From: author@not.any
Subject: STORY: Spitballs (bb/bond/cons)
Date: Sat, 09 Nov 1996 17:33:40 -0500
Organization: Microserve Information Systems (800)-380-INET

WARNING: The following text is a work of the imagination intended
solely for the entertainment of mature adults. It is not intended for
minors.

SPITBALLS
By
Sean de Roche

	He wasn't really my cousin. Actually he was the son of my great
uncle's new young wife, but everybody just considered us to be
cousins. My mother and I were visiting her aunt and he had been
invited over to play and spend the night. We were both twelve, but he
seemed older than I: a little bigger, stronger. While I was wary of
him, I liked him and we got along fine together.
	We played a game of spit-ball, using my aunt's huge old house as a
battlefield. We would roam the halls cutting in and out of the many
rooms and using all the dingy old passageways and shortcuts for
ambushes and attacks. Our weapons were tightly rolled arrows of paper
shot from rubber bands held on our fingers like slingshots. The folded
wads of paper stung like fire when a good hit was made and they left
red welts that spoke of our courage and daring.
	We seemed to have some sort of communication flowing between us as we
wove our complex patterns of attack and retreat. I seemed to know
where he would be, what evasive route he would take, so I could be at
the right place for a good shot. He, too, seemed almost clairvoyant in
his pursuits of me and we spent the afternoon blissfully in surprise
and reversal and a whole series of fiercely fought stand-up
fire-fights that left us covered with little red wounds. Our badges of
valor.
	That night we shared a room and a single big bed in the back of the
house. I was very shy about my body at that age and I surprised myself
when I stripped down to my tee shirt and underpants and sat on the
edge of the bed. It had been a very hot day and the night was muggy.
My tee shirt was damp from sweat and I peeled it off and threw it on
the floor. He took off everything but his blue striped boxers and came
over to stand in front of me.
	"If I show you something will you promise never to tell?"
	I promised.
	"Swear?" he said.
	"I swear," and crossed my heart. He went over and turned off the
light. When he came back he suddenly pushed me down on the bed and in
one swift movement pulled my underpants down over my legs and off. I
didn't struggle. He sat on my legs and began to play with my limp
penis. I lay there self consciously while he teased my prick and could
think of nothing to do but put both hands behind my head as
nonchalantly as if my heart wasn't beating as wildly as it was.
Neither of us said a word. He had me hard very quickly and then was
off me, out the door, and back again almost before I knew he was gone.
He smeared a dollop of hand lotion from the bathroom across the hall
on my erection and quickly brought me to a climax. It was a wonderful,
full, completely draining orgasm such as I had never before felt. He
seemd to know just the right pressure at just the right spot and it
just the rhythm. Years later I would realize what a marvelous gift
that was. After it was over I lay there in a stupor of languorous
contentment and he came into the bed and lay beside me. I was so
grateful for what he had done that I felt I should immediately return
the favor, but he said no, not now. Wait. And we both drifted off to
sleep.
	It was a very still, stifflingly hot night. The moonlit shadows of
the trees on the high ceiling did  not move and we both tossed and
turned sweatily on the single damp sheet that covered the bed.
	As dawn began to drain the darkness out of the room I came awake and
turned to look at him next to me. He was sleeping on his back, one
hand beside his leg, the other up by his head. His mouth was slightly
open. I could see the gentle rise and fall of his strong chest and as
I looked down at him I saw that his very erect penis was sticking
through the opening in his boxer shorts. He was circumsized and the
plum of his glans looked slightly darker, redder, than the shaft. His
cock seemed to pulse, to rise and fall with his breath or his
heartbeat.
	I was possessed by a sudden boldness and reached over and took it
very gently in my hand, just below the acorn. I was amazed at the
hotness and smoothness of it and I squeezed it very carefully and
moved my hand a fraction of an inch up and down. He groaned and moved
and then his hand was on my wrist, pulling me away.
	"No," he said. "I'll show you. Promise you won't tell?" and again I
swore and did the cross-my-heart ritual. He jumped out of bed and
peeled off his boxers. In just a minute or so he was back with the
belt from his jeans and the shoelaces from his sneakers.
	"Swear you won't ever tell?" he repeated and I swore again. He
quickly tied the ends of both shoelaces around each of his big toes,
then handed me the belt and turned onto his stomach in the middle of
the bed. He put his hands behind his back and whispered to me to tie
him up. I began to wrap the belt around his wrists.
	"No," he said. "Not like that. Higher. Above my elbows." And I put
the belt around his elbows, beneath his strong biceps. It was a scout
web belt with a roller buckle and I pulled it tight until his elbows
were about three inches apart. "Tighter," he said. "All the way." I
pulled the belt until his elbows were touching. The buckle held. I
moved off of him and he rolled over, spreading his legs very wide
apart.
	"Tie the shoelaces to the bed real tight," he said. I pulled the
dirty laces out the the metal frame of the bed and tied them off so
that his legs were spread very wide and his feet were pointed down at
an extreme angle, held by the laces around his toes. It looked painful
and I didn't want to hurt him but he seemed to want this and I wanted
him to have whatever he wanted. "Get between my legs and play with
me," he sai
	I cimbed into the wide vee of his legs and looked down at his
throbbing cock. It seemed bigger and harder than it had been. I could
see his balls now, too. They were tightly tucked up beneath the shaft
of his penis. The faintest little frosting of fine blond airs circled
the base of his cock at the top. I took it in both hands and began to
move the smooth skin back and forth. He groaned and arched up off the
bed a little.
	"Pull on my nuts," he said. I could barely grasp them they were so
tightly tucked but I finally had them between my fingers. "Hard," he
said. "Twist them hard!"
	"But it'll hurt," I said.
	"Please," he said. "I want you to."
	And I did. I twisted them back and forth and pulled them down. He
groaned and thrashed about as much as his tightly bound arms and
extended legs would allow. I looked down on his knotted stomach and
thighs and saw a sheen of perspiration on his broad chest and felt a
spear of envy for this boy's fine body.
	"Yes, yes!" he cried. Instead of pain, my twisting fingers seemed to
be giving him the pleasure that I wanted him to have. But I wanted him
to have more and somehow I dared to lean over, my hands still busy,
and took the knob of his cock tentatively and fearfully into my mouth.
	"Oh, yes!" he cried. "Bite me a little, chew on it some!
	I gently nibbled at him, leaning my head over so I could take the
ridge of his glans between my teeth and pinch it lightly.
	"Oh, god!" he moaned. "Yes, yes, yes! Harder! Do it harder! Don't
stop!" and I began to tease along the shaft as if it were an ear of
corn, nibbling, licking, biting. He was twisting and rolling from side
to side on the bed. I realized that I, too, was hard as iron and began
to feel the most wonderful pleasure from what I was doing to him. My
fear that someone would come into the room and discover us evaporated.
I locked my teeth around the crown of his knob and began to puch my
tongue hard down into the slightly salty tasting slit of his cock.
	And then I felt his legs and belly go even tighter and the first jet
of spunk hit the back of my mouth. I hadn't thought about this before,
but I did not take my mouth away. I wanted to give this boy a gift
worthy of what he had done for me and I sucked and pulled and bobbed
up and down as hard as I could on his cock and he shot into me again
and amazingly I did not choke but pulled and sucked the rest of his
orgasm out of him and after a few more seconds I felt him go limp on
the bed and I slowly slipped my tired mouth off of him and untied him.
	I went across the hall and got a towel from the bathroom and dried
the sweat off his body from feet to neck and then got back into the
bed and we slept for another hour or two.
	I wish I could write about the next night and the night after that
and all the things that we did and all the pleasure that we gave each
other. But I can't, because the next morning his mother came to pick
him up and except for a family picnic two years later I never spent
any time with him again. We never spoke of what had happened.
	Perhaps it didn't happen. Perhaps I imagined it. After all, as
everyone knows, twelve-year-old boys don't really do things like that.

END