This story details explicit gay sex between men, teens and boys. If you find this kind of thing distasteful, or if you are underage where ever you live, then stop reading this now, and delete this file. The story is completely fictional, the author does not condone or encourage any of the acts contained herein.


Chapter 14

Five months later, Jason and Kenny are getting along famously. Comrades. I'm so pleased, because I really love them both, though Jason is far more likely to make my dick hard. Jason has started school, a junior college. "It costs less," he says. He just wants to get his feet wet, he says. The first quarter he earns four A's and a B. I take him to San Diego for those four A's, introduce him to the San Diego crowd. Take him to the dance clubs. Visit Balboa park. He loves it.

For that B, he gets a total of 30 strokes of the razor strop in the course of three sessions. I can't tell you how much that B pisses me off. It's in fucking calculus, for god's sake. He's good in math. He just wasted his time. When he brought the grade report to me, I could tell right away from his expression that there was something in there that was going to really irritate. I was so pleased with the A's in Physics, English, Psychology, and History – none of which he's been particularly good in, he says – but when I hit the math grade, I was just really pissed.

"So in your best subject, you do the worst?"

He looks at his feet. "Yeah."


He whines. "I don't know. Because I spent too much time on the other classes?" He looks up, hoping I'm going to buy this argument.

I look him in the eyes. A long look. "That's horseshit, and you know it."

He nods, and drops his head, staring at his feet again.

"I can't tell you how disappointed I am in that grade, Jason."

He tears up, but controls himself.

"You're good in math, better than me, and yet you just fucked it up."

He's starting to cry.

I draw him to me. "I'm so proud of the four A's," hugging him, "but...you are getting so punished for that fucking B."

30 strokes of the razor strop, his least favorite disciplinary instrument, in three sessions. "Don't fucking do this again," I admonish in a particularly brutal last session that has left his ass crimson, bruised. He nods, sobbing.

The day of that last session, Kenny calls from work. He is seriously skittish. "Umm...Tim...I'd like to bring a...umm...a friend home...umm...tonight."

I'm confused. "Okay."

"Umm...thing is...he's a..." Long pause. Long, long pause. "Thing is...he's a..."

I wait.

"He's a really nice guy. Smart. Cute. But..."

I'm tired of waiting. "Spit it out, Kenny!"

He sniffs. "He's a...druggie. He's addicted to cocaine. He needs someone to help him...umm...get off of that."

There's a very long pause in this conversation as I try to process this information. To Kenny's credit, he doesn't try to sell this any more. He waits for the conclusion. A very long pause.

"He knows you're gay?"

"Yeah. He's gay. He knows everyone in the house is gay," he laughs.

"So, this is detox and rehab of a cute gay boy," I giggle.

Long pause. "Yeah."

I'm not sure I want to get into this, but Kenny is so sweet. Finally: "You think this'll work?"

Brighter. "I do. He needs some...guidance." Long pause. "He needs...umm...he needs you, Tim."

How cute. "Okay." Another long pause. "No drugs in the house, Kenny. I'm willing to work with him...what's his name?"


"I'm willing to work with Andrew...he actually goes by `Andrew,' not `Andy'?"

"Umm...far as I know."

"I'm willing to work with Andrew, but you're going to have to do some of the policing. No drugs in the house."

"Okay," he says brightly.

Thinking. "Let's not sell this to him as a done deal. Bring him home for an interview. By the way, why will he want this?"

"Eviction...like me. Nowhere to live. And he really wants to get off the stuff, at least that what he's told me. I think he sincere."

"Bring him home for dinner, Kenny. I reserve the right to reject him. Bring him home for dinner."

"Will do."

Life has gotten fairly comfortable for us in the last couple of months. Jason and Kenny are getting along well, and we're doing a lot of `Carmel-by-the-Seas." We're all comfortable with each other. This has the potential to disrupt that. On the other hand, maybe we're getting too comfortable, and a little boring. Still, if this boy keeps using, he's gone. We'll see when he gets here tonight.

I tell Jason that Kenny is bringing a guest. That's it. He smiles. "Okay."


Andrew looks a little bit – what's the word? – provocative. Don't get me wrong; he's very attractive, but looks a little bit...mean. But, Kenny's right: he's bright, engaging, but probably on his best behavior. He clearly wants this.

Dinner is, as usual, delicious: Stuffed Bitter Melon, Chicken Balls with Green Pepper, and Stir Fried Beef with Onion. Jason is a very good cook, and Andrew raves. Discussion at dinner is political. I discover that Andrew is a progressive politically, which is a good sign. It means we can probably coexist. He's not a red-stater, thank god. Nor is he especially put off by the fact that both Jason and Kenny are naked. I mean, he's surprised, especially surprise when he arrives and Kenny goes off to strip. But after a while, it doesn't really register. He and I are clothed. Jason and Kenny are naked. No biggie. Jason and Kenny clear the table, and bring out a pot of tea, a fragrant Oolong. We pour ourselves a cup, and I motion Andrew into the office, closing the door.

I sit behind the desk, and Andrew sits in a chair in front of it. He's clearly nervous.

"Kenny tells me that you need a place to live," I begin.

"Yes," he says, "I used to be a programmer, but for the last several months I've been working at Nordstrom's. My salary has...declined."

I smile.

"I can't afford the rent on my apartment on my Nordstrom's salary."

"Why'd you stop writing code?"

Long pause. "Health issues."

My eyes narrow. "You mean, the Coke?"

He looks...pained, drops his head. "Yeah."

"So, let's be clear." He looks up. "We have some fairly rigid rules in the house. If you live here, like Jason and Kenny, you'll be naked anytime you're in the house. I will consider that I own your body. You'll be shaved of all body hair, and punished for any infractions of house rules twice a week. Punishment is often a spanking, although I reserve the right to vary that at will. Sometimes you'll be punished just because I want to punish you. If I ever find drugs in the house, I will beat you within an inch of your life – you will not sit down for a very, very long time. I'll expect you to maintain your job, contributing to the mortgage in whatever proportion you can, and to help with the chores. There will also be sexual responsibilities – I'm gay, sexually active, and demanding of the boys. There is no masturbation allowed in the house, no cumming without permission, but if you're good, you'll get off often, but it's my job to get you off, not yours. In return, you'll get room, board, access to the pool, the gym downstairs, and a loving family of sorts – Jason, Kenny and me. You dating anyone?"


"Good." I pause, smiling. "How often do you need to get off?"

He goes instantly beet red. "Umm..."

"If you really want to live here, this is an important question. There's no beating off here. I am your sole source of sexual gratification. Answer it seriously. Because if I catch you beating off, I'll beat you mercilessly."

"Umm... Two to three times a day."

"Are you out to your family? Kenny told me you're gay."

Redder still. "No. They don't know about me."

"Or the drugs?"

He looks sad. "No."

"I'm serious about this, Andrew. If I find drugs, I will hurt you."

He drops his head. "Okay."

"So," I smile "are you in?"

He looks up, looks me in the eye, smiles. "Yes, I'd like to be."

I smile. Nod. I hand him a contract. I need to be explicit about the drugs, and the contract is explicit: I will not hesitate to punish him severely if I find drugs, and I'm pretty sure I will find drugs pretty quickly. He reads it, and signs it. We're done.

We head out to the kitchen, where Kenny and Jason are working on the dishes, chatting amiably, laughing. "We have a new inmate," I giggle. Kenny has apparently already told Jason, because he's not surprised, but instead smiles at Andrew. Kenny smiles broadly.

"Andrew," I say, looking at him, "Clothes."

"Oh, sorry."

I point to the entryway, where there are already two piles of neatly folded clothes, and he scurries out, strips, and returns to the kitchen, his hands protectively in front of his genitals. Seeing him, beet red and covering himself, Jason giggles, and Kenny snorts. Both look at me.

"Nakedness in the house is a control issue, Andrew. I want it always to be clear to you who's in charge. I want you to feel vulnerable, to feel very naked. Never cover yourself.

He looks surprised, and then confused, and then he gets it and drops his hands.

"Good," I say, evenly. He's flushed.

"Now, let's get you groomed." Jason and Kenny both snicker as I lead Andrew to the bathroom. They know the drill, and remember, no doubt, how embarrassing that first shaving was.

I motion Andrew to a stool. "Stand on that." He does. I pull the electric clippers from the draw, and mow his pubic bush quickly. He is beet red...again. Next his underarm hair is cropped. Asking him to turn around and bend at the waist, I part his ass cheeks for an inspection. He's not especially hairy there. We won't need the clippers; a razor will do. "Stay put," I say, while I stow the clippers and get a razor and shaving cream. Spreading some cream along his ass crack, I shave him thoroughly, and then have him turn around, his hard-on bouncing around. I shave his genitals, followed by his under arms. That's all the body hair he has, which is relatively convenient, and he looks really good this way. "It's your job to keep yourself hairless. It's another control issue. It makes you even more naked than you'd otherwise be. Jason doesn't have any hair in his ass crack. He's the only one who doesn't need help with this. Get one of the boys to help you shave your crack – daily." I giggle. "Actually, you'll know when, because the itching from the stubble will drive you crazy."

I've never seen a boy go this crimson in my life. He is so, so embarrassed, standing on this stool, on display. I decide to prolong the agony a bit. I begin to feel him up, running my hands along his legs, his thighs, kneading his balls gently, stroking his dick. I pinch his nipples, and then, having him turn again and bend over, I part his ass cheeks and stroke his asshole. All of this gives him another major hardon. I have him turn back around, and continue to stroke his dick. "What do you like to do – sexually, I mean?"

Andrew is moaning, and I continue to stroke. "I...umm...I like...penetration."

Still stroking him slowly. "What's that mean, Andrew? Do you like to penetrate, or be penetrated?"

His breathing is becoming ragged, and he is squirming. "Umm...I...umm...like to...be..."

"So you like to get fucked?"


"And how much experience have you had? How many time have you been fucked?" He's still moaning, close.

"I don't know."

"Guess." He is maybe 22. I slow my stroking. I want to keep him on edge.

"Maybe 10 times." He's wriggling now, his eyes scrunched tightly shut. He's bucking his hips, trying to increase the speed of my stroking.

"You understand that you're not allowed to cum without permission, that if you cum, you'll be punished? And I haven't given you that permission."

I stop stroking him. He's on the verge of tears, I think, tears of frustration. "Yes," he chokes.

"Open your eyes, please." He's glassy-eyed. I start to stroke him again, very slowly. "Do you want to cum?"


Stroking him very, very slowly. "Well, do you want to cum like this, or would you rather I fuck you."

"Would you fuck me...please?"

I smile at him. I was going to lead him by the dick to the bedroom, but he's so close, I'm afraid he'll cum. Instead I take his hand and lead him to the bedroom, motioning to the bed. "Hands and knees," I say, and he races to the bed. I strip quickly, grab the tube of lotion, and lube my finger, sliding it gently inside him to get a sense of how tight he is. The answer is that this will work without stretching him. As I've said, my dick is made for anal fucking – long and thin. I spread a healthy coating of lotion on my dick, and slowly slide inside. He gasps. Draping myself over him, I start to nibble on his right ear while reaching around and playing with his nipples, pinching them. He gasps; I mean really gasps! This must be an Asian thing. Jason does the same thing, and so does Kenny. The way to their dicks is through their nipples. After about ten minutes of this, ten minutes during which I've never touched his dick, I start stroking him again, pumping in and out of him. 45 seconds, max, he erupts, crying out, almost screaming, stimulation that sends me over the top as well. Spent, he collapses onto the bed, in a pool of his own spunk, and I collapse on top of him. After a couple of minutes, after we've stopped panting, I smile at him.

"How was it?"

He smiles back. "It was incredible. I've never cum like that before."

I giggle. "You're the right size for my. I can hit your prostate with every thrust."

"Was that what it was?"

"I think so. I could feel myself hitting it with my dick-head, at least that's what I think it was."

Long sigh. "Wow."

I go stern on him. "For the moment, I am your sole source of sex. Jason and Kenny won't touch you. I'll make sure of it. And you're not allowed external sources. No cumming without my express permission. If you do, I will punish you like you've never been punished before. And if I find drugs in the house, I guarantee you that in addition to pulverizing your ass, I will withhold sex, so if you liked that, stay clean. Clear?"

He looks apprehensive. "Clear."

"I mean it, Andrew. I swing a mean razor strop, and I have...other outlets."

He smiles wanly. "Got it."

I hug him, and give him a very long and sloppy kiss, a kiss that get's him hard again, so hard he begins poking me in the thigh. I giggle. He giggles. I roll off him and softly, playfully, slap his erection. "You are one horny boy." He giggles, and then gasps as I go down on him. I don't think he was expecting this. I blow him for twenty minutes before shots. Like most boys his age, he has a short recovery time. He's panting at the end of it, slowly catching his breath.

"Let's clean up."

We head for the shower, emerging to find Jason and Kenny in the whicker chairs that sit just inside the bedroom door. Andrew covers himself, and gets a warning look from Jason that reminds him that that's a no-no. He drops his hands, and we all start to laugh.

"Just wondering if you guys were alive, or if you'd cut him shaving...so badly that you had to take him to the hospital," Kenny says, through his giggles. This comment fractures Jason, and me. Andrew looks so embarrassed, so red-faced, and his current hard-on doesn't help.


Three weeks later, we find the drugs. Somehow, I knew we would.

Jason and Kenny had moved him into one of the guest bedrooms the day after I met him. Not much to move. Clothes, a few books, a small stereo. That was about it. I knew it was a matter of time. I just knew it.

Jason finds it. It's under his mattress, of all places. Jason is changing the bed. He takes it to Kenny, who brings it to me. A tiny zip-lock of white powder. I taste it. It's Cocaine.

Andrew comes home at 3:30, goes to his room to get undressed, and comes out at lightning speed. Jason is at school, and Kenny is at work. I'm in the office. Off limits. But he knocks. "Come."

He's trying to look calm, but is clearly very agitated. "Hi, Tim. Jason and Kenny are out?"

I smile "Yup."

"Oh," he says, starting to leave.

"But, they're not really what you're looking for, are they?"

He freezes, and slowly turns. "Umm..."

"You're looking for this," I say, pulling the bag of Coke out of my drawer.

He looks at it for several seconds, and then looks at me, and then looks at his feet.

"Do you want to live here, Andrew?"


"Did you read the contract? Did you listen to me?"

He looks at me, pleading. "Umm..."

"You have two choices. You can take the punishment, and it will be major...VERY major...or you can leave now."

He looks at me, at the bag of powder, and then back at me again. I open the bag, and pour it into my coffee, a large paper cup of Peet's, almost empty. And then I stand up, pull out my dick, and piss in the cup.

He screams. "Do you fucking know how much that was worth?"

Shaking my dick, I stuff it back into my pants, zip up, and sit back down in the chair. I smile. "Drink it if you want it." I pause. "Which option would you like to go for?"

He goes from furious, to sad, to contrite, back to angry, and then to shame. He hangs his head, tearing up. Soon he's sobbing. "I can't do this. I can't give it up."

"If you want to live here, you'll give it up."

"Please...please don't throw me out. I don't have anywhere to go."

"Then you're taking the punishment route."

Long pause. Still sobbing. "Yes."

"Yes what? Didn't your parents teach you any fucking manners at all?" I'm very angry.

He looks at me for a long moment. "Yes, please?"

"Right! Get your ass down to the basement, get on the table, on your belly, and wait for me. This will be the first of three very nasty sessions, Andrew. I will not have Cocaine in my house. Oh, and by the way, you're not going to get off for the week this punishment takes. You said you normally get off two to three times a day. You will not get off once for the next five days. And if I find you beating off, I'll double the punishment."

Andrew shuffles away. I hear the basement door. I dump the coffee cup in the toilet, flushing it down, get myself a 7-Up kitchen, and head down to the basement. Andrew is in place when I get downstairs, and I strap him into place. He's crying, still. I grab the razor strop and swish it in the air, but before I begin this punishment, I hear the front door. I lay the razor strop on Andrew's back, and go back upstairs. It's Jason. I'm worried about laundry.

He come and hugs me, and we kiss. "No laundry today, Jason. I'm...umm...busy downstairs."

He looks concerned as I caress his cheek. Then I return to the basement. Taking the strop from Andrew's back, I swish it again, mostly for effect. "I will not have drugs in my house. I will not have druggies in my house. I realize you have nowhere else to go, but I will not have druggies in my house. Will NOT. The most I've ever been able to do with this razor strop, without drawing blood, is 15 strokes. That's what you're getting, followed by 9 with the cane. We're going to do something else on Thursday, two days from now, that will be equally painful. I will NOT have drugs in my house. Is that clearer to you now?"

Andrew is sobbing, in anticipation, in contrition, I don't know. "Yes." Pause "Please."

I lay into him harder than I've ever swung this razor strop in my life. I am very angry, very disappointed. He screams after four; shrieks after six; and is essentially out of voice after 12. His ass is black and blue after 15, when I replace the razor strop on the wall and bring back the cane. He has no voice left, but is wailing with each stroke. After 9, I'm seeing a little blood.

"Andrew, I will not have fucking drugs in my house. Is that clear," I'm screaming at him?

"Yes," he screams.

"And, if you're doing drugs, I will not have you in my house. Is that clear?"

"Yes," he wails.

"This punishment is going to continue for two more sessions that will probably be worse than this. And if I fucking ever finds drugs in the house again, this will seem like a walk in the park, or you'll be out. Got it?"

Sobbing. "Yes."

"Don't fuck with me, Andrew." I shout. "I mean this. Do you understand?"


I unfasten his restraints, and carry him upstairs to the living room. Jason and Kenny are in the kitchen, looking wide-eyed, scared. They must have heard most of this. It's been too loud to miss. And the sight of Andrew's ass I think scares them even more. "Get me a damp towel, Jason, and a dry one, and some lotion from the night stand," I say on the way to the living room, and my god does he scurry. When we get to the living room, I swab Andrew's ass with the wet towel, dry him off, and apply some lotion, and then we sit for the better part of an hour as he sobs on my shirt.

I'm stroking his back, his hair. After he calms down a bit, I reiterate the message. "I told you that if I found drugs I'd hurt you."

He nods.

"What's it going to take, Andrew."

He shakes his head, still sobbing. "Probably this."

"Good. I'm not done yet. I'm very, very disappointed. I want this to be...memorable."

He moves his face back, and kisses me, and then starts to cry again. "I'm sorry," he chokes. "I'm not sure how to beat this."

"Find a way, Andrew. I'll do what I can to help," I say, hugging him. And we sit for another hour, rocking in the recliner until I'm totally soaked in tears and Jason and Kenny are peaking in to figure out when to serve dinner. Andrew is clearly going to be my problem child.


On Thursday, we do an enema, the most punishing enema I know. You start with two quarts of warm water, laced with baking soda, let that sit for maybe ten minutes, and then you add another two quarts of cold water laced with vinegar. The combination of baking soda and vinegar makes carbon dioxide, blowing you up like a balloon, providing major, MAJOR cramps, and given that this is already a large enema, a full gallon, it is very, very painful. Andrew is shrieking when the vinegar hits.

"Please...please...please...help me."

"I am helping you, Andrew. I will not have drugs in the house. I want you to remember that..."

Screaming. "Please. I'm sorry. I won't do it again."

"Thirty minutes, Andrew. I'll be back."


He is absolutely rotund now, and it's going to get worse as the vinegar and baking soda do their work. I leave the basement and head upstairs. Kenny has gone to work, but Jason is in the kitchen, and looks concerned. "Everything okay?"

"No, everything's not okay," I say, as Andrew's shrieks assault us. "Come on," I say, and he follows me to the living room. I sit in my recliner, and pat my lap. Jason climbs up, and I hug him, starting to tear up. "This boy has pissed me off. This boy has done something that I can't, CAN'T let him get away with. And he might do it again." I'm crying now, and Jason is hugging me. "This has to hurt. But it's...hurting...me."

Jason hugs me, kisses me, looks a little freaked. He's never seen me like this. It's a really long 30 minutes, at the end of which, I've managed to pull myself together, and make my way back to the basement where I remove the enema nozzle, release him, and let him expel, giving him another cleansing enema to wash away the vinegar and baking soda. He is very weak, and once he's expelled the second enema – plain water – I carry him upstairs and put him to bed. On the way, I continue to lecture him: "Never...never...never brings drugs into this house."

He cries. "I won't."

He falls asleep almost instantly, and sleeps through the afternoon.


The following Monday, when the bruises from his previous spanking have faded, I give him another really brutal spanking; a carbon-copy of the last one. 15 with the razor strop, and nine with the cane, but it's not the junior cane this time, and there is blood. A good deal of it. And while I beat him, I lecture him. By the end, he's a snotty mess, and needs a good deal of cleanup. I swab his ass while he lays on the table, dry him off, and apply Baciguent to any wounds.

"Have you got it?"

"Yes...yes..." he says, breathlessly. "Please don't hurt me any more."

"Have you got it," I insist?

"Yes, I've got it."

"And the message is?"

"No drugs...in the...house."


"And, no...drugs in...me."

"Right." I release him from the table and carry him upstairs. He's literally hanging from my neck, weak. I take him to my bedroom, lay him on my bed, and snuggle with him until he's asleep, falling asleep myself. We both wake up maybe two hours later. I'm first, and maybe ten minutes later, Andrew opens his eyes. He smiles at me vaguely. His ass still has to hurt him, but he hugs me, and then smiles again.

"I'm sorry, Tim. But...umm...could we do something else, now." He smiles – coyly.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," he says. "But, please be gentle."

"I kiss him, and giggle. "Okay. I guess you've paid your debt to society." I reach over and kiss him again.

His first punishment, the first brutal spanking was last Tuesday. The enema was on Thursday. Today is Monday. Andrew, who professed to need to cum two or three times a day, hasn't, in fact, cum in six days. I've noticed that he's a bit testy, gets angry easily, and cries frequently. I chock it up to sheer sexual frustration. I smile at him. "How do you want to get off, Andrew. I can fuck you, or blow you."

He giggles. He is so excited he can scarcely contain himself. "Could you do both, please, Tim. I'm good for two loads if you give me twenty minutes or so. And, right now I think I could do it three or four times."

I laugh. "Oookkaayy. How shall we start?"

Could you fuck me first, please? I really want to get fucked. I've been dreaming about it, literally.

I smile. "Sure. But we're going to make this last. We're going to take it slow and easy. I don't want to hurt you. By the time you blow, it will be one of the best orgasms you've ever had, but you will be...umm...a little frustrated. He looks worried. "Don't worry. You will cum – big time, and it will be fantastic, but it's going to be a while." I giggle. I plan to keep him right on the edge for as long as I can – an hour, maybe two – and as keyed up as he is, this will be a neat trick. I grab my pair of butterfly nipple clamps from the nightstand, and push Andrew flat on his back. He stares at the clamps fearfully. "I've noticed that you have very sensitive nipples," I begin. Actually, what I've noticed is that pinching this boy's nipples gives him an instant hard-on. You don't really have to do anything else. "These are going to hurt for about two minutes, and then they're going to feel really...erotic.

Fearfully. "Okay."

"So, give them two minutes for the pain to stop, okay? Then, if you don't like them, we'll take them off."

Still fearful. "Okay."

I attach the left clamp, and he hisses: "Ow...ow...ow..."

He has the same reaction to the right clamp, but his dick is hard, and as soon as the right clamp is on, I start to kiss him, and I keep kissing him for probably three minutes, maybe four, keeping him occupied. "How do they feel?"

He giggles. "They still hurt a little, but they totally focus me on my nipples. As you say, they're very erotic. I...umm...like them," he says, a little embarrassed.

"I thought you might," I reply, returning to the kiss.

We kiss for maybe another ten minutes and I very slowly stroke Andrew's dick, very slowly, because he's very close, his breathing ragged. After about ten minutes, I tell him to flip over on his hands and knees. There is a school of thought that says you can enter a guy more deeply with him on his back, legs in the air. I don't think that's true, or if it is, the additional penetration is marginal. And, it doesn't give you access to his dick. The only way your partner is probably going to get off is by stroking himself, giving him power over the orgasm, power that I want for myself. Hands and knees, face down on the bed is the better position, I've always thought. And, it gives you optimal access to both the asshole and the genitals, which I need for what I have planned. His ass is really red, so we're going to have to go slow and easy.

Sniffing `back there,' I conclude that Andrew is clean. I wipe off the residual salve with a wet towel that I fetch from the bath room, and dry him off gently. Then I begin to lick his crack all around the hole and down the perineum. Andrew moans. I suck his balls into my mouth and roll them around and then, releasing them, move back to the crack. He is moaning non-stop now. And then I lick the hole itself, and he gasps, and moans more loudly. I continue to lick the hole, trying to drive my tongue inside him. I've never been successful at this, but it tends to drive your partner crazy, as it does Andrew.

"Oh, god, Tim...oh...oh...shit," he hisses. "Oh, please...please...let...me...cum. Oh, god."

"Not yet, Andrew. Not by a long shot."

I continue to lick, grazing his dick with my hand accidentally-on-purpose every few seconds. He is leaking like crazy. Finally, I grab the lube and slick up my finger, and slowly enter him, looking for the prostate. Finding it, I begin the massage.

"Oh, please, Tim, please...let...me...cum." And, as I listen, I realize that he's crying...actually crying. I can't bear to have him crying. I pull my finger out of him, and lube up my dick, and slowly enter him in one slow, fluid thrust. He groans, still crying softly. Pulling back out, I thrust again, and he moans more urgently. "Please...Tim..."

I continue to pump. The sounds he's making are so erotic. I don't think I'm going to last long. I reach around and begin stroking his dick, which is by now so slick that no lube is necessary. Rolling back his foreskin, I concentrate just on the head, swirling around it with my wet thumb. He is squirming like mad, thrusting his hips to increase the contact with my hand.

"Please, Tim, please..." Finally, I start to stroke him properly, moving up and down the shaft with increased speed. "Oh, god," he screams, "Oh, my god."

That's it. That's all it takes. Suddenly every part of him tenses and he fills my hand with cum, shot after shot, and this sets me off, giving me one of the most enjoyable orgasms in some time. Pulling out of him, I grab a towel from the side of the bed, and clean off my hand, and then I flip Andrew on his side. He's sobbing. "You okay," I ask, concerned. I've never known anyone to sob through an orgasm. He can't speak, but nods. It takes him several minutes to regain control and catch his breath, during which I hug him, stroke his back, his hair. Finally, he leans forward and kisses me.

"That was intense."

I'm just so curious. "Why were you crying?"

He pauses. Thinks. "I'm not sure. At first I think it was frustration. I wanted to cum so badly, but then when I did cum...I don't know...it was just very emotional...very intense."

"Was it good intense?"

"Oh, my god, yes. I've never cum like that before."

"Good," I smile. "We'll give you a few minutes, and then do whatever's next."

He snuggles into me, hugging me really tight. "Okay," he whispers, and giggles. "Let's not wait too long."

After a few minutes, we start to kiss again, and soon he's poking me in the thigh – urgently. We continue kissing, and then I move down his body, taking his cock in my mouth, again pulling back his foreskin, and sucking him with sheer abandon. Like most guys his age, his recovery time is short, and he's rock hard quickly. I continue to suck, sliding my mouth up and down his shaft while pulling the chain on the nipple clamps – gently at first, then more forcefully. It takes him about 20 minutes of this, 20 minutes of moaning and gasps, and then he blows again, nearly screaming. I swallow as fast as I can, and then move up to kiss him, another long kiss.

Finally, I lean over him, and smile. "This will hurt, Andrew, but not for long. Don't touch your nipples."

I remove the left clamp, and he groans, scrunching his eyes shut. And then the right clamp comes off. "Don't touch them. Just let them throb a bit until the circulation starts again. Let's grab a shower. It'll make them feel better.

We head to the shower, and the warm water rejuvenates us both. I hug him, and then wash him, and we get out and towel off. I apply another coating of Baciguent to his ass, and we head out to the kitchen, where we find Jason cooking. He smiles as we come in, looks sympathetically at Andrew, stares for a moment at his swollen nipples, and hands him a carrot. "Bon appιtit."

Published first at: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Nemo-stories/