither the good Father nor the
hunky Brent MdDermott knew, was that they both had become film stars.  Soon
they would be receiving an anonymous package, and in the case of Brent, his
would come with some specific instructions.  There was more than enough
time to get back to Father Richardson.  In the meantime, he could stew in
the knowledge that he would be hearing from someone who had a record of his
illicit and dirty sexual conduct in the confessional.  Johnny had set up
Brent, but with the help of Father Richardson, the big dicked teen jock had
fallen directly into a his snare.

To be continued...I appreciate all the comments I have received since I
began posting this story.  Since this is my first written work on my own in
two years, I will continue to look forward to hearing from you.
Glaucon55@aol.com