From: organs@backdoor.com (Bruce)
Subject: BB: The Orphanage (m/bb) (Rated 9 by Celeste)
Date: 28 Apr 1996 02:47:57 GMT
Organization: The Denver Exchange, Inc.

Please check the header! The following story contains some form
of gay sexual content  describing purely fictional events. If
this is "not your bag", do yourself and us all a favor and hit
the "n" key NOW!

Readers under a "legal" age somewhere who happen to be reading
this are used to being told to ignore the existence of this
material. Doesn't seem logical to me, if they happen to like and
enjoy it. As above, if they don't, they too can hit the "n" key
and be done with it. Since I have no control whatever over *who*
does or does not read this, I think this paragraph is silly. Some
hot-shot lawyer said it has to be here. Enough said.

Now, on with the show!                  (Hi, there, Senators!)

Oh: permission to archive and/or re-post granted, so long as the
author is credited. Otherwise, (c) Bruce Bramson 1995.

Bruce Bramson

NB: Celeste's comments appended at end of part 2. - BB

                            THE ORPHANAGE

I dislike staff interviews, but every job has its annoyances. And our
Human Resources Officer said that I should "deal with young Mr. Lane" (as
he'd put it), so there it was. As Chief Administrator of Hilltop, I got
to do those things my otherwise competent staff just couldn't seem to
handle.

I glanced through Lane's Personnel file, sent up a few days ago:

Wayne Henry Lane, 23, male, AA degree in social work from a reputable  
school, hired as a junior councilor 10/23/95; flipping through the papers
I found the report of his physical exam. White male, 5'- 10", dark hair,
brown eyes, 155 lbs, no identifying marks, no needle tracks, no medical
history of interest, lab results unremarkable. His resume' from the
school had obviously been prepared when he graduated; decent grades, no
evidence of trouble there. Further on, some document had a photo
attached: I looked at a very ordinary looking 23-year old with a stiff
smile: probably a passport photo.

What could such an utterly unremarkable person have done to warrant the
Chief Administrator's attention, I wondered?

My intercom awoke: "Mr. Lane to see you, Sir."

The door opened; Lane entered: he seemed ill at ease, but I introduced
myself and shook his hand warmly, got him seated in the chair opposite my
desk.

"Now, Mr. Lane, what can I do for you?" I asked, trying to sound
interested.

Lane looked me directly in the eye. He'd regained his composure.

"Mr. Smith," he said, "I am afraid I'm in the unfortunate position of
being what I think is called a 'whistle-blower' these days. I hope not,
really, but I think that's the situation."

"You will have to be more explicit," I replied: "What's on your mind?"

"Sir, do you know that things, uh, go on between some of the councilors
and the students here?"

Oh, my, I thought: not *this* again! Why in heck can't HR deal with this
shit? Would the hysteria of the late-'80s *never* go away? And why, oh,
why couldn't HR weed out these greenhorn crusader-types before we got
them on the payroll? Some ideas for training seminars for our HR people
were already forming in the back of my head.

"Sir, do you realize the full import of what I just asked you?" young
Lane persisted.

This topic had come up several times already, just in the few months
Hilltop had been open. Hilltop is one of the many orphanages that sprang
up around the country after our party took over in Washington. I could
never figure out how anybody could be surprised to find that things "went
on" (as Lane put it): what would any reasoning soul *expect*, when
several hundred street-kids were rounded up and warehoused in a converted
school building? And where else would we get staff for all these
"Hilltops", except from the ranks of the jaded and perverse who'd gotten
most of their training in the defunct welfare system or day-care centers?

"Sir..."  Lane began again.

"Ah, Mr. Lane," I said, in my best paternalistic tone of voice, "I gather
some of the harsher realities of life here at Hilltop have come to your
attention..." I intended to go on, but Lane interrupted me.

"You *know* about this, then?" he said, a note of incredulity in his
voice.

That, of course, was the wrong question: the question he *might well*
have asked was, "Do *you* engage..."  But Lane was still very "wet behind
the ears", and had a *lot* to learn, it seemed. Of *course* I knew what
went on: that was part of my job! I doubt if the powers-that-be in
Washington knew much about it, but the lower staff-level inspectors
*certainly* did! How could I make it clear to young Lane that any
"whistle" he might blow would only cost him his job, and get his name on
a blacklist? Before I could let this happen, it was important to know
just how much Lane really knew.

"Well, Wayne, what sort of things, exactly, are you referring to?"

"Well, you know I've only been here at Hilltop for a few months, but in
that short time I have overheard other councilors discussing things among
themselves about many of the boys here, and it's pretty clear from those
discussions that they're *taking advantage* of the kids!" Lane said,
trying to be emphatic.

"Ah, just so," I replied: "But have you actually *seen* any evidence that
our inma - uh - wards - are being, as you put it, 'taken advantage of'?"

"Well, it's, like, 'where there's smoke, there's fire'," I think.

I would have said, "where there's fire, there's a conflagration", knowing
what I knew, but clearly young Lane had not yet been initiated: he
thought he was on to something, and some misguided sense of 'morality'
was at work, here. And, dammit (I thought) how many times had I told the
counseling staff NOT to discuss these things, *especially* when a
"newbie" was around? More staff seminar topics began to take shape in my
bureaucratic brain.

Returning to reality, I asked, "Have you discussed these matters with any
of your boys? Have any of them *told* you they are being 'taken advantage
of'?" I put my best sarcasm into that last phrase: I may have trouble
with staff now and then, but I *know* none of our kids would *ever*
'spill the beans'!

"Oh, NO, Sir!" Lane exclaimed. "Such a topic would never be something I
could bring up with them. And I know from my training that if they were
being molested..."

"Now just a damn minute! 'Molestation' is a serious charge, and if you
have no evidence, then I'd rather you NOT use that word." This thing
could easily get out of hand, if I were not to display the proper
outrage.

"I'm sorry, Sir," Lane backed away from his assertion; "I just feel that
from what I am hearing, there might be something happening, and that you
should know about it."

Oh, I knew about it all right! And I felt quite sure that when Lane was
properly introduced - all in good time - he wouldn't make a fuss.

"Quite right, Lane," I said heartily. "You are absolutely correct to
bring this to my attention, and I will forthwith launch an investigation.
I have my methods, and I promise that I will keep you informed of what I
find out. However, for your own good and for our reputation here at
Hilltop, *and* so that your continued employment here can be assured, I
would suggest that you discuss this matter with no one else until we can
meet again. Will you give me your word, knowing that I *do* have somewhat
more, ah, experience in these matters?"

I could see I had him by the balls: even minimum-wage jobs like Lane's
were hard to get these days. I glanced through his folder quickly, and
confirmed he'd been without work nearly a year before coming to Hilltop.
Financial ruin is *such* a good 'motivational tool'!

"Right, Sir," Lane said quietly. "You will let me know how the
investigation gets on?"

"Yes, yes, my boy, you can trust me on that!" I rose from behind my desk,
and Lane stood as well. "Thank you for your concern, my friend (I poured
it on!) and rest assured! Now, run along back to your office (I *love* to
treat grown men as if they were children) and get on with your work (I
showed him to the door), there's a good lad!"

Ah, well, another small matter to be dealt with. I suppose it would be
rather dull if everything went perfectly smoothly. Lane presented no real
threat: I had been through this routine often enough to know exactly what
to do.

I pressed the button on my intercom: "Miss Turner, dear girl, would you
be so kind as to ring Johnson and ask him to stop in at his convenience?"

"Certainly Mr. Smith, right away."

"Oh, and could you get the list of Mr. Lane's charges for me as well?
Thank you."

*******

"Ah, Johnson, good of you to drop by. You know how much I respect your
advice."

Lance Johnson, my most senior councilor, settled into the chair lately
occupied by Lane. "What's up?" he asked laconically.

"We have in our midst yet another, shall we say, 'un-initiated'. Certain,
ah, steps need to be taken..."

"Ward, or staff?"

"Staff. Young chap named Lane. Have you met him?"

"Only in meetings: he seemed competent."

"Oh, I've *no* doubt as to his competency," I said, "But he lacks, ah,
'experiences'" - I emphasized the plural.

"Hm, poor fellow," Johnson remarked with mock concern. "How can I
assist?"

"Knew I could count on you, dear man!" said I. "I've reviewed Lane's
assignments, and I think he's under-utilized. He needs a bit larger case-
load."

Johnson's eyes twinkled: case-"load" was a bit of jargon between
ourselves. "Leave it to me, you jaded old goat," Johnson said, rising: "I
know just the ones to improve his case-load to the best advantage. Do you
want to be in on the fun?"

"Of *course*, dear fellow: wouldn't miss it for the *world*! Let me know
when he - I mean 'it' - goes down."

*******

It had, in many ways, been too easy. After years of biding our time doing
mundane paper-shuffling jobs in the myriad welfare offices - too few of
us lucky enough to draw even Child Protective Services (slots reserved
for the really "in" crowd) - we had suddenly found ourselves in demand
when the Republicans took over the government in 1994. True to their
"contract with America", they had swept away welfare with breath-taking
speed. Despite anguished screams from the left, welfare became a thing of
the past seemingly overnight - in the "first 100 days". But of course
there was this *vast* bureaucracy to be reckoned with, so with rather
less fanfare, the old concept of orphanages had been dusted off. Newt and
Bob, old hands at shaking the money tree, saw to it that huge sums of
money poured out of Washington. The Resolution Trust Corporation turned
over hundreds of surplus buildings; abandoned schools were refurbished;
jails were converted; some smaller military bases were spruced up. *JOBS*
were miraculously created, the construction industry boomed, labor
cheered! Into these wonderful new facilities poured most of the faceless
bureaucrats like myself, ready and eager to serve our great nation in a
new capacity.

And into these new facilities *also* poured several million children!
They were swept off the streets as if by a giant vacuum-sweeper; they
were taken from divorcing parents, delighted to be rid of them; they were
wrested from destitute families; single-mothers, without welfare income
and out on the streets selling themselves in order to eat, fed us a
steady stream of sickly babies; gangs were mercilessly broken up and
their members dispersed into these cavernous "new" institutions. It was
chinese "re-education" re-visited (cloaked in western-style righteous
'morality', of course).

Not being fond of babies myself, I managed to pull an appointment at
Hilltop, which "catered" to an older crowd: in general our wards were 12
to 18 years old, though we sometimes took in some as young as 10.
Occasionally the system just "screwed up" and sent us kids the wrong age,
and sometimes the kids had been born on the streets and no one really
knew *how* old they were!

The fanatic right-wingers had of course seen to it that all orphanages
were strictly segregated by sex; they had not yet managed to re-institute
the "separate but equal" concept, but I knew it would not be long: for
now, though, we had in our charge about four hundred and fifty boys of
every possible size, shape and description. There was just *one* common
denominator amongst the lot of them: they were universally horny, a
condition shared just as universally by our staff. (Possibly excepting
Wayne Henry Lane...)

*******

"Smith? Johnson here: mark Thursday-next on your calendar, after lunch.
We've arranged that chap Lane's, ah, initiation. Interview room 11-C."

"Knew I could count on you, Johnson: I owe you one." I put down the phone
and penciled the notation in my appointment book.

Johnson had never failed me, and if his plans ran true-to-form, Lane was
in for a real treat. Johnson had the most impeccable taste in boys, but
when our reputation was at stake, he was usually ready to put aside his
own gratification - briefly. And he was equally ready to share the
occasion, through the convenient medium of "interview rooms" that had
been carefully bugged and outfitted with innocent-looking wall mirrors
(actually one-way viewing ports), and CCTV. Psychologists and police had
used these simple devices for years, and of course we had many
psychiatrists at Hilltop, and our share of the law as well: after all,
many of our wards had mental problems that needed professional attention,
and nearly as many were "in trouble" with the law in one way or another.
In the course of retrofitting this old school, the architects had never
so much as questioned the need for these accouterments.

********

We gathered in the observation room. I'd had several days to re-play some
old tapes and get myself worked up for this event. Johnson was fiddling
with the VCR when I walked into the room. I was not surprised to see
Thomas, another "old hand" at Hilltop, also in the room. We greeted each
other warmly; I glanced through the glass into the well-lit interview
room. It had a long couch near the far wall, and a single chair. "So,
Johnson, you old faker, what's on the agenda?" I asked.

"Well, after a brief chat with your Lane, I decided it might take three
to get him going: can't take any chances, you know. Thomas here chose the
boys, though: I just can't spare any right now."

"But you did the preparation?" I asked.

"Of course, Chief!" Johnson had a wicked smile on his face.

"Fill me in, Thomas."

Thomas consulted his note-pad: "Let me see: there's Timothy, age 12,
Eugene, also age 12, and LeRoy, age 17, or so - we aren't quite sure. Tim
is an adorable tow-head, Eugene the kind of blond that dreams are made of
- ("all wet", chortled Johnson) - and LeRoy is a gentleman of color."

"With a wang as big as my arm," Johnson added. "If Lane is the size-queen
I have him pegged for, he'll fall faster than a tree under a chain-saw."

Johnson handed me three fat file folders, but I set them aside,
preferring to know as little in advance as possible.

If I had bothered to peruse this information, I would have found that
Timothy had been brought to us by two selfish divorcing parents who had
fucked as teen-agers, only to discover that lust is no substitute for
love. Eugene, on the other hand, had run away from an abusive father at
the age of 8, first to an equally abusive grandparent, then to a pack of
wild kids who hustled on Hollywood Boulevard until being swept into the
system and landing at Hilltop. LeRoy was the proto-typical black thug,
anxious to get back on the streets and resume his trade in drugs, samples
of which he was always ready to dispense in return for a blow-job.

Punctually, Lane entered the room to which we were privy. He paced the
room nervously, his hands holding his notebook behind him.

"And the set-up?" I asked my companions.

"Oh, the most *innocent* little scuffle in the yard this morning: the
youngsters got to teasing LeRoy about something, and Bertram put them on
report: by the *merest* of coincidences, it's Lane's turn to get the boys
to 'kiss and make up'." Johnson's eyes rolled to the ceiling: "If he
*only* knew..."

Just then, the door opened again and Bertram escorted the three
youngsters into the room. "On the sofa, boys," we heard through the loud-
speaker in our room. Johnson pressed the 'record' button on the VCR and
returned to the window. "Let the fun begin," he said, chuckling and
thrusting his hands in his pockets as he perched on the arm of one of the
recliners in our observation room.

*******

Lane took his seat facing the youths. He began questioning them, and I
"tuned out", captivated by the selection of boys Thomas had provided.
Despite having seen thousands of youngsters (and having had wild sex with
hundreds), I have never found an "ideal" type: other than an aversion to
baby-fat, I could never pin down just what characteristics "the ideal
boy" should have. I studied Timothy first: everyone's idea of Dennis the
Menace, I thought, with light brown bangs and several wayward hairs that
stood straight up near the back of his head. His face was not really
remarkable: a nice enough nose, a few mildly sexy freckles, eyes clear
and blue. He must have other endearing features, I thought to myself.

I turned my attention to Eugene as the loud-speaker droned on. Now,
*here* was someone a bit more spectacular! I fiddled with the controls on
the arm of my recliner, and brought his face into sharp focus on the HDTV
monitor above the window. He was physically quite immature, with longish
pure-blond hair, and opalescent skin so transparent that his bluish veins
showed through. Widely set eyes of the darkest chestnut hue shone from
his adorable face; his mouth was small but his lips were those of a
cupid. My loins stirred as I studied this radiant child, and I guided the
camera down to his crotch, where the shapeless uniform failed to show any
suggestion of a basket. Probably not a hair on his body, I thought, as I
adjusted my fast-rising cock.

Then there was LeRoy, a good foot taller than the others. Clearly not a
pure Negro, I guessed he was a hispanic half-breed. His mouth was full,
sensuous, perfectly shaped for sucking cock, I thought. There was hint of
a mustache on his upper lip, but he was otherwise glabrous, well past
puberty, and lithely muscular. I nearly bolted my chair, though, when I
focused the camera on his crotch: he was out-growing his uniform, and the
large bulge atop his thighs held my gaze. What was it Johnson had said?
"A wang as big as my arm." Perhaps Johnson was guilty of hyperbole, but
there was little doubt that a delicious piece of meat lay beneath that
taught fabric!

I had paid no attention to the chatter being brought to us through the
wonders of modern science, but as it faded back into my consciousness, I
realized at once that Lane had already lost control and the boys were
arguing none too amiably among themselves.

"Just cause you're older and connected outside, you think you can lord it
over all of us twinks in here", Eugene's changing voice made it difficult
for him to sound convincing.

"Yeah, but you know y'all *love* to swing on this big swizzle-stick,
don'tcha!" LeRoy retorted, his dark hand groping himself lasciviously.

"Why should I wanna suck that over-grown black banana of yours, when I
can do 'Gene here any day of the week, eh?" Timothy's face took on a
humorously evil expression. " 'Gene's got the sweetest little thingy this
side of Ell-Lay, and he don't give me any shit like you and that bunch of
mexican mafias you like to screw."

"Yeah, Mr. Lane," Eugene croaked, "We been takin' a lotta shit from LeRoy
here, and we're tired of it!"


"Well, now, boys, (Lane's voice was a bit shaky) we're here to try to set
some of this straight."

All three boys burst out laughing. LeRoy looked at Lane, mischief
sparkling in his eyes: "*Straight*? Did you say 'straight'? Haw, haw,
haw, thatsa good joke, that is." He grasped his head and shook with
laughter.

Lane shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Two years of college had not
prepared him for anything like this. For some reason, he had been unable
to keep his eyes from straying repeatedly to the unabashed display of
young manhood in LeRoy's crotch, and the boys' themselves had not stopped
talking about sex since the "interview" began.

"Say, Mr. Lane," Timothy piped up brightly as his laughter died away;
"Wouldja like to see 'Gene's prick? It's one of the prettiest in the
school! If I give him permission, and you ask real sweet, I'll even
letcha suck it."

"Knew I could count on Tim," Thomas chortled. "Gutsy lad!"

I glanced quickly at Thomas; he had his dick out of his pants already.
Johnson had a hand inside his own trousers. I knew I would be unzipping
in just a few minutes.

"You sound as if you *own* Eugene," Lane said incredulously.

"Oh, he's mine, all right," Tim said, "except when these horny black
dudes decide they want a tight ass. No way I can fight off a gang of
horny niggers by myself."

"Watch who you callin' a niggah, ya little fink! I's a crip, not a
blood!"

"Aw, you know I don't mean nuthin, LeRoy. Just tryin' to getcha riled up.
Here, Eugene - he pushed Eugene up from the couch - show Mr. Lane how
pretty you are." So saying, he jerked violently on the loose pants of
Eugene's uniform, and they fell to the floor.

I gasped. Eugene was just entering pubescence. His hairless legs were
shapely, almost like a girl's, but his hips were narrow. He grasped his
dick, perhaps 4 inches long and still soft, and twirled it round for Mr.
Lane's benefit.

"Young man, put your pants back on *at once*," Lane sputtered. "I have no
interest in sucking - uh - seeing - your penis!"

Eugene sat back down, leaving his pants around his ankles. Timothy
reached over and grabbed 'Gene's dick and began to jack it off
vigorously. Eugene responded with a rapidly developing hard-on.

"Stop that, I say," Lane was trying to sound furious, with little
success.


"Don't be such a goddam square, Mr. Lane," LeRoy said. Aincha ever jerked
yerself off?"

"Yes, of course I have: but this is *not* the time or place, and we're
*not* here for a sex orgy!" Lane did not sound convinced. His eyes had
shifted to the flying fist in Eugene's lap, so perhaps he did not see the
wicked grin on Timothy's face.

"But that's gotta be better than whatever it is we came here for, eh
guys?" Timothy released Eugene's cock, stood, pulled off his shirt, and
dropped his pants. He was already hard. His body was similar in shape to
Eugene's, but fuzzy with baby hair, and there was a discernable growth on
his pubes. Every inch of him was muscle, developed through years of
street-wise living. He jacked himself vigorously, then sat astride the
arm of the couch. "Gene, gimme a little head!" he demanded.

Eugene swiveled around and buried Tim's prod in his throat. He knew
better than to disobey his friend.

I unzipped my pants and brought forth my own steaming prong. It had
stayed cooped up in my pants far too long.

********

[continued]

--Bruce Bramson, 1994

                      ++++++++++++++++++++++

                       THE ORPHANAGE - PART 2

My mind strayed. I was still occasionally awestruck at my good fortune.
The miracle wrought by the republican takeover of 1994 was so utterly
unexpected! Here one day I was facing 15 more years of drudgery, trying
to keep up with the rising tide of welfare recipients and simultaneous
staff reductions, near mutinous robots so over-worked and so ineffectual
and so frustrated. Towards the end most of my time had been spent on
"damage control", trying to explain to the media why "the system" was out
of control, why the simplest of tasks could not be done because there
were no people to do them, why people on welfare could get payments from
five counties because our antiquated computers could not keep track of
them all and because every time anyone suggested "identity cards", the
ACLU went into orbit.

And then, the 104th Congress! Here, a few short months later, I am an
administrator with nothing better to do than what I *always wanted to
do*! I no longer have to fantasize about boys: I am surrounded my them,
and I can take my pick any day of the week (and usually do)! "As happy as
a pig eating shit" is the way I usually put it. And the occasional
passion-play like the one before my eyes: what *more* could a trusted
civil-servant want?

*******

Lane rose from his chair, intent upon separating Eugene from Timothy's
responsive cock: but this was his mistake. The bulge in his pants was too
obvious, and our cheeky boys would never let it pass.

"Jeeeezus, Mr. Lane, is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just glad
to see us?" Timothy quoted Mae West's old line, and all three boys began
giggling again.

"I... what...?" Lane stammered.

Lane committed his first "punishable" offense: he grasped Eugene's
shoulders and pulled him up off Timothy. He was not ready, of course, for
the electricity that flowed through his hands as he felt the boy's smooth
skin and rippling muscles. He froze.

Eugene shot a knowing glance back at Timothy, then looked directly into
Lane's face: "You know, for an *older* guy, you really aren't that bad
looking," he said, and he puckered up his lips and gave Lane a big
*smack* on his forehead. Lane pushed the boy away roughly, back on to the
couch.

He turned towards us, and we could see the panic in his face - AND the
bulge in his trousers.

"The moment of truth," Johnson remarked dryly.

Timothy looked over to LeRoy: "*GO*, man!" he hissed.

LeRoy stood up and boldly walked up behind Lane. They were of the same
height. LeRoy put his arms around the man gently and pulled him against
himself. "Hey, lover boy," he crooned, "wanna get it on?"

Lane's panic was palpable. Instinctively his hand went to his crotch to
(he hoped) hide and adjust his erection. LeRoy nuzzled the back of Lane's
neck. He expertly un-buttoned Lane's shirt. Timothy slipped off the arm
of the couch and walked lithely around in front of Lane. In a twinkle he
had Lane's belt unfastened and his pants unzipped. He boldly reached in
and withdrew Lane's hard-on. Lane struggled, but LeRoy's arms pinned him,
and the expert LeRoy had moved backward just enough to put Lane off
balance. Without a moment's hesitation, Tim sank to his knees and sucked
Lane's throbber into his mouth.

"No, no, NO!" Lane said. "This can't be happening!"

"Relax," LeRoy's deep voice spoke mellifluously in Lane's ear, followed
by a wet tongue that sent shivers along Lane's shattered nerves. "We know
how to take a guy's cherry real good." LeRoy's voice oozed sex.

Eugene joined his buddy in front of Lane, and grasped Lane's trousers and
pulled them down. The 23 year old was pleasantly - if unremarkably -
assembled, with typically hairy legs. He was trembling. Timothy sucked
his cock sensuously as Eugene lifted each of Lane's sturdy legs in turn
to remove his shoes and free him of his pants. LeRoy, meanwhile
maneuvered Lane's shirt from his body: Lane was now utterly nude,
quivering, his eyes tightly shut, beginning to ascend the ladder to a
sexual high the likes of which he had never imagined, but which (we all
know) he would come to accept as a daily part of his routine.

LeRoy moved Lane backward and almost tenderly put him on the sofa:
Timothy followed along, never releasing the virgin cock in his mouth, and
Eugene sat next to Lane and began to play with Lane's nipples and the
bushy hair on his chest. LeRoy peeled out of his uniform, finding some
difficulty in getting the pants out and over his *massive* javelin.

I was mesmerized, and the pace of my hand on my own cock quickened. LeRoy
was a spectacular beauty in bronze, statuesque, with sinewy musculature
that bespoke "young man" in all its glory. To say he was "well hung" was
an understatement: I've seen more dicks than a urinal in my day, but his
huge thing was almost beyond belief. I made a mental note to have LeRoy
up to my office for closer inspection - soon!

"Gawd, Thomas, you are *merciless*, you old goat!" I said.

No slouch in the meat department himself, Thomas had now shoved his pants
to his knees and was stroking himself languidly. "We wouldn't want to
risk a relapse with Lane, now, would we?" he replied.

LeRoy swung a shapely leg over those of Lane, leaned on the back of the
couch, and took aim at Lane's mouth. Sweat poured from Lane's brow, and
sheer panic glowed in his eyes, though as we watched I thought I caught a
tiny gleam of lust there as well. Lane raised a hand as if in protest,
but an unseen force led him to commit his second punishable offense of
the day: as if attracted by a magnet, his hand moved towards LeRoy's
giant dick; he took hold of it, tentatively at first, then stroked it's
length with the sure hand of instinct. LeRoy moved forward meaningfully,
and within a few moments he was prodding Lane's clenched lips.

"Open, Sesame," LeRoy intoned, "I wanna *fuck* yer virgin mouth." LeRoy
had a way of saying "fuck" that left no doubt that he always got his way.

Tim tapped on Eugene's shoulder; it was a signal. As Tim savagely pinched
one of Lane's nipples, Eugene bit down on Lane's cock and jerked downward
on his balls. Lane opened his mouth to scream, but no sound escaped, as
LeRoy plunged his divining rod into the hapless Councilor. Lane gagged
violently; tears and saliva and snot burst from his nose. LeRoy wiped all
this up with his hand and used it to lube that goodly portion of his cock
which was *not* buried in Lane's mouth.

The frenzy was upon LeRoy: he fucked his hand and Lane's mouth violently,
giving us all a gorgeous view of his buns and legs as they thrust his
manhood in and out. Eugene retreated from Lane's cock, raised his head
and began to tongue LeRoy's loose sack of nuts.

"Oh, yeah, Eugene," LeRoy shouted: "lick those nuts, lick that black
ass!"

Gene obediently grasped the dark brown buns, parted them, and buried his
face in LeRoy's butt. Timothy grasped Lane's cock and pumped it furiously
as he leaned over and nibbled Lane's tit: we could see his teeth working
on that virgin tit - I expected to see blood at any moment.

"Take, eat, for this is a part of my body, just for *you*!" LeRoy
chanted. "I's gonna shoot my load down your... Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
Jeeeeeeeeeeeezus, I love a virgin mouth! Ohhhh, *FUCK*!!"


It was a monumentally beautiful orgasm! LeRoy's splendid ass muscles and
his powerful thighs were exquisitely beautiful as they worked in concert
to expel his young man-seed into Lane's throat. His broad back rippled
sensuously in the stark lights.

"Oh, god dammit," I heard Johnson exclaim. "That boy is a real shooter,
and I *had* hoped to see his first load hose young Lane down."

"That boy is also a cum factory on legs: you won't be disappointed,"
Thomas rejoined.

As for me, I had nearly lost it, but I really thought I wanted to wait
for Eugene to get his rocks, as I tend to be partial to blonds.

"Intermission."  Johnson pressed a button on the console of his chair.

The door to the interview room opened, and Bertram walked in with a stack
of towels. Lane was petrified, caught <in flagrante delicto> with *three*
under-age wards. Bertram dropped a snowy towel in his lap, placed the
remaining towels on the chair, and without a word left the room.

Johnson struggled to his feet, his pants at half mast, and hobbled to a
panel on the wall. He turned a thermostat there to a higher setting. "You
think Lane's sweating it out now," he said, resuming his place, "but just
you wait!"

Lane grasped the towel and buried his face in it. He leaned forward on
the sofa. His flaccid dick drooled between his legs, but the three boys -
even LeRoy - were still hard. One could easily imagine that Lane was
crying into the towel, or perhaps trying to rid himself of LeRoy's
copious wad. (Such a waste, I thought to myself).

"Hey, look!" Timothy exclaimed. "Lane here's lost his hard-on!"

Muffled unidentifiable sounds emanated from the towel.

"Hey, man, get with the program," LeRoy's slightly menacing tone of voice
was unmistakable.

The boys stood and huddled together briefly, planning their next assault
I assumed. They returned to the couch: from behind it, LeRoy swept his
hands around and took the towel from Lane; he gripped Lane's head and
moved him back to a sitting position. Timothy stood between Lane's legs,
rubbing his hands sensuously all over himself.

"Hey, big daddy," Timothy said, "doncha wanna feel my nubile bod? A lotta
guys get off on cuties like me!"

Lane opened his eyes. Most of the panic was gone, replaced by a glow of
lust. He drank in the lithe form before him. Once again his hands
disobeyed his mind, and they reached out to caress the youngster in front
of him (his *third* punishable offence)! His cock rose up quickly, pre-
cum running down and dripping on the couch. His hands roamed freely,
feeling the silky skin, cupping the shapely buns, brushing past the
balls; but he could not yet bring himself to touch the boy's pulsing
cock.

"You wanna really turn him on, Mr. Lane?" Gene asked. Get in there and
lick his pits: drives Tim wild, that does!"

On cue, Timothy leaned toward Lane and put one graceful arm on Lane's
shoulder. In a daze, Lane turned, his tongue shot from his mouth into
Tim's arm-pit. He licked as if he'd done it all his life; the boy-sweat
was an aphrodisiac, and his wandering hands finally found Tim's wand,
which he first fondled gingerly then began jacking rhythmically. Eugene
came around and got to licking Tim's other arm and up into his pit, while
LeRoy, whose hard-on was as formidable as ever, watched.

Timothy was clearly within a few moments of reaching nirvana. He stood on
his toes, the muscles of his legs tightened up, his shapely buns clamped
together, his body rocked to Lane's rhythm, and suddenly he began a pro-
longed orgasm, his jism spurting in long sticky streams over Lane's
chest, stomach and crotch.

"Oooooh, man; oooooh jesus! oh, ah, AH!" Tim moaned and groaned.

Uuuuh, uuuuh; oh, christ." It was Thomas, shooting a load into his
handkerchief. "What *is* there about the sight of a young boy spraying
that turns me on so?" he asked breathlessly. "I've lost count of the
times I've watched it - been right *there* to see and smell it - (and
lick it up, I was sure) - and it always gets me, right *here*," he said
as he mopped up.

"Yes, a truly lovely sight," I said, but it's that gorgeous Eugene whose
boy-cum I want," I said. "He's a real doll."

********

I suspect my attraction for Eugene can be attributed to the first boy I
ever had, whom he resembled greatly. Early in my welfare career, a
haggard mother had come into my office one day with her son. I was struck
at once by the contrast between this woman, who might once have been
quite pretty, but on whom the ravages of poverty sat very badly, and her
son, then 10 (if his mother's reckoning of her various trysts was
accurate) but who looked more like 12 to me. It was hard for me not to
see that in too few years, poverty would take its toll on him as well,
but there and then, he was *exquisite*. Daddy would have been Nordic, I
thought; the boy's hair was thoroughly blond, and so fine and wispy that
the slightest breeze sent it swirling. His eyes were a pale blue, with
long lashes, eyebrows almost invisible, but his bare arms were still clad
in baby-fuzz, rather like a peach. Unfortunately for me, he was wearing
very short pants, and when his mother placed him on her knee I saw that
he had nothing on underneath, so I had a lovely view of his legs, right
up to his penis and balls.

I wrote out a bit of scrip for the mother, and sent her around the corner
for groceries, generously agreeing to take care of the boy so she could
shop unencumbered. The moment she disappeared, I sat the pliant boy in my
lap. As soon as I put my hand on his glabrous leg, he perked up. "You
feel like Donald," he said. "Who is Donald?" I asked. "One of my mom's
friends. He likes to feel my legs like that, and other things, too," he
said, squirming sensuously in my lap. I turned the boy sideways across my
lap; he spread his legs invitingly. Within seconds I was up under his
pants, working his little stiffie with my fingers. He himself then pushed
his pants down, the elastic having no problem passing his narrow hips.
Backing myself into my chair, I created space for him to stand, which put
his prick at the perfect height. He smelled of little boy, and his turgid
wiener was soon throbbing a dry orgasm in my mouth, as I let go with a
spontaneous emission in my pants. Wisely (I have always thought since) I
assigned the boy and his mother to another clerk; but the experience was
fantasy fodder for many years thereafter!

*******

I returned to the scene below. Eugene had licked up every drop of
Timothy's cum, leaving Lane writhing in ecstasy, his drooling cock a
bright red color and crying out for relief.

"The <coup de grace>," Johnson said in his droll way.

LeRoy came around from where he had been watching; he grasped Lane's cock
to wet his hand with the copious flow of pre-cum, with which he anointed
his immense and shiny black wand. Then he turned Lane on his stomach, and
pulled his legs down off the couch. Tim and Gene each grabbed a hairy
ankle and spread-eagled Lane; with their other hands, each took a fistful
of Lane's buns and spread them wide. LeRoy bent over, and with perfect
accuracy spat a huge wad of saliva which landed just above Lane's
puckered anus and slid down over it. Further lubeing a finger in his
mouth, LeRoy mercilessly drove his slimy digit into Lane's bung. The
muscles of Lane's butt tightened momentarily, but a smart slap from
LeRoy's free hand caused them to relax. Then LeRoy guided the head of his
ramrod and drove it home in a single brutal thrust. Lane screamed, first
in terror, but as his utterance died away the sound took on the shape of
contentment. Once again we were treated to the sight of LeRoy's backside
and buns as he alternately pulled his gleaming tool out of, and rammed it
back into, Lane's behind. The symphony of muscle was spectacular,
highlighted by streaks of sweat now rolling down his smooth back. Tim and
Gene busied themselves working their hands up the back of Lane's legs,
massaging them all the way up to his balls. Lane slowly moved down the
sofa until only his head rested on it. In each hand he had an erect
penis, and LeRoy was *fucking* his ass with the kind of vigor reserved
for the young.

"Dammit, Thomas, he's going to lube Lane's ass and I'll miss the pop-shot
again!" Johnson exclaimed.

"Trust me," was Thomas's reply.

Timothy got up, and despite his diminutive size, managed to pull Lane's
head off the couch, so that Lane was now parallel to it, on all fours.
LeRoy never missed a stroke. Timothy pulled Lanes's head into his crotch
and buried his darling dick in Lane's mouth. We now watched the scene
from the side, seeing LeRoy's glistening cock come all of the way out of
Lane's ass, only to plunge back until his body bumped Lane forcibly into
Timothy's crotch. Eugene used his hand to assist both Lane and LeRoy in
any way possible.

The pace quickened: suddenly LeRoy pulled his snake-like tube-steak out
of Lane's butt with an audible *pop*; he grabbed himself, rocked back
against Eugene and erupted. Great gobs of cum flew high, arching across
Lane's sweating back, the first splashing down on the back of Lane's
head. "Yahhh-hooo! Holy fuckin' christ! Ohhh, ohhh, take that load!"
LeRoy shouted. Verily, the fountain of youth, his seed flew across Lane's
back, landing here and there, some of it running quickly off to drip
messily on the floor.

"Oh my god, my god, oh, oh, fuck!" It was Johnson this time, carried away
by the sight of LeRoy's explosion of cum. Bereft of hanky or towel,
Johnson had shot his own load far up on his chest where it was quickly
soaking into his shirt. "What did I tell you?" Thomas said over Johnson's
heavy breathing; "That LeRoy has more spunk than I've ever seen come from
any two youths put together!"

"Lord, yes," Johnson replied, valiantly trying to get himself off a
second time, but not succeeding. "What a glorious sight! Oh, my oh my oh
my!"

"OK: now let's see what my blond bombshell Eugene can produce!" I said.

As I watched, Eugene got off his knees and lay back, pulling Lane's head
along with him until Lane was lying on his belly, his head between
Eugene's legs. As if possessed, Lane noisily licked Eugene's tender
balls. His hands crept up and massaged the hairless white thighs passing
alongside his head. Timothy moved around, got down on the floor and
buried his head in one of Eugene's arm-pits, while LeRoy stood over
Lane's prone form, shaking drops of juice from his softening tool onto
Lane's back. Eugene - a left-hander - was busily pumping his tool.
Suddenly, LeRoy began to piss; his gleaming yellow stream arched out over
Lane's back; as his sphincter relaxed, the warm spray reached the back of
Lane's head, then on to Eugene's stomach. This sent Gene over the edge:
with great lunges he shot his load high in the air, straight up, so it
fell directly back on his flying fist and commingled with LeRoy's pungent
urine.

Simultaneously, I lost my own pent-up load: seeing my blond "bombshell"
squirting his effusion of sweet boy-cum over himself while drenched in
LeRoy's piss was more than I could take. I pumped out the last of my load
as LeRoy pumped the last of his piss across all three below him with such
vigor that some even splashed down on the remote flesh of Timothy's head.
Spent, LeRoy sank down on the couch, and all three lay motionless for
long minutes.

"Good show!" exclaimed Thomas enthusiastically.

"Right up to par, yes," rejoined Johnson. He pressed the button in the
arm of his recliner again.

I was quite unable to speak. Though I had witnessed dozens of
initiations, I could not recall one that had been quite so exciting as
this had been.

Bertram entered the room below us. Without a word, he gathered up
clothing and tossed towels from the pile onto the tangle of bodies. He
crossed the room and unlocked another door.

"Shower time, kiddies," he said, helping the younger boys to their feet.
They scampered through the door. "You, too, Mr. Lane," Bertram said as he
lifted the sated councilor to his feet. Lane was still in a stupor, but
of course we knew he would soon recover. They always do. As Lane stumbled
through the door into the showers, Bertram hit a switch and the room fell
dark.

*******

"Ah, there you are, Lane!" I said amiably as I happened to encounter him
in a hallway about a week later. "About that investigation we
discussed..."

"Not to worry, Mr. Smith," he replied, "I think I had my facts a bit
wrong, I'm afraid. Sorry to have bothered you."

"Not at all, Wayne. No bother at all. As expected, my investigation found
nothing whatever remiss. We run a tight ship here, don't you agree?"

"Yes, indeed, Mr. Smith! It's a great crew, they always have the best
interests of the boys at heart."

"Glad to hear it, my boy. I look forward to having you with us for a
long, *fruit*ful career."

"No question about it, Sir: I feel I have a great future here!"

"Well, then, run along, and keep up the good work, there's a good lad!"

******

I unlocked the small strong-box I keep in the bottom drawer of my desk,
and withdrew the small book inside. Flipping to an empty page, I made
three entries, taking information from the three files Thomas had given
me a few days earlier:

        Eugene Distler, 12, blond, gor-jesus! Must have!
        LeRoy Washington, 17?, black, huge dong. Get to this boy
          before he leaves us. May be problem with Johnson.
        Timothy Griswold, 12. Not my type.

********

(c) Bruce Bramson, 1994


Celeste's review:

Wed, 09 Aug 1995 08:20:16   alt.sex.stories.d        Thread    2 of    4
Lines 249               Celestial Reviews 10 - Aug 9        No responses
celeste801@aol.com                    Celeste801 at America Online, Inc.

Celestial Reviews 10 - August 9, 1995 - by Celeste

Note:  It's amazing how time flies.  I have now written ten sets of these
reviews and have received numerous requests for back issues.  I cannot
meet all those requests separately, and so I am reposting all ten of
these on alt.sex.stories.d.  I have also updated the FAQ.  If anyone has
creative suggestions on how to improve these reviews, please let me know.
- Celeste

[other titles deleted]

----> "The Orphanage" by Bruce Bramson (Male-male
           adolescents) 9 <----

[more titles deleted]

"The Orphanage" by Bruce Bramson.  This story is about sex between adults
and children in an orphanage where all the children and adults are males.
However, that does not mean that only gay men or pedophiles will enjoy
this story.  I am neither of the above, but I liked this story.  Let me
explain.

As you may know by now, I believe that sexual works best when it is a way
to express love and related romantic feelings.  I realize that this isn't
always the way sex is used in real life; and I can enjoy stories and
movies in which even rape, degradation, or exploitation become part of a
plot (just as murder can be part of a good story, although I abhor
murder).  The type of stories that I find to be unrealistic and annoying
are those that defy reality; for example, stories that suggest that women
generally like to be raped or degraded sexually or that imply that there
is something admirable about men who brutally degrade women (or vice
versa).  Usually this means that I most thoroughly enjoy (1) descriptions
of sexual activity between consenting adults or emerging adolescents and
(2) stories in which otherwise unpleasant sexual activity contributes to
a worthwhile plot (much the way a murder contributes to the plot of a
story in which someone discovers "who done it" or the way ripping a guy's
head off contributes to the plot in "Speed," which I saw and enjoyed last
night).

In addition, in the time that I have been writing these reviews I have
discovered that not only can I sometimes tolerate exploitation and
degradation - under the right circumstances I can actually enjoy stories
with these as their main focus.  Specifically, I have found that I can
enjoy sexual content that would otherwise be a turn-off if  (1) the story
is science fiction (where the rules of the author's world define actions
and emotions differently than in the real world), (2) the victim in the
story is really repulsive and deserves to be mistreated, or (3) the story
is well-designed satire.  In other words, if degradation or exploitation
serves a purpose other than merely promoting itself, then it may
contribute to a good story.

The present story is extremely well written.  I definitely do not get the
impression that the author believes that society would function better if
more children were put in orphanages that were run the way this one is
run.  The action flows nicely, and the narrator relates the tale from an
interesting viewpoint.  From my perspective it shifts from being utterly
repulsive to being a good story through the third criterion in the
preceding paragraph - it is excellent satire.  I don't want to tell you
what it satirizes: that would ruin the the story for you.  Suffice it to
say that the person who sent me this story claimed that it offered a wry
social commentary; and I think the author did a good job of it.

(Rating: 9)