Date: Mon, 8 May 2017 03:04:14 +0000
From: Shaverboy <shaverboy@yahoo.com>
Subject: Curiosity chapter 20

This story was written in 1999-2000, and I personally consider it one of
the hottest of all time. But note that I am NOT its author. The author of
this story went by the name Shaverboy (a.k.a. ShaverBoy or Shaver Boy).
I've tried contacting him several times over the years, but sadly it seems
like he is no longer reachable at the email addresses he gave with his
stories. Unfortunately, this story was never submitted to Nifty, and it
currently only exists in the dark depths of Usenet. (ASSGM specifically if
you happen to remember that.) I'm scared that it could somehow vanish from
there someday, so I'd like to see it have a more permanent home on Nifty,
and I also think that it deserves a wider audience who might think it's as
hot as I do. I re-read this story every three or four years, and I usually
bust nearly as many loads as our reluctant protagonist does..!

I'll post a chapter about once a week. (If you're in more of a hurry than that,
you can dive into Usenet and try to dig up the rest yourself!) Shaverboy
wrote two other long stories besides Curiosity: Terry's Lessons, which was
written before Curiosity, and Doctor's Orders, which was written after
Curiosity. Terry's Lessons and Curiosity generally have the same themes and
styles, but Curiosity is a more evolved version of it with even hotter
action and more diverse scenarios. Doctor's Orders takes things in a bit of
a different direction but is still a good read. (And don't worry, there are
a few doctor scenes in Curiosity too, if that's your fetish!) Terry's
Lessons is also only on Usenet, but Doctor's Orders does in fact exist here
on Nifty already.

I truly do think that this is one of the "masterpieces" of gay erotica, and
I hope you enjoy it is much as I have over the years! If for some reason
you wish to correspond with me, the reposter, you can reach me at
offeringservice26@hotmail.com but just remember that I am NOT the author.
But Shaverboy, if you're still out there somewhere, I would love to hear
from you!


*****************


CHAPTER 20 - AWAKENING

It was dark. The digital clock on the desk read 3:30. I could hear Wayne
lightly snoring behind me. Max had dropped off to sleep about a half hour
ago. His chest rose and fell rhythmically below my head. But I was wide
awake.

In the moonlight from the window, I looked at Max. Lying there naked, his
body looked like a very sexy marble statue. I had to admit I was kind of
attracted to him. And he seemed to like me, even if he had been pretty rough
with me earlier. But even that kind of turned me on. I felt my ass twitch as
I remembered his huge dick pounding its way into me several times during the
evening. I found myself wanting to kiss him, to hold on tight to him. The
thought upset me.

What was I thinking? I sat up and shook my head, trying to clear it from the
beer and the fatigue of a really long and weird day. I'd been humiliated at
the swim meet, gang banged in a bathroom, something or other had happened
with the doctor and the coach (I wasn't sure what since I'd been drugged),
and then there had been the whole scene with Max and Wayne. Not to mention
the entire past week, which had been pretty weird too.

There were two things I knew right now: I wanted to get home and sort this
all out; and I really needed to piss.

Quietly I slipped away from Max. In the dim light, I found a towel and
wrapped it around my waist. My dick still was sensitive to the touch of the
fabric against it. The head seemed even more swollen than earlier. My balls
still ached from the stretching they'd gotten earlier. And my nipples were
still tingling too. I'd just about become accustomed to the rubbing feeling
inside my ass. I opened the door and walked out into the dark hall.

As I walked down the hall to the bathroom, I tried to figure out all the
conflicting things I was feeling. On one hand, I had sort of enjoyed the
wild night of sex with Wayne and Max. Well, actually more than sort of. I'd
never been so turned on in my life. And as my mind drifted back over the
last week, I realized that I'd never had such powerful sexual feelings as
I'd had during some of the events that had happened to me. My experiences
fucking Jennie seemed pale in comparison. But how could that be? I was no
queer. I liked girls. I wanted to fuck some hot pussy. So why was I so
turned on by the thought of Max's dick sliding into me or Wayne fucking my
mouth, or even Nick shaving me while Gary had worked a dildo up my ass? That
just wasn't right.

Max had tried to convince me that it was OK. But as I'd told Max, my real
dad had told me what perverts fags are. And had made it clear I better not
be one. And that was the way I felt. I found myself thinking of Dad and how
he'd influenced me. I hadn't seen him in three years and yet I still held to
what he'd told me. As I walked down the hall, I remembered life with Dad. It
hadn't been a picnic.

Dad had been a pretty stern disciplinarian, an Army colonel who my mom had
divorced when I was thirteen. I hadn't seen him since then. He was a
powerfully built man, not much taller than I was now but very muscular. He
had had a gym down in the basement. I could remember him going down there
every night to lift weights. That was where he would hand out discipline
too. I remembered how he would spank me for disobeying or practically
anything out of line for as long as I could remember. And when he spanked,
he meant business. He would come to my room and order me to report to the
basement for discipline (yeah, he was REALLY into the military thing.). He
would also order me to strip. I had to strip naked and follow him to the
basement, walking past my mother and whoever else was there. By the time I
was ten or eleven, this was almost the worst part of the punishment. I was
so embarrassed. As far as I know, Mom never said anything to try to
discourage him. She just watched as I was marched naked through the house.
Sometimes he had her watch as I was spanked. When we got to the basement, he
would sit down on the weight bench in his sweats or gym shorts and have me
stand there in front of him while he would question me about whatever it was
I'd done. Excuses were not tolerated. Then he'd take me across his lap. It
would be twenty hard whacks on my bare butt for a basic offense like
forgetting to take out the garbage. More for things that were more serious
like trouble at school, lying, missing my curfew. Sometimes for those, he
would use his belt. And believe me, I felt that for days.

I remembered now the first time the subject had come up. I was about twelve
I guess. I don't remember what I'd done but I was ordered to the basement.
After stripping and being interrogated about whatever the hell it was, he'd
taken me over his knee. I could remember that even while I was standing
there naked being questioned, I had been feeling this stirring in my dick.
Now in those days, my dick wasn't much, about maybe five inches hard. And I
had just a small bush over my dick. I had started getting hardons about the
time I turned ten and had discovered jacking off, maybe a year before this
happened.

Anyway, I had bent down over his lap. It was summertime and Dad was wearing
a pair of nylon running shorts. As he pulled me over his lap, my dick rubbed
against his hairy leg. Now I have to admit that had always kind of felt good
to me from the time I was a little kid. But this time it started getting me
turned on. I started getting hard. And as he started spanking me, I got
harder. With each blow to my butt, my dick would rub against his leg. By the
time, he'd given me ten hard whacks, precum had started to leak out. He
stopped. I could still hear his voice in my head as I walked down the dark
hall. I could visualize the whole scene.

"What the hell's the matter with you, boy? Stand up."

I stood up, red with embarrassment. My dick stood up against my stomach,
hard and leaking.

My father stared at my hard dick. "Has something got you excited, boy?"

"No, sir."

"Then why do you have an erection?"

"I, I don't know, sir. It just happened."

"Do you know what a queer is, son?"

Even at that age, I sort of knew what that meant. "Yes sir."

"What is a queer?"

"Um, a guy who likes to suck on other guys' dicks."

"You're not a queer are you, son?"

"No, no, sir."

"That's good. Because I will not have some faggot in my house, do you hear
me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you masturbate, boy?"

I blushed even deeper. "Um, sometimes, sir."

"And what do you think of when you masturbate."

The truth was I thought of my friend Jeff, who was two years ahead of me in
junior high. I'd think about camping out with him and us jacking off
together. But I wasn't going to tell my father that. "I think about girls, I
guess."

"You never think about faggot stuff, do you?"

"No, no sir!"

"Show me."

I was stunned. "What?"

"Masturbate. I want to see you do it. Right now."

"But that's kind of . . . private."

"You got an erection. Was it from the spanking?"

"No, I, uh, I guess I just, um, I don't know why."

"That's not good enough, boy. I want to see you masturbate. And I want you
to tell me what you're thinking about. Do it."

Trembling, I took my dick in my hand and began to stroke my dick, pulling my
foreskin up and down over my dickhead. I was shaking, but somehow, having
him watching me got me more excited.

"What are you thinking about, boy?"

"I . . . don't know." I groaned as I continued jacking.

"You like to be watched, don't you?"

"No, . . . sir." It was getting harder to talk as my load built in my balls.

"I think you do. I think you look forward to punishment so you can be naked
and get whipped. Don't you?"

"N-n-no OOOOOOH." I shot my wad all over the floor. My whole body shook. I'd
never had an orgasm like that. Dad glared at me.

"You are a little faggot."

"No, sir. No I'm not."

"We're going to make sure of that. You are not to touch yourself alone
anymore. If I find out you have, I will beat the living shit out of you. You
will report here for punishment every night until you stop getting an
erection and acting like a filthy little queer. Do you understand me?"

"But, Dad, I'm not . . ."

"DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"

I cringed. "Yes, sir."

He threw a rag at me. "Now clean that mess up."

And so for the next three months, almost every night, Dad would come to my
room and order me to strip. It got so I would get hard just undressing with
him watching. He'd march me through the house to the basement, my hard dick
swinging in front of me as we walked past my mother. Then he'd question me
about sex. Did I ever think of guys' dicks? Did I ever want to touch one? I
always told him no. Then he'd spank me. I'd get even more of a hardon, my
dick dripping against his leg. And he'd make me jack off, then get down on
my knees and mop up my jizz. All the time he'd be telling me what scum
faggots were, how if I didn't change I'd end up a filthy queer and he'd kick
me out of the house. I was determined I wouldn't be that. I tried to control
my urges.

It probably would have continued like that but Dad started spending more and
more evenings out. And when he was home, it was mostly spent fighting with
Mom. He seemed to have lost interest in me. Much as I hated our evening
sessions, I interpreted it as a rejection. I wanted so much to make him
proud. And to prove him wrong. I was no fag. But after a year of his going
out and coming home drunk, he and Mom separated and he took a transfer out
west. The night before he left, he came to my room.

I came back to the present. I stopped in the hall. My heart was pounding. I
had broken out in a cold sweat. What had happened that night? Images started
to come back to me. Hazy, fragmented, but I started to piece together the
events that night. It came back to me, slowly clearing up bit by bit.

Mom had gone away for a couple of days while Dad packed up. I was thirteen
by then. He'd been drinking. He was still in his uniform. I was sitting at
my desk studying. I turned to see what he wanted.

"I'm going to be leaving tomorrow."

"Yes, sir."

"So are you still a little faggot?"

"No sir, I'm not a faggot."

"Well, I want to be sure before I leave. Strip."

"Dad, please, let's not . . ."

"YOU HEARD ME. GET NAKED BOY! ON THE DOUBLE!"

I stripped, my heart pounding. When I was naked, he looked me over. I'd
grown a lot that year. I now had more hair around my dick and it was a lot
bigger than it had been. I almost immediately started getting hard.

"So you've grown. But you still get hard at the sight of a man. What a
little queer you are." He marched me through the house.

Two of his buddies were there in the den. One was another army guy, a major,
who I'd met a few times. He was a doctor and one of Dad's drinking buddies.
I couldn't quite seem to picture him or remember his name. The other guy I
also recognized. But, again, for some reason I couldn't see his face,
couldn't remember a name.

"Come on guys, watch the faggot get his last round of discipline."

They followed me down the basement. All Dad's weight equipment was packed
up, in boxes in the garage. The basement was empty except for a work table
made from an old door and a few boxes with some of my dad's stuff in them.
They stood around me.

"This is my last chance to see if you're a faggot, boy. Give me your hands."

Trembling, I stuck my hands out in front of me. Dad took a length of rope
from his coat pocket and tied them together. Then he tied the rope to a beam
overhead.

He took off his coat and threw it over one of the boxes. Then he removed his
tie and started unbuttoning his shirt. He pulled that off and threw it with
his coat. He unbuckled his belt and pulled it out of the loops. He stood
stripped to the waist. Sweat glistened on his hairy, muscular chest. He
doubled the belt over in his hand.

I was terrified. But somehow, I also started getting hard. My dick slowly
jerked upward, stretching to its full length then of almost seven inches.
Dad watched it grow.

"So you've missed our little sessions, huh, faggot?"

"No sir. Please, I haven't done anything wrong."

He walked around me, observing my naked body. From behind me, he kicked my
legs apart until I was hanging by my tied hands. He reached between my legs
and grabbed my balls, pulling them hard. I yelled in pain. My dick stayed
hard.

"Why are you hard, son? You want to play with your faggot dick? Or are you
looking forward to this?

WHACK!

He hit my ass hard with the belt. I cried out. The other two stood there
watching as Dad started repeatedly beating my ass, criss-crossing it with
his thick leather belt. A few times, he aimed between my legs and hit my
balls. I screamed. After about thirty blows, he stopped, breathing hard as
he looked at my red, striped butt. He walked around the front of me. My dick
stood up hard, a crystal string of precum hanging from it.

"See, the faggot gets off on this."

I sobbed, "Dad, I'm not queer. Please, stop it."

"He probably wants dick too. Let him down."

One of them came over and untied the rope from the beam. I fell to my knees.
He retied my hands behind my back.

Dad came up in front of me. "You want to suck dick, faggot?"

"No sir. I just want you to let me go."

"I think you do." He unzipped his pants and hauled out his dick and balls.
It was about half hard and very thick. He waved it in front of my face.

"You want it, faggot? You want to suck this big man's dick?"

I stared at it. I was fascinated with the big head, poking out from its
foreskin, with the bulging veins in the shaft, with the big hairy balls
hanging below it. I shook my head.

"Dad, please . . ."

"Alright, take it." He grabbed my hair and yanked my head back. I opened my
mouth to yell and he shoved his dick in. My protests were muffled by the big
shaft filling my mouth.

"Now suck, cocksucker. Blow me good."

He started pumping his dick in and out of my mouth. I could feel it getting
harder, growing to its full nine inches. I tried to pull away. He grabbed my
ears and pumped harder, hitting my throat with each thrust. My dick was
still hard and drooling. I could feel my load building in my balls.

Dad picked up speed. I knew he was going to shoot. I was panicky. What would
it be like to have him shoot in my mouth? I soon found out. He came,
shooting volley after volley into my mouth. I choked and gagged. Cum ran
down my chin. He yanked his dick from my lips.

"I always knew you were a cocksucker."

He pulled me to my feet. My dick ached with hardness. Precum ran down the
shaft. I could see that he too was still hard. He reached down and grabbed
it, working the foreskin over the head, stretching it hard. With two
strokes, I shot, wads flying into the air and hitting the floor with a
splat. He let me go and I fell back to my knees.

"Filthy little faggot," Dad spit at me, "You'll probably like this even
better." He pulled me to my feet and pushed me face down over the edge of
the work table. Pushing his hands between my thighs, he spread my legs
apart. I felt him squeeze my sore buttcheeks and pull them apart, exposing
my hairless hole.

"Let's see how you get off on this." He spit into his hand and rubbed it on
his dick along with the remnants of my cum. Stepping up behind me he rubbed
the head of his dick against my crack. I realized what he was going to do.

"Dad, no, please, don't! I'm not queer, I promise. Please."

"We'll see." I felt the pressure of his dick against my tight hole. It
didn't give. He pulled back. "Maybe you need a little practice first.
Although I'll bet you've already had some."

He pushed a finger against my hole, working it in, twisting it around inside
me. I yelled in pain.

"Stop it, it hurts! Take it out!"

He reached under me and felt my dick. It was still hard and dripping. As
terrified as I was, something was making me excited.

"You seem to like it queer boy. I bet you'd like more." He started pushing a
second finger in. I screamed for him to stop. He just twisted his fingers
around inside me. Slowly the pain began to subside.

"Now you're ready." He pulled his fingers out and once again positioned his
big cock at my hole. He pushed forward. The head started to enter me. I
gasped in pain as it stretched my ass open. He started pumping, working his
dick into me inch by inch. Finally he had it all the way in. I felt like I
was being torn apart. I cried as I leaned over the table.

"What's the matter, fag boy? Too much for you?" He felt my still hard cock.
"Feels like you like it though. See how you like this."

He started fucking. Hard. He pounded me against the table, thrusting his
hips against me. I felt his big hairy balls slapping against my ass.
Something inside me started to tingle. I felt more turned on than ever
before. As humiliated and scared as I was, I also could feel another load
building inside me. Dad could sense my arousal.

"You like that don't you? You were made to be fucked. To be any man's pussy.
That's what you want isn't it?"

I couldn't speak, I was so terrified and at the same time feeling sexual
pleasure coursing through me. I knew I was going to shoot again. Once again,
Dad seemed to know.

"Go ahead. Shoot your little faggot cum. Because you're about to feel a
man's cum up your little queer cunt."

I shot, my load splashing on the floor as I felt his dick swell inside me.
Suddenly there was a hot feeling inside my ass. He slammed into me as far as
he could. His cum shot into my ass.

He lay there on top of me, panting. I closed my eyes, unable to even look at
what had happened to me. I heard him speak in my ear.

"You little fag. That's all you are. You're not my son. I won't have a fag
for a son. Your mother can do what ever the hell she pleases with you. I'm
going make sure you have no connection with me." He roughly pulled his dick
free from my bruised hole.

"Get him up on the table."

The major and the other guy hauled me up and lay me face up on the table.
They tied my hands and feet to the corners. The major went over to the
corner and got a leather bag. Dad stood over me.

"When you were a baby, I wouldn't let them do this, so you'd be more like
me. Now I see you're nothing like me, you little fag. So time to make that
clear. Take care of it, Doc. Like we discussed."

I didn't understand what he meant. I saw the major come toward me with a
syringe. He gave me a shot in my arm. Almost immediately, I started feeling
strange, groggy.

The major stepped forward. "I need to prep him." He pulled a straight razor
from his bag. I was horrified but somehow couldn't seem to struggle. I
watched as he shaved off my bush. Then he doused my whole pubic area with
alcohol. Using a black marker, he took my dick and drew a line around it,
about an inch behind the head. Then he pulled a scalpel out of his bag.
Through my haze, I realized what was happening. As he began to cut, I passed
out.

I woke up in my bed. It was late afternoon the next day. The house was
silent. I was still naked. Lifting the covers, I saw my shaved crotch and
gauze wrapped around my dick, which throbbed with a dull achiness. I
couldn't remember exactly what happened. I remembered Dad coming in, and
ordering me to strip. But the rest was a blur. I found a note tacked to my
door.

'Now there's no resemblance. Goodbye faggot.'

Slowly I peeled the gauze off. I gasped. An angry red scar ran around my
dick. My foreskin was gone. I sat on the bed, too dazed and shocked to cry.
He was wrong. I wasn't queer. I'd prove it someday. I'd prove it to the son
of a bitch.

TO BE CONTINUED . . .