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 18

Two days later, we cremate Andrew. I've honestly no idea what he would have wanted, cremation or burial, and in the absence of parents to tell me that, and with Jason's and Kenny's assurance that burial is much less common in Asia, I decide to cremate him. We do this in a very simple ceremony attended only by Jason, Kenny, Gary, Nathan, and myself. Nathan and Jason cry. Kenny is stoic. I say a few words about how tragic his death is, trying to get through it as quickly as I can before I, too, start to cry. I've selected a simple urn, and will receive his remains tomorrow. Very, very sad.


Three and a half weeks later, we get word that the results of the HIV test performed on Andrew's body are negative, but that could be inaccurate because the virus hadn't yet caused antibodies to form in his blood. The test is therefore inconclusive. It's going to be a long six months before we can be relatively sure.

We also get word that the fellow the police had suspected of the crime has been arrested. It's Bob Tustin that calls to tell me. His name is Clyde Anderson, a 45 year old former truck driver who has elected this new line of work that of a drug supplier because it pays better. He has had several run-ins with the law, and as Bob had mentioned, has had two convictions for drug sales. If convicted, this will be his third. He has, however, been through this before, one case as recently a year ago in which he stood accused of selling cocaine to minors. He walked away from that case with no conviction. He knows the ropes, knows how to play the law against itself. In this case, though, he basically confessed to selling amphetamines to Andrew. We're hopeful that, given that confession, we'll get a conviction.

Four months later, just as we're preparing to take the case to trial, we get the results of our 3-month HIV test, and Jason, Nathan and I are still negative. I'm hopeful.

The Anderson case is ultimately thrown out. His very clever lawyer paid for by all those drug dollars argues entrapment: he was coerced into the confession. The judge, an idiot in my humble opinion, buys the argument and throws the case out of court. Mr. Anderson walks. I am so angry I am in a foul mood for several days, treating the boys pretty shoddily. Thankfully, they forgive me when I come back to myself, and we begin to move on with our lives. This ordeal has been horrific, not only because of Andrew's death, but because of the aftermath of that tragedy. And now, the guy that I consider a murderer has gone free. There's little we can do about that, now, though. Time to move on.


And the day after the case is thrown out, I get a phone call that will help us do just that. The CEO of a small game manufacturer in Hawaii calls me, asking if I'm willing to contract my services to them. This company is building a series of very sophisticated games and has lost its lead designer in the middle of the project. They need someone to pick up the pieces and lead the remainder of the development work. They'll put me up in a suite at the Sheraton for the duration of the contract, which they estimate will take perhaps six months. They're located in Waikiki, just behind the Sheraton.

"Let me think about this and get back to you tomorrow," I respond.

"Please do consider this contract carefully. We're desperate for someone with your skills. We'll make it worth your while."

I thank him and hang up. I am not interested in being away from Jason and Kenny for six months, but maybe they can come along. When they get home in the afternoon, I present the case, and they are both beside themselves with excitement. Both boys are interested in programming games, and I think I can put them to work on some of the simpler modules, like the GUI, freeing up the rest of the more experienced team to work on more complex tasks. It'll give them an opportunity to get their hands dirty on a real software development project and to learn to write code. For Jason, the timing is perfect. He's between quarters right now, and can easily take a couple of quarters off. For Kenny, it's a little more complicated. He's a supervisory sales clerk at Nordstrom's. He's either going to have to quit, or get some kind of leave. He calls his boss, describing the opportunity. She is very supportive. She doesn't want to lose him entirely, and assures him of a leave. Because we'll need to leave quickly, she suggests that he start by using up his vacation, which will give her time to arrange the leave with corporate HR. This is clearly one of the perks of being an `exemplary employee.'

Not waiting until the following day, I call the CEO back and accept his offer. We negotiate salary, and he was right, they are making it worth my while. Finally I come to the sticking point to Jason and Nathan.

"There is one potential deal breaker," I say, and pause. He's silent, holding his breath.

"You should know before you hire me that I'm gay."

"I know that," he says. My reputation has preceded me. I chuckle to myself.

"And I have two companions I live with, and don't want to be away from for six months," I pause again. "They are very excited about the possibility of learning to write gaming software, and I've been teaching them along the way. I'd like to add them to the team, working on something like the GUI, something not too complex, which would in turn free up whatever engineering resources that have responsibility for more complex modules."

There's a long pause. "We're venture capital-backed right now, Mr. Jensen. I'm not sure we can afford the additional...costs."

"No costs. They're not proficient enough yet to warrant a salary, and they'll live with me, in whatever suite you provide. I will want them in the office with the rest of the team, though, so they can learn to do this. This will be a freebie, on the job training."

"That's pure upside, Mr. Jensen," he says, laughing. "We'll be understandably delighted to have them."

"About the room at the Sheraton..."

He stops me. "I think the best way to handle that is for me to give you the hotel's number and for you to call and specify your requirements. Whatever you need, just let them know. I'll call to tell them to expect your call, and give them a charge number for the expenses you incur."

"Excellent. In that case we'll see you in three days if the airline cooperates."

"My secretary can help you with that. I'll have her call as soon as we hang up."

"Perfect. See you soon."

We scurry to pack bags, make arrangements, gather the tools I'll need for their punishment (tools which better look pretty innocuous when they slide through the airport scanner), close up the house, and fly off to Hawaii.

That was three and a half months ago, three and a half months of long and intense twelve-hour days spent in their office in Waikiki, just behind the Sheraton. The Sheraton itself was very accommodating, putting us up in a suite with a small kitchen, a king-size bed, and spectacular view of the beach. This is one big project, and while our weekdays are long, we're able to spend weekends seeing the sights. Jason and Kenny have learned the ropes really fast, as well as the rather esoteric development environment this company uses. They've become invaluable additions to the development team, picking up full responsibility for developing the GUI, and by now working independently with very little help from anyone. They are loving this.

Sitting in the office one beautifully sunny day, the weather about 78 degrees, my cell phone rings. It's Bob Titus, my attorney. "I've been trying to get hold of you for the last thee days. I've been calling your home. I didn't remember that I had your mobile number."

I tell him where we are, and give him some details of the project.

"And you've been there how long?"

"About three and a half months."

"Really? Well before I get into the real subject of my call, let me ask about your HIV status. This would be a little over the six month mark, which you said was the long range of what it could take for the virus to manifest itself. You guys okay," he asks, sounding hopeful?

I am so glad to be able to say this to someone besides the boys, someone who cares enough to ask. "We're all three of us clear," I gush.

"Wonderful. I'm so pleased! So, onto business. You said three and a half months. Umm...are there people there that will corroborate that?"

"Of course. I see these guys every day, and really long days they've been."

"And Kenny and Jason?"

"They're here too," I giggle. "They're learning to write code."

"And that can be corroborated as well?"

"Yeah, they're in the office with me every day. Everyone knows them."

"And you haven't come back to California in three and a half months, not even for a visit?"

"Right. What's this about, Bob?"

"Ian Holmes, the detective that worked on Andrew's case, and who put together the case against Anderson, called me to say that there's been a development in the case, the Anderson case. He'd like to talk to us. Can we set up a conference call for this afternoon at 3pm Pacific? What's that over there?"

I laugh. "It's Tuesday here, Bob."

"Oh," he says, surprised. "I didn't realize."

"3pm on Wednesday Pacific will be noon here on Tuesday, today. So, we're talking about two hours from now?"


"We're all in cubes, here. I want to take this in an office. Hang on a sec." I glance around to see who's not here, check their calendar to make sure they won't be in later, bring up the phone directory, and rattle off a phone number. "Just me?"

"No, Kenny and Jason should be in on this, too."

"Okay. Any idea what this new development is?"

"I'm going to let Holmes explain it to you. Tell him what you just told me about the project, and have, say, five names of people he can call to corroborate your story. Your boss'd be good. Pick people who have seen you every day or a combination that can provide you with an alibi together. Pick people who present themselves well credibly. Okay?"

"Okay. Talk to you in a couple hours."

I hang up the cell phone, and notice that Kenny and Jason, who have undoubtedly heard most of this, are giving me a quizzical look.

"Dunno," I say. "You know as much as I do right now. Just be in Michael's office at noon."

They nod.

A little before noon, we move into Michael's office just as the phone starts to ring. Kenny shuts the door.

"This is Tim Jensen."

"Mr. Jensen, this is Ian Holmes from the San Jose police. I have your lawyer conferenced in as well. Thanks for taking this time. I have a few questions I need some clarification on. Your lawyer indicated that you weren't available for a personal interview. Are you out of town?"

"Yes. I'm in Hawaii."

"I see."

I relate the project I'm working on, the duration of my stay so far, the fact that the boys are with me, and that we haven't been back to California since we left.

"I see. Umm...do you have anyone that can corroborate the duration of your stay and the fact that you...umm...haven't left during that time."

I laugh. "I do," and rattle off five names, people that, together, will have seen us every day we've been here, even some weekends, although if every Monday and Friday is covered, weekends are probably irrelevant. I don't see how we could fly back and forth between San Jose and Waikiki in just two days. But, with these five, I'm covered most weekends anyway.

"Very good, Mr. Jensen. Next, where are Mr. Leong and Mr. Hsia?"

"They're here with me. Here in Hawaii, and here in the room. They, too, have been working on this project and have been here for the full three and a half months without any trips back to California."

"And, can these five individuals verify those statements as well?"

"They can."

"Fine. I'll contact these people for corroboration of your statements and let you know the outcome." He prepares to end the call. Not quite...

"Can you tell me what this is about?"

Long pause. "Clyde Anderson was very savagely...attacked recently...very savagely, and was found dead in his apartment two days ago. The initial attack occurred about a month ago, roughly. We know this because...umm...the attacker...defaced Anderson, literally, tattooing the word `Murderer' on his forehead, and the words `Drug' on his left cheek, and `Dealer' on his right cheek. Several other tenants saw him the day before the attack, and then subsequently noticed the defacement a day or two later. That information enabled us to set the date of the attack." Long pause, during which Jason, Kenny and I stare at each other in amazement.

Continuing, "This was not the only...damage he incurred. During the autopsy, the coroner found...other tattoos in some rather intimate places, tattoos that would probably have caused him great pain in their application. And there was some scarring with what the coroner theorized was a soldering iron, again in some very intimate places."

Looking across the table at Jason, he is curled up into a tight little ball in his chair, his head on his knees, eyes scrunched close. Kenny is glassy-eyed, and looks like he's in shock. "I think we've got the picture. That is just revolting. I mean, I hate the bastard for what he did to Andrew, but nobody deserves that. And you say the murder was two days ago?"

"Actually...we don't believe it was murder. We believe he killed himself, hung himself. The condition of the room supports this, and we found a note in which he speaks of humiliation and terrible pain, of constant nightmares and fear. He says he can't stand it anymore. The coroner confirms that, given the location of some of the burns, he would have been in almost constant pain."

"Driven to suicide. How sad. How sick. I'm disheartened that you'd suspect me of this."

"Well, as you say, you hated him."

"Jesus Christ, not that much. I wanted him in prison, not mutilated and hanged by his own hand.


We are, of course, cleared of any suspicion as our alibis pan out. I can imagine that the father of one of those minors Anderson sold to deciding to take a personal revenge when Anderson was acquitted. Whoever it was, I hope I never piss him off.

Speaking of pissed off, Jason is in the dog house, expecting punishment tonight when we get home. He's usually a very careful programmer, so when he comes to me with a bug he can't figure out, it's usually really complex, and so I typically start with the more complex troubleshooting because I know he's already checked for the simple stuff. Today, we spent two hours searching through his code until I realized that the only possible reason for what was happening was an uninitialized variable, and I knew just where to find it. Scrolling to the top of the code, I point directly at the variable on the screen. He stares at it for a moment, looks at me, blushes, and then drops his head, staring at his feet.

"Two hours for an uninitialized variable. What's that worth?"

"A spanking," he whines.

"You got that right."

I've brought the razor strop because he hates it so much, but we're going to try something else tonight. We didn't, of course, bring the punishment table to Hawaii, so when the boys get spanked they lay on the bed and are required not to move, or their punishment is doubled. You'd be amazed how hard that is for them because they're used to being able to thrash around while still being held in place by the restraints. It's also hard because I like doubling their punishment, and so make a point of trying to get them to move. I think Jason's going to move tonight, and that means that the punishment I assign him will be far worse because of his own actions.

We get home at around 9pm having grabbed a bite at a local diner on the way home. Kenny, knowing that Jason's going to be punished, runs into the bedroom, quickly strips, and then moves out into the living room. Jason moves into the bedroom, takes off his clothes, hangs them neatly, and then stands to the side, head lowered, waiting for me. He's surprised to see me strip. I usually don't on punishment nights. I motion him onto the bed with his head at the foot, and make him scooch forward a bit so his head hangs off the bed slightly. Moving to the closet, I take down a 30" riding crop with rather a wide tongue and return to the foot of the bed. I'm now rock hard, bouncing as I walk.

"We're going to start by tenderizing your ass cheeks with the crop, and then we're going to finish up with the small cane. I'm not going to specify the number of strokes. I'll decide when we're done by the color of your ass. While I spank you, I want you to suck my dick. And remember, if you move, we double the punishment"

Jason doesn't mind the crop much. It doesn't pack the wallop of the razor strop, which he loathes. He also doesn't usually mind the small cane, but he'll mind it tonight.

"Let's get started." As Jason opens his mouth, I slide forward and he takes my dick and starts to suck, and I begin to slap his ass with the crop, first one cheek, and then the other, slowly at first, then more quickly and powerfully. He stays perfectly still, sucking me heartily, though beginning to groan with each stroke. After 15 minutes, his ass is crimson, though not bruised, and while he hasn't moved, he's crying a bit as he sucks me. I back out of him, and return the crop to the closet. Next I take out the junior cane, a nylon thing of about 32 inches with a woven leather handle. "Okay, Jason, for this part we'll use the cane. Once again, as I cane you, you'll suck me. When I cum, I'll stop the punishment. Oh, yeah. One more thing, I want you to reach back behind you and hold your ass cheeks apart. His eyes go wide, frightened. Even though we've never done this before, he's got to have figured out what's coming. I'm going to cane his asshole until he makes me cum. I can usually last quite a while, although this punishment is so erotic that I'm not sure I'll do very well tonight.

Jason knows that if he objects to this, I'll come up with something far worse, probably involving the razor strop, but right at this moment I don't think he can think of anything worse, and that's what's so delicious about this moment the fear. He looks up into my eyes with pleading, and such fear that I nearly cum before we've begun. Then he opens his mouth while reaching back and spreading his ass cheeks slightly. "Wider, Jason." He opens his mouth wider. Clever boy. "The ass, Jason, not your mouth; pull the ass cheeks as far apart as you can get them." He does and I slide my dick back into his mouth again, and he begins to suck me.

I've caned any number of boys, and have become quite good at it. I almost always hit what I aim for, and tonight will be no exception. But I need to be very, very careful with the power of each stroke. My aim is to make him scream, to make him cry (because I know he likes to cry), and to make him move, so we can do this again the day after tomorrow. It is not to injure.

The first two strokes land just to the right and left of his pucker. He groans. The idea is to maximize the fear. The next two strokes are harder, landing a little higher on the inside of his cheeks. Both are hard enough to make him gasp. The next two, softer than the last, are aimed to the right and left of the pucker itself. "Ow," he says audibly, around my cock, and he starts to tear up. The next I land directly in the center of the hole, and he screams, and starts to sob. I don't have much time. He may be able to take a bit more of this, but I'm not sure how much more I can take without flooding him. I strike two more times in rapid succession with medium impact to the area on each side between the center and the rim of his hole. I am so close to cumming, and he hasn't moved yet, although his arms started to release his ass cheeks ever so slightly before catching himself. That doesn't really count. It's the next stroke that does it, again right in the center. He shrieks, still sucking, but abruptly releases his ass cheeks, and moves his body to the right. He continues to suck and scream at the same time, sobbing, and in screaming, he is massaging my dick head furiously with his throat muscles, sending a torrent of my spunk down his throat. Once I recover a little, I return the cane to the closet, and then come back to the bed with a jar of ointment. "Okay, Jason, spread `em again." He looks at me, terrified, sobbing. Then, seeing the ointment, he spreads his cheeks, and I spread ointment on and around his hole, penetrating him just slightly to spread some ointment around the edges.

Returning the ointment to the closet, I lift Jason off the bed, and, to my surprise, he's hard. I carry him to a big leather chair in the corner where I set him on my lap, making sure that his hole is placed between my legs rather than on my thighs. He drapes himself over my shoulder, stabbing me in the belly with his erection, and continues to sob for another 15 minutes, before settling down a little, sniffing back his tears. I grab a tissue from the bedside table, wipe his eyes, and make him blow. Then I ask him how he liked it.

He giggles quickly through his residual tears, staring down at what remains of his hard-on. "I've never been so frightened in my life. I mean, it hurt, it REALLY hurt, but it was also pretty...umm...erotic, having my asshole caned like that. I thought it would hurt more than that, I guess."

"Would you like it to?"

"Umm...maybe. I want you to deliver what you think I can take, but not too much."

"I try never to give you too much." I lean over and kiss him tenderly on the lips, a lingering kiss that has his erection back at full attention.

"You know you moved, right?"

"Yeah, I know. When will you do it?"

"Day after tomorrow. We'll vary the first part a little to keep things interesting, but the second part will likely be the same."

"Okay," he says with a slight smile."

I point to his erection. "What do you want to do about that?" He giggles. "You want to get off, and if so, how?"

"What I'd like is for you to fuck me, but I'm not sure if I can stand that right now. Can we try, though, can you put your finger in me to find out if it's too sore? If it isn't, I'd like to be fucked, please."

We move back to the bed, and Jason gets on all fours, and then lays his face on the mattress. I lube my index finger with topical ointment rather than lotion, also rubbing some on his red asshole. I continue to rub outside for a couple minutes, and then slowly push into him, very slowly. "Is that okay?"

He sighs. "Yeah. It stings a little, but not bad. Try another finger."

I slide out my index finger, and slide in two, very slowly, with more topical ointment. When I'm up to the knuckle, I stop.

"Keep going," he says a little breathless.

I push the rest of my two fingers inside him. "Okay?"

"It still stings a little, but that's okay. It feels so nice. Could you please fuck me now, Tim?"

I smile, pulling my finger out, and lube my dick with ointment. Lining up my dick with his hole, I slowly enter him. He hisses for a moment, and then starts to purr (which for Jason sounds something like a continuous moan). I start pumping, and that moan continues until...he starts to cry. I'm stunned. He did this once before. It freaks me a little bit. I lean over him and whisper in his ear "You okay?"

He says nothing, but nods his head, and I continue to fuck him, reaching around and pinching his nipples, which drives both him and Kenny crazy. I reach down to his dick and begin to stroke him, very, very slowly. I don't want him to cum, yet; I just to bring him pleasure. He continues to cry softly, and after nearly 15 minutes, I begin to stroke him in earnest, and after another maybe four minutes of fast, rhythmic stroking, he blasts, and I'm right behind him (so to speak). We collapse on top of each other, and I begin to kiss his neck. He turns his head and locks lips with me. His face is wet. Breaking the kiss, I ask him "Why the tears, Jason?"

He smiles. "You're so gentle with me when we make love. I just suddenly felt so close to you, and my emotions got the better of me. I just love you so much, and in that instant, I felt how much."

We kiss again, for several minutes. Jason is certainly the more emotional of the two boys. In many ways he feels more deeply than Kenny, and expresses it more openly. I think Kenny feels very deeply as well, but he's less likely to wear that on his sleeve. Breaking our kiss, we go out to the living room to find Kenny sitting on the couch watching TV, looking bored. When he sees us his eyes light up, and he moves to one end, motioning for me to sit in the middle. Then, he cuddles into me on my left, while Jason cuddles into me on the right. Very cozy.


The next day, Wednesday, is Kenny's standard punishment night. I have nothing particular planned because he hasn't done anything particularly wrong. It's hard to find excuses to punish Kenny in general, because he's very well behaved, very "mannerly," but he likes to be punished, and I like to punish him, so I do it. (Secretly, I think Kenny likes his weekly cry as much as Jason, but he'd never admit that to me it's just too intimate and embarrassing a detail for him to own up to.)

I get to the bedroom, and Kenny is already there, already naked. He looks a little worried. "Tim, can I ask for a favor?" They're not supposed to talk before their punishment, but Kenny is looking at me urgently.

He shuffles his feet, nervously, a little shamefaced. He's about to admit to a desire, I'm thinking, something that excites him and embarrasses him. I think HAVING desires embarrass Kenny. "Sure. What?"

"Well...umm...Jason...sort of...told me what you did to him last night, the...umm...caning. Could you ...umm...do that to me, please, as my...umm...punishment tonight?"

The stammering is adorable. He looks mortified. "Sure, Kenny. Jason got punished for sloppy coding, though; you don't have any such offense. Do you want that whole punishment, or just the caning?"

"I think...umm...I'd like the whole thing."

"Okay. Let me get my clothes off," I say, walking over to the closet and taking them off. I take out the riding crop and walk back to the bed.

"And...umm...Tim, please don't go soft on me just because you don't think I need to be spanked very hard. I think I need to be spanked...hard."

"What have you done to deserve this?"

"A lot of petty stuff, disrespect to Jason, overcooking the salmon, not doing enough at work." I feel like I'm in a confessional.

"Well, none of that sound heinous, and the last one, `not doing enough at work' is just wrong. But if you'd feel better with more punishment than I had in mind, that's what we'll do."

"He runs and kisses me, and then climbs onto the bed, but facing the wrong way. I reposition him, and we start a carbon copy of Jason's punishment last night. I slide into his mouth, and he begins sucking me while I spank him quite hard with the crop. Kenny is darker than Jason, and bruises less easily, but the crop can deliver pretty stinging blows. After 20 minutes, his ass is the right color. I stop spanking him, pull out of his mouth, and exchange the crop for the cane. "Okay, same position as with the crop, but reach back and pull your ass cheeks apart as far as they will go. When you've made me cum, the caning will stop."

Now, I have to say up front that Kenny is a really beautiful boy, but I'm not as sexually attracted to him as I am to Jason. There's a vulnerability to Jason that turns me on. Kenny doesn't really have that. That means that it will probably take Kenny longer to make me cum than it did Jason, and that means he's going to get more strokes. But, he's also less sensitive to pain than Jason, so this may work out okay.

Kenny pulls his ass apart, and lifts his head. I slide into his mouth, and he starts sucking once again, but this isn't the way Kenny usually sucks. There's less urgency, less rhythm. The slow movement of his tongue, and its very light touch on my cock, is not going to get me off. He really will get more strokes. And then it dawns on me: that's what he wants. Wonder what he feels guilty about...

I modulate the strokes as before, first on the outskirts of the pucker, then further up the inner ass, then right at the edge of the pucker, then right in the middle, followed the area between the center and the edge, and finally another medium blow to the center. Kenny is whimpering, but is still very languid in his sucking. He wants more. So I go through that exact routine again, and he's sobbing now, picking up the pace with his tongue, but I've still got a ways to go. I decide to motivate him, and deliver two heavy blows in a row right to the center of his hole, causing him to scream and sob. Two more heavy blows to the area around the center make him scream again, and finally the last blow is another direct hit to the center of his hole. He screams, and keeps screaming, moving abruptly to the edge of the bed. As with Jason, his screams exercise his throat muscles around my dick head. I blow and he tries frantically, but is so soaked with tears that he can't swallow it all. Oh, well. I pant for a few moments, tell him to stay put, and go get the ointment, greasing his crimson ass crack. He is sobbing inconsolably. I lift him, and take him to the chair, and there we sit for the next 25 minutes while he cries.

"What was this about, Kenny? Why so much punishment, and why'd you move, doubling it. You didn't have to move. You chose to move. You want it doubled, why?"

I wait, watching him closely. He flushes, looks at his feet, looks everywhere but at me. I lean forward, taking his chin in my hand and move his face so I can kiss him. A fairly short kiss, I hold his chin so that he's facing me, and ask again, "Why?"

"I'm not feeling very good about myself, Tim. I'm a lousy programmer, so lousy that Margaret told me that I should take some remedial math linear algebra to improve the efficiency of my algorithms. Barry told me that the GUI I've been working isn't very user-friendly, and Jason told me I should spend more time on design than on the code. I told him to fuck off, and wasn't very pleasant with Margaret or Barry either. I've been lousy to everyone, and all they're doing is stating the obvious, that I'm a crappy programmer. Maybe I shouldn't be doing this, Tim."

This is more than Kenny has ever told me about himself, and admitting to this latent inferiority rather than bottling it up is something I need to reward, while giving him a pep-talk.

I hug Kenny so tightly, he must think he'll split in two, and when I let go of him, I'm tearing up. "I am so proud of you, Kenny. You've just exposed more of yourself to me than in all the time I've known you, more about your feelings, and I'll bet you find that's really embarrassing, right?"

He nods, flushed and teary eyed.

"Don't be embarrassed by showing your feelings, especially to me, because I love you, and there's no shame in telling me that you actually feel something, whether it's anger, love, sadness. You're too stoic, Kenny. Last night, after his punishment, Jason begged me to fuck him, crying almost the entire time. I asked him why, and he said `because I love you so much, and just felt really close to you at that moment.' His feeling of love melted my heart, and I suddenly felt really close to him at that moment, too."

Kenny is crying.

"Telling people you trust what you're feeling is how people connect, whether colleagues, friends, or lovers. I'm really proud that you trust me enough to do that." He's a mess, teary, snotty. I reach for a tissue and clean him up.

"As to the `lousy programmer,' I don't think you're lousy at all, although you're not as fast as Jason, whom I have my suspicions you're comparing yourself to. Am I right?"

He nods, shamefaced.

"Do you know why Jason is good?"

He shakes his head.

"Because he's a math wiz. He's had linear algebra, and his algorithms are tight. He also had a couple classes in GUI design in high school, so he has some theory that you don't have the benefit of. And Jason does structure his code well because he doesn't start coding until he knows exactly the logical flow of what he's going to build. He learned that in high school, too, in his three computer labs. So, each of those suggestions, Margaret's, Barry's and Jason's was constructive, and probably made in friendship, and the reason you didn't take them as constructive, as friendly, is because you feel inferior to Jason, right?"

He's crying again. Nods.

"But that Jason's better than you in some things doesn't mean that you're crappy at them. It means you're less experienced. Do you like writing computer games?"

He nods, emphatically.

"Then, when we get home, I suggest you give up the Nordstrom's job, and go take classes that will give you the background you need to do it more effectively. Go find a college you want to go to and enroll. After this Hawaii gig, we're not going to need worry about money for some time. We'll have plenty for tuition."

"You'll pay my tuition," he says, amazed.

"Of course I'll pay your tuition. You didn't think I would?"

"I...umm...thought you...umm...only...do...that for...for..."

"For Jason?" He nods, and starts to sob, again.

"Oh, Kenny... I'm really disappointed. What you've just told me is that you don't think that I think that you're as good as Jason. You think that I think that Jason is a better human being. But you've never told me that that's the way I make you feel." I start to cry, leaning on his shoulder. A part of my tears at this sad revelation are genuine, and part calculated. I want Kenny to start being honest with me about his feelings, so I'm being honest with him about mine. After a few minutes, during which we've both been crying, I get hold of myself. Looking Kenny in the eye, "I'm so sorry that's how I've made you feel. What have I done to make you feel that way?"

Kenny is choking. "Jason's your husband...and...and...when I first came to you, you ...umm...made me his apprentice."

I hug him. He's been honest. "Putting Jason in charge of you when you first joined us was one of the worst mistakes of my life. It was stupid, and terribly insensitive. I beat Jason black and blue when he abused you, but that was after the fact. I was the stupid one, and I'm so sorry. I'm married to Jason because, for a moment in time, I was able to marry another guy, and didn't want to miss it, and he was the first to capture my heart. I adored him. I still do. But I adore you, too, Kenny, just as much, and if I'm not showing you that very well," starting to cry again, to sob, "then...you...have to...umm...help show me how...to...show you my love...better."

He hugs me, and we sob together for a few more minutes.

"Okay," he says.

"Will you?"


One tissue is not going to do it. I grab the box and clean him up, and then dry my own eyes. "What are you feeling now?"

Instantly, "Joy, love. I feel very close to you. And, I feel, I don't really know," he pauses, thinks, "relief. Yeah, that's it, relief."

"It's sort of hard, when you first allow yourself to feel stuff to know exactly what you're feeling, hunh? I'm glad you feel those things," I smile through tears.

"Since you can't marry me, can we...umm...have some kind of...ceremony...to show our love for each other?"

I hug him so tight, so very tight. "Yes, please..."

I don't remember the last time I cried this much. "Let's plan it together as soon as we get home."

He smiles.

"I love you Kenny, I adore you...just as much as Jason. Please, please help to find ways meaningful to you for me to show you that."

"I will. I'll be more...open...about my feelings."

"Thank you baby," I say, giggling. "Now, get off my lap because both my feet are asleep." He laughs, and cuffs me playfully.


I decide to move Jason's next punishment to Friday, to coincide with Kenny's, and to do them both together, side by side on the king size bed. I tell them this on Wednesday, after Kenny and I emerge from the bedroom. "There's homework for this punishment," I tell them. "I want each of you to make a list of ten things that makes the other uniquely valuable and forms the basis for why you love him, and to express these in a way that expresses your feelings and emotions. Write them down and memorize them. Got it?"

They both look at each other and giggle. Then Kenny goes off to the kitchen to fix us some dinner.

I mention to Jason Kenny's request for a commitment ceremony. He snaughs, "That's a silly idea. What's the point of that? Does he feel unloved?" He snaughs again.

"Yes," I say, simply. "By both of us. He feels like the second wife. The fact that you don't know that worries me almost as much as my not knowing that worries me." Jason looks confused, and a little hurt. "I'm married to you, for god's sake, Jason. He sees our relationship as `legitimized.' What's he got? And we haven't been very good, either of us, in showing him love in ways he can understand it. I think he feels like a hanger-on."

I also mention Kenny's interest in giving up his Nordstrom's job and going to school, instead. "Well, it's about time. That Nordstrom's job is a dead end. Glad he's come to his senses."

There's a derisive tone that I find rather offensive, but we'll deal with that on Friday. I reply, clearly irritated, "Don't you ever say that to him. He already feels inferior to you in so many ways. That statement might just be the deal breaker in your relationship." Jason looks shocked. "If I were you, Jason, I'd make sure your `Ten Things I Love About You' list is big-time expressive, because whether you know it or not, your relationship with him is a bit shaky right now." He flushes, and looks at his feet.

"I know," he says, sadly. "I've sensed it. I just didn't know what to do about it."


When Friday evening rolls around, I find both boys naked on the bed, their heads hanging over the end, like before. "Nope, your heads should be at the other end tonight. We're going to do it a little differently. Scooch up together. You should be touching at the torso with your arms around each other, flat on your bellies. You should be so close, that when you turn face to face your lips nearly meet." They move into the position I have in mind. "Okay, we're here because you both moved during your last punishments, effectively doubling them. You moved because each of you, in your own way, decided to take control of the punishment. Jason decided he'd had enough and tried to avoid the sting of the cane, and Kenny decided he hadn't had enough and wanted more pain. In both cases, it isn't your decision. I'll be the one to decide how much you'll be punished. In some cases, I might try to take you beyond where you've been before. I'll expect you to do your best to go there with me. In some cases, I'll decide you've had enough because you've simply gone far enough. Those are my decisions. I expect you to stay still until your punishment is over, whether that's comfortable or not. Clear?"

Both boys are contrite. "Yes, Tim."

"So, I was initially a little frustrated that you'd both moved, taking control. But, later I realized that we have some pretty punishable issues to work through here tonight. Look at each other." They each turn their head to face the other. "Jason, neither you nor I has been very good at showing Kenny the love and respect we feel for him. He feels inferior in our relationship. He feels that I don't love him as much as I love you, and that you feel superior to him. It doesn't matter whether you actually feel this way; that's the message he's received." Jason is crying. He pushes forward, kissing Kenny. "I'm sorry," he whispers. Kenny nods, on the verge of tears himself.

"Kenny, you haven't been very good at telling Jason and me what we need to do to love you better, what you need to feel better about yourself and our relationship. You need to share your feelings with us more, to tell us who you are so we can bond more completely. You bottle up your feelings, and we cease to know you, if we ever did. We need to have more of the conversations we had last night so we can feel closer to each other and better about ourselves. You blindsided Jason and me until the problem was so big that it had replaced our love for each other. Tell us what you're feeling, good or bad.

Now Kenny's crying. Choking, "I'm sorry."

"So, the messages I want to reinforce: Jason, you need to show Kenny how much he is loved and respected, and to make sure that message is received as intended. Kenny, you need to show Jason and me what your feelings are so we know how to love you the way you want to be loved. Got it?"

Both boys, choking, "Yes."

"So, we're going to start with the razor strop tonight. You're each going to get ten strokes alternating between you. We're going to start with Jason. Before each stroke, I want you to tell the other person one of the things that makes them unique, one of the reasons you love them." I cross to the closet, fetching the razor strop. "We're going to take this really slow so you can be as expressive as you want. Jason, you're first."

Jason has gotten control of himself, and looks into Kenny's eyes, "Kenny, you are so kind. You're the kindest person I've ever met. I know you'd do anything for me and never complain, never criticize me. But it's not even the tangible things you do, it just the serenity of knowing that you support me. Your kindness is so valuable to me. I don't know what I'd do without it."

Jason stops speaking, and I apply the first stroke which earns a gasp from Jason. Moving to Kenny, I wait.

Kenny is still sniffing. "You're very giving of yourself, Jason, whether teaching me to cook, comforting me when I'm down, or helping me to be a better programmer. When you told me the other day that I should plan before I start coding, I took your advise wrong because I thought I had to compete with you, but I don't; I have to start accepting you for who you are, and myself for the different strengths I bring to our relationship." I smile, internally. This boy got last night's message; he understood.

Kenny gets his first stroke, and takes it stoically.

Back to Jason. "You're so calm and methodical, Kenny, you never seem to get freaked out. When crises happen, I tend to go to pieces and they overwhelm me, but you stay calm, work through them calmly, piece by piece and resolve them. Life sometimes scares me, Kenny, really, REALLY scares me, but you don't ever seem scared. You always seem so strong. I really love that about you. I wish I were more like that."

Jason's second stroke is on his other cheek.

Kenny. "You're so smart, Jason, or maybe not smart, but you've invested in your education a lot better that I have in high school and now college. I wish I'd made more of my education. I admire that in you."

Jason. "You are so practical and wise about life's choices. Your job at Nordstrom's is a good example. You needed a job, but didn't take just anything that came along. You waited for something great. I know that waiting frustrated Tim a little, but I admired it. You got a job with a great company, and then threw everything you had into it, making it a success, getting promotion after promotion. I admire that." Jason had gotten this just right, and Kenny was clearly very touched that anyone recognized his sales job as a success."

Kenny. "You are so fun loving, I've never laughed so hard. You look at life and situations differently than I do, and always find the humor, the bright side. I don't know what I'd do without your humor."

Jason. "You are so good with people. That's probably why you're such a good sales person. You make anyone you meet or talk to feel special, like they're the only one in the room. I'm much more introverted, and especially with people I don't know well. Not you. You seem to relish every new encounter. I wish I were more like that."

Kenny. "I'm not sure how to say this one. You're very...umm...emotionally mature." He sniffs. "When something or someone hurts you, you cry. When something's funny, you laugh. You're very open and free with your emotions, and never embarrassed about what your feeling, or hold back from expressing those feelings. I want so much to be like that...to be like you" he says, tearing up. "It must be so liberating to not have to censor yourself because you're afraid to let others know you. I think that may be...sobbing...the thing I like best about you."

On and on they go, and it`s amazing to me how accurate their perceptions are, how well they know each other. They just need to be forced to express these things, forced to be this intimate with each other. They're great at joking around, but joking is often a means of keeping things at a superficial level. What they need is intimacy; they need to be forced to take responsibility for caring for each other. This has succeeded better than I'd expect. At the end of ten each, their eyes are wet, and their lips touching, though not kissing. I'd forbidden them to kiss. This part isn't intended to be erotic.

Their asses are also part of this process. Kenny's is bright red, and Jason's crimson and just slightly bruised. Pain and struggle are good for bonding. When you endure something together, it can make your relationship stronger. It certainly seems to here.

I hang the razor strop in the closet, and take out the cane. "Again, I'm going to alternate between the two of you. You'll get two sets of ten each with one final stroke that will be hard to take. You're responsible for holding your ass cheeks wide apart throughout the punishment, and not moving out of position. I want you as close together as you can be, and I want you to kiss for the entire punishment, passionately kiss. Okay, get into position."

Kenny reaches over and pulls Jason as close to him as he can get. They lock lips, and each reaches back, pulling their ass cheeks apart, wide apart.

I give them the first set of ten, and what had elicited screams the last time are moans today. They are so plugged into this kiss, I don't think they're always fully aware of the punishment. I'd pulled their dicks out from under them before we started, and they're now both hard.

I start on the second set, and their moaning becomes more urgent, with little screams interspersed as I hit the pucker squarely. Finally, the last stroke for each, quite hard and aimed squarely at the hole, has them both sobbing. Neither has cum. "Keep at it, guys." I return the cane to the closet, bring out the ointment, and coat the area with it. "Okay, punishment over." They each release their butt cheeks, but continue to kiss, each rolling on his side, embracing the other. Jason's dick is between Kenny's legs, and Kenny is rubbing his furiously against Jason's belly. I sit on the edge of the dresser and watch, and within just a few minutes, they both cum, Jason's squirting out into the room from between Kenny's legs. Still the kiss continues for maybe another five minutes before they finally break. Both of them are crying, but not, I think from pain as much as from emotion. Jason reaches over Kenny, grabs a tissue, wipes Kenny's tears, and then wipes his own, mixing them together. They look at each other fondly, and then look over at me, and smile.

This has been a really successful encounter.

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