by Ashley
Hardric ©2005
ahardric@gmail.com
This is a work of fiction. That means it is not true.
Didn’t happen. It’s a figment. No boys were involved or harmed in
the writing of this story and no trees were sacrificed. The
author does not condone sex with boys; he just writes fantasies about
it. Further, sex in reality requires caution and protection, but
my characters won’t catch any bad bugs unless I write them in. Be
safe and legal in the real world, and enjoy the story only if you are
of age and location to legally do so.
Note: When I narrate a story in the first person, I tend to write
Ashley in as the narrator. The stories are fiction, however, and
do not generally interconnect. I hope that does not cause my
readers any confusion!
**This story is the property of the author and may not be
reproduced in any form whatsoever without his permission.**
Part
I: Ash’s story.
”Hey hairy-boy,
you got a dick under that hair, or you got a pussy?” Tyrrell the
junior high jock was heating up his verbal assault he had begun during
after-gym showers, zeroing in yet again on my premature hairiness which
mostly hid my still boy-size penis.
“At
least I got hair, baldy. Don’t forget to put some baby powder on
your baby butt before you get dressed.”
“Listen,
you faggot,” Tyrell began, placing his muscular brown body directly in
front of my scrawny but hirsute frame and stepping up the
confrontation. But he did not get the chance to get physical.
I felt the back
of my neck seized in a vise like grip, and saw him encounter a similar
fate. Mr. Hardric, our seventh grade gym teacher, more or less
picked us up by the scruff of our necks, and our belligerent bickering
quickly changed to abject fear. Mr. Hardric, a former Olympic
wrestler, did not allow any conflict in his classes outside the actual
gym, and we both knew we were toast.
“Listen you
two,” he started, his voice low, tightly controlled, and very
angry. “This bullshit is not acceptable. It is going to
stop.” He punctuated each statement by tightening his grip on our
necks a little, and giving us a shake as well. “In fact,” he continued,
“it just has. And it is not going to begin again. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” we
both stammered.
“But I’m not
sure you totally understand that yet. So you’re going to
learn.” He began propelling our naked forms from the drying area
through the locker room, our feet barely on the floor, our towels
abandoned along the way. “Your job for the next two hours is to
find out how to get along with each other. No blood, no
bruises. Do I make myself clear? I’ll call your parents and
tell them you’ll be late.” And with that he thrust us into a tiny
office, pulled the door shut, and locked us in.
We were alone
in a little room hardly bigger than a closet, stark naked, and
apparently together for the next two hours. There was a small
desk that held a box of Kleenex, a straight chair, a mirror on the
wall, and nothing else. Tyrell turned away from me, his head
down.
“You asshole,”
I started angrily, “why’d you have to start with me? I never did
anything to you. I’m gonna get killed being two hours late and
it’s all your fault.” I was going to continue, but when I paused
for breath, I realized that Tyrell’s shoulders were shaking. I
realized, to my amazement that he was crying, so I relented.
“Aw, c’mon,
dude,” I said, “it’s not really that bad. It’s just a
detention.” I put a hand on his muscular arm. Suddenly, he
turned to face me, tears streaming down his distorted face as he began
full blown bawling. We were so close to each other, I
instinctively reached my other hand out to him, and before I knew it,
Ty-the-Guy, Ty the strongest, coolest dude in the seventh grade, had
draped himself on me, crying his eyes out on my shoulder, his arms
around me in a desperate hug. Although I was about half his
weight, I was a few inches taller, and as he rested his head against my
bony white shoulder, I hugged him back and tried to comfort him,
stroking his black woolly hair as he sobbed.
“Come on, dude,
it’ll be OK. It’s just a couple of hours. It’s not that
bad.” I was holding him and trying to calm him down like he was a
little kid or something. His bawling diminished a bit to ragged
sobs. I spied the Kleenex on the small desk next to us, and
plucked one out. I held it to his nose and ordered him to blow,
like I did for my little brother when he had a boo-boo. He did,
and then wiped his eyes as well. And continued holding on to me.
He produced a
weak smile. “Guess you didn’t expect to see me cryin’ like a
baby,” he managed between remaining sobs. “But my ass is gonna
get a major wuppin’ for this.”
“Yeah, me too,
I guess. I’ll probably be grounded for the next several years.”
“I wish.
Just being grounded would be heaven. I mean ‘wuppin’ ” --like
with a leather belt. Serious!” he added in response to my
surprised expression. We continued standing, holding each other
naturally, and some part of my brain registered that I quite liked it
that way. In fact, another part of my body was registering my
pleasure in a purely physical way. My diminutive dick, about two
inches soft, and nearly totally hidden by the copious pubic hair that
had suddenly sprouted in sixth grade, was more than doubling to its
hard size, more than four inches. And Ty’s right hand seemed to
have moved from my shoulder to my chest, and was kind of touching me
all over, stroking the hairs that were already starting to grow from
the middle of my chest down toward my stomach, going lower and
lower. I felt something softly touching my thigh, too, and
suddenly it just seemed natural to move my hand down Ty’s muscular
brown chest like he was doing to me. I got down to his smooth
crotch, and discovered that he had gotten hard too, only his hardon
looked about three times the size of mine.
We stood in
silence for some moments, just processing our physical situation
without words, holding, touching, and erecting.
Presently he
began to speak in a quiet, tentative voice. “Ash, if I tell you
something, you promise not to tell anyone?” he said, his hand holding
my stiff dick.
“I guess,” I
said.
“I’m
serious. You absolutely can’t never tell anyone. Not about
this. Not about what I’m gonna tell you. Never ever, cross
your heart. Promise.”
“OK, I
promise. What’s the deal?” Like I was actually going to
tell anyone about holding Tyrell’s stiff dick in the locker room after
school.
“I gotta tell
you about what’s gonna happen to me at home. I gotta tell
somebody.” Tears welled up in his eyes, and he started to cry
again. I handed him another Kleenex.
“Geez, dude,
calm down. It’ll be OK,” I said, genuinely alarmed by now.
He took a shaky
breath, and sort of leaned more closely to me. “I’m gay,
Ash. I’m queer, a faggot, homo-fucking-sexual, to quote my
daddy. There. Are you shocked, dude? Ty-the-Guy’s
gay. I should be Tay-the-gay instead.” He laughed
bitterly. “And I’m sorry about saying all that stuff to
you. I just did that to keep myself distracted. Best
defense is a good offense, an’ all that. Seein’ that I think
you’re really hot, if I didn’t pick a fight, I’d have had a hardon ten
seconds after I looked at you in the shower for sure.”
I didn’t know
what to say. All I knew was that I liked the current
situation: alone with Ty, naked, hard, held, trusted, and very,
very excited. So I hugged him harder, wrapping both my arms
around his shoulders again and pulling him close to me and pressing my
hips against his. We stood so for some moments more, his
breathing returning to normal, my heart continuing to pound. He
reached his hand around his back and found mine, which he then guided
downward to his butt.
“Feel those
lines across my butt, Ash? They’re from the last wuppin’ which I
got for coming home five minutes late from football practice
Tuesday.” Gently, I traced the ridges that ran across his butt
cheeks. I did not know what to say. “Feel these?” he
continued, guiding my hand lower yet over more ridges near the junction
of leg and butt. “They’re from not hanging my towel neat enough
in the bathroom.” I ran my hand over his ass in wonder.
He loosened his
grip, and suggested we sit down on the small desk for awhile. We
settled down in some improved comfort, arms around each other, dicks
pointing up in each other’s hands, and he started telling me what would
happen to him at home this weekend. But I promised I would never
tell, so I’ll let Ty tell you himself now.
Part
II: Ty’s story.
I live with my
daddy--my mama passed on about two years ago, and I don’t have any
brothers or sisters. My daddy’s real strict, and I daren’t
disobey. I have to go out for every sport, and I have to make
first string. I don’t enjoy the total jock experience, but my dad
says being in music or plays is for fairies and wusses, even though I’d
give anything to be in the school play. And when he caught me
sucking off my friend in sixth grade, it was like I had to prove to the
world that I wasn’t gay--that his son was the all-American boy, not a
limp wristed faggot. So I do. But it isn’t enough.
Every weekend
on Saturday afternoon, I get my weekly punishment. It’s always
the same. We have this separate workshop shed in our back yard,
and I have to report there at 5:00 PM exactly. I have to wear a
white button-up shirt, and white drawstring gym shorts, nothing
else. I knock on the door and wait for him to let me in. I
tell him that I am ready for my punishments, and he tells me to tell
him what I have done wrong the past week.
I have to tell
him everything I did wrong during the week. For each of my
mistakes, he asks me what my punishment should be. I can only
choose from strap or paddle, so there’s not much choice there, only how
many hits. But if I suggest too many, he’ll give me all I suggest
plus half again as many, since if I suggest high, I must have done
worse than he realized. But if I suggest low, I get the number
doubled for trying to get away with a lighter punishment. So I
really can’t win, but I have to play the game.
So once we get
the number of swats decided, then it’s time to get me prepared.
We go through the same drill: he asks me if I have washed myself,
and I tell him yes. He asks if I am sure, and I tell him I
am. Then he says it’s time to check, and he unbuttons my shirt
and takes it off me. He drops it on the floor, and he unties the
drawstring of my shorts and they drop too. He makes me turn all
around for him, and then takes my dick in his hand and squeezes
it. I’m usually hard by this time, and he asks me what I’m
thinking about. I tell him I’m thinking about screwing a tight
hot pussy. Then he inspects me for new hair. That’s why I
don’t have any pubic hair. If he sees any new long hairs, he
plucks them out. If they’re too short to pluck, he shaves me
smooth. He says I have to earn my hair by being good for an
entire week, but that will never happen.
You want to
know what else I get punished for? Last week he told me I had
placed the trash cans too close to the drive when I put them out for
the trash. The week before he told me I had put them too far
away. But I put them the same spot every time! Any problems
at school count. Any mistakes in games or sports meets
count. If we lose, I get the winning score added to my
punishment. If I make an A in a subject, he tells me only sissy
fags get As, and I get hit. If I make a B, he tells me only
stupid homos get Bs. It just goes on and on.
Finally we get
to the punishment. I bend over this wooden saw horse that’s about
belly high, and he ties my wrists to some ropes that hang from the
ceiling, and he commences beating me. He usually wallops me about
five times, and then he rests a spell, and while he rests, he rubs my
dick and my balls and the insides of my legs. But I’m not allowed
to cum, so when I get close to shooting, he goes back to the
wuppin. After twenty or thirty times, my backside is just about
on fire, and it really don’t matter much how many more times he hits
me. When he’s done, he puts a tight ring around the bottom of my
dick and my balls. As long as that’s on, I don’t cum, but I stay
hard. And I can’t reach my dick because of the ropes.
So when we get
to that point, he asks me if I’ve been a faggot this week. I tell
him, “No, Daddy, I haven’t,” and he says that’s good, because no son of
his is going to a homo-fucking-sexual. Then he asks me if I know
what it’s like to be be a queer black boy, and I tell him no. So
he says, “I think we’ll just give you a little lesson about
homo-fucking-sexu-faggot-ality.” He goes to the door and turns on
a flashing light, like the kind they use for blue-light specials at
K-Mart. There are two, one yellow, one blue. The blue one
means boys can come, the yellow one means men, and both means
both. So he turns on the lights, and in about ten seconds the
workshop starts to fill up with with horny guys. Daddy makes them
give money--he says it’s for my college fund. Yeah,
right. He charges five bucks for my butt and five for my
mouth, or both for seven-fifty. When they’ve all gathered and
paid, he tells them to get ready for action, which means they should
take off their shirts and britches. By now, there’s likely 25 or
30 buck naked boys and men with hardons, all waiting for a chance at
me. Then he says “Gentlemen, show this black boy the wages of
sinful faggotry.” If he remembers, he squirts some grease on my
butt, and if he forgets, the first one hurts really bad. But
after that, there’s so much cum in me, I don’t need no more
grease. And then for the next hour or so I’ve got a dick up my
butt, and at least one in my mouth, until all have shot at least one
load in me or on me. Some of the younger boys go twice. My
daddy don’t even notice, but I do.
Some of ‘em
hold my balls or my dick while they’re fucking my ass, and sometimes
someone will suck on me, but with that damn ring around me, no matter
how hard I get, I can’t cum. My balls hurt so bad, you can’t
imagine. I imagine I swallow about a quart of cum, and about that
much must be up my ass and a lot gets squirted all over me. So
when they’re all done and gone, my daddy unties my hands and lets me
stand up. My butt is so sore I can’t even even describe it, and I
have cum all over: it dribbles out my ass, down my face, in my
hair. But the thing is, the whole time, Daddy has been watching,
and he’s got the biggest hardon you’ve ever seen. He’s hung like
a stallion. He’s about two inches wide and at least a foot long
hard. I stand before Daddy, and he says, “Look at you boy.
You’re a disgrace. You’re a faggot fuck-boy. That’s all
you’ll ever be. You ain’t good for nothing but fuckin’. Now
clean yourself up and come in the house.”
By that he
means I should wipe the cum off me with my hands, and lick myself
clean, so I get as much off as I can and I go back to the house.
Daddy is waiting for me, and he just nods towards his bed. He
takes off the ring around my cock and my balls, finally, which helps
some. But see, I’m not allowed to jerk off, and my bedroom is
right off the living room, and there’s no door. I have to sleep
naked and he checks my sheets and my undershorts for cum stains.
I’m not allowed to close the bathroom door either, so there isn’t any
time I can jerk off unless I do it at school, and you know how much
privacy there is in the boys’ rooms, which is why it’s so hard for me
not to get hard in the showers, cuz I’m always so horny.
So anyway,
Daddy puts me on the bed on my back, and raises my legs up over my
shoulders, and then he rams his huge cock into my poor asshole, and it
feels like I’m being torn in half. Ash, he’s so big and it hurts
so bad! So he fucks me as long as it takes for him to almost cum,
and then he pulls out and makes me suck him off the rest of the
way. And you can imagine, I told you how huge he is, when he
shoots, it’s not just a a couple squirts, it’s like a dam has busted
and cum just explodes out of his cock. I swallow a lot, but his
cock is so big in my mouth that most of it leaks out of my mouth.
When he’s done, I know to get out of his bed and go to my own
room. By then I’m so exhausted I just go to sleep. It takes
all the next day for my butt to recover, so I’m more or less normal by
Monday.
But you
know what, Ash? As much as it hurts, as much as I hate it when my
daddy rams his monster dick up my butt, I kind of like it at the same
time. It makes me hard, and at the same time it hurts, it feels
good. And when I do it with another boy, it feels really
good.
Part
III: Ash continues.
So I was just
blown away by Ty’s story. I knew--sort of--about gay sex, but I’d
not yet heard more than the vague references to it that young boys make
when they don’t quite know what they’re talking about, but think
they’re supposed to. The whole time Ty was talking, we had our
arms around each other, and his hand moved slowly around on my dick, or
on my balls, or around my thighs, and I was doing the same thing to
him. We both stayed as hard as rocks, and I noticed that his dick
kind of oozed a clear, slippery fluid.
He stopped
talking, and we just sat there. I was so amazed, I just did not
know what to say. Then as I was searching for some words, any
words, he said to me, “Ash, will you do it to me? I mean,
will you fuck me up my ass?”
If I had been
amazed moments ago, it went double now. “Well, um” I stammered,
“I dunno...”
“Please, Ash, I
want you. I want to feel your dick in me. I want to feel
your wonderful hair tickle my ass. I dream about you at
night. I want you.” And without warning, he bent down and
took me in his mouth. Oh, God! I had never felt anything so
good! But he didn’t continue; he just got me good and wet.
Then he lay
back on the desk we’d been sitting on, and brought his knees to his
chest. I didn’t quite know what to do, so I sort of leaned over
him, my dick pointed in the general direction of his butt. He
gave me some directions. “Push your hips forward and line up your
dick with my asshole. Then just push until it goes in.” So
I did as he told, and suddenly my dick was engulfed with the most
perfect warmth and good feelings. “Now pull out and push back
in,” Ty told me, so I did. After the first thrust, instincts took
over, and suddenly I was fucking his ass, plunging in with hard,
aggressive thrusts, and pulling out until my dick head was just barely
inside, and then ramming back in again. I’d only cum once before,
in a dream just before I woke up, and had not yet started to jerk off
myself, although some of my friends were doing it. So when I came
inside Tyrell, it was, as they say, a watershed experience. Waves
of pleasure swept through my skinny frame, spasms of ecstasy spreading
through every cell of my being. For an instant, time stopped and
I existed in an eternity of pure bliss. And then I became aware
of Ty again, and I knew he was sharing my pleasure. One thing
remained, though, because he was still rock hard. Don’t ask me
how I knew, but I knew what to do. I pulled my shrinking dick out
of him and bent down to his crotch. Suddenly I wanted to taste
that glistening fluid that decorated the tip of his dick.
Suddenly I wanted his cum to fill my mouth. So without any more
coaching, I took him in my mouth, licked the delicate fluid from his
dickhead, and sucked on it. I liked the feeling, the taste of him
in my mouth, and took more of him in, licking and sucking as much of it
as I could reach. It didn’t take long before he blasted hot
creamy cum into my virgin mouth, and I loved it. I loved the feel
of the thick, hot fluid, and I loved the taste. I loved the feel
of the slippery stuff sliding down my throat. I gulped it down as
fast as I could and then sucked the last drops from him, and when I let
him out of my mouth, he was soft again. We both sat up, and
without even a thought, we kissed each other. And not just
kissed, but kissed, if you know what I mean. With tongues and
everything. It was way cool, and when we stopped kissing, we just
sat there holding and hugging each other.
Some time later
we heard the door being unlocked, so we let go of each other and just
sat still until Mr. Harding opened the door. He was dressed for
the street and had his gym bag in one hand. “Have you boys
learned anything the last two hours?” he asked.
Ty looked at
me, and I looked at him. We both struggled to keep from busting
out laughing, and Ty said, “Well, I guess I won’t be busting on the
skinny dude anymore.” And I said, “Yeah, and I’ll leave the big
dumb jock alone too.” And then we both broke up laughing.
Mr. Harding just shook his head and told us to get dressed. He
gave us a ride home, and it turned out he’d told our parents that we’d
“volunteered” to stay after to help him set up the gym for a regional
tournament. Ty’s father was so pleased, Ty thought he might even
keep a week’s growth of hair.