Date: Thu, 10 Aug 2017 13:07:38 -0500 From: Jeff Moses Subject: Five Sprites This is a fictional story involving sex acts (including mild BDSM) between a minor and a young adult. Any resemblance to real persons, places or events is entirely, totally, completely coincidental. It takes place in an STD-free world. In the real world, remember to play safe! Thanks to all of you who contribute to Nifty to keep it running! (Click the "Donate" link for more info!) Authors retain all rights to their work. (Check the submission guidelines for more info on that.) Five Sprites Five sprites, five wicked clever sprites. Or demons, perhaps, standing in a circle around me, smirking, smiling, grinning. That's me, Counselor Charlie, in the middle of their circle, spread-eagled and stark naked. Dennis is standing directly in front of me, barely 14 years old with a 10-inch cock sticking out arrow-straight. Back up a bit: Camp Runnamucka (obviously, perhaps regrettably, not its real name) is on a small lake in the northern part of the state, right where the deciduous forest gives way to conifers. Its management works hard to attract a diverse crowd of boys for five 2-week sessions each summer. They recruit their staff, for the most part, from area colleges and Explorer Scout troops. I'd just finished my freshman year, and a friend had recommended Runnamucka for a summer job. "Room, board, summer at the lake--and they pay you!" he said. Maybe I've got a masochistic streak, working as a camp counselor and surrounding myself with temptation. Or maybe I hoped to sort of overwhelm my urges, learn just how unsexy young boys really were. "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," like they say. And I was doing pretty well. We'd just started the last session of the season, and I was holding my own. Only my own, if you know what I mean. Until Dennis. Everyone gathered at the mess hall on the first day of each session for an orientation and explanation of camp rules. Then the boys met their counselors and headed off to their cabins. The Otter cabin--my cabin--was the furthest from the center of the camp. I led my boys up to the Otter cabin, and put them to work cleaning it. This was a ritual we went through at the beginning of each session; the idea was to get the boys working together and get a sense of who was who. For this last session, I had only five boys in the Otter cabin. Wayne, the oldest at 15, had hopes of becoming a junior counselor next year. Wayne had been in the Otter cabin all summer: all five sessions. His military-short crew cut was growing out to reddish-brown curls. Terry was a year younger, and this was his first session. He was small for his age, slender but--I later discovered--really fast. It was the second session for Mark and Carter. They were next-door neighbors: both compact, athletic types. Dennis was the youngest boy. He was assigned to Otter cabin at the last minute, because the Bear cabin, where the other thirteen-year-olds stayed, didn't have room. And Dennis was going to celebrate his fourteenth birthday during this session, anyway. After the ritual cabin cleaning, it was time for the swimming test. Each boy was assigned to a group, from the non-swimming Minnows to the kids who were already capable swimmers, the Dolphins. Half the camp went to the lake to be tested, the others to the playfield. As the Canoeing Instructor, I spent the whole day testing the canoeing skills of near-naked boys, trying to ignore the occasional bulge in their swimwear. I wouldn't have minded adding a few of them to my cabin. Wayne, who was already a Dolphin, spent the morning helping me with the canoes. One part of the test involved deliberately swamping the canoe, so I could determine if the boys knew how to handle that, or at least if they knew how to swim. Wayne was stationed on the diving raft as a lifeguard. Carter, I was pretty sure, would be a Dolphin by the end of the session. Mark and Terry, it appeared, were both Perch--one step above Minnows. Dennis, I was surprised to find, was a Salmon, one step below Dolphin. After lunch, and a required "quiet hour," the groups traded, and the morning swimmers were kept busy with races, long-jump contests, more races, and a session on the trampoline. The idea was to wear them out, so they'd get a good first night's sleep. There was a small--very small--room for the counselor at one end of each cabin. My last duty, before jumping into bed myself, was to take a quick walk through the cabin to make sure all the boys were, in fact, asleep. I was congratulating myself for my responsible and restrained behavior as the Canoe Instructor, when I saw Dennis's sheet, poking up like a tent. I thought sure he was hiding something--a tool from the Craft Cabin, maybe. He was sound asleep, so I gently pulled the sheet back and almost dropped my flashlight. "Can't wait until this kid turns legal," I thought, as I carefully put the sheet back. I remember 13 and 14, lying awake and jacking off into my secret handkerchief. I remember imagining some of my classmates doing the same thing, imagined doing it with them. And I remember all the chances that might have been--including summer camp--that didn't pan out. I wondered, back then, if I was the only horny kid in the world with no special friend. The session went pretty smoothly until the second week, and Dennis's birthday. All birthdays were celebrated in the mess hall at lunch, and the birthday boys, if there were any, got to wear little plastic crowns for the rest of the day. Wayne and Carter convinced me that the Otters should have a cabin celebration for Dennis as well, so just before lights out, we sat in a circle, sang "Happy Birthday" and finished with juice and cookies that I'd snagged from the camp kitchen. Who would have thought that such an innocent departure from camp rules would be the first step on my road to ruin? I did my usual goodnight walk-through, and there was Dennis's crown, sparkling on his once again erect cock in the light of the full moon. It obviously couldn't stay there--I mean, cheap brittle plastic, sharp edges, right? So I very gently started lifting it off the 10-inch shaft. (That's been officially confirmed. Ask the other sprites.) "You can lick it," Dennis mumbled. Okay... I have no defense. I deserved everything that happened after. Happy Birthday, Dennis. The ax fell the next morning. The wake-up bell went off down at the mess hall and I got out of bed in my undershorts, pulled on my pants and Camp Runnamucka t-shirt, tied my sneakers, and walked out of my room to wake the Otters. To my surprise, the Otters were already awake. Wayne was holding his cell phone, and on the cell phone was...yep, that's what it was. Grainy, because of the low light, but recognizably Counselor Charlie with a substantial amount of dick in his mouth. "You're not allowed to have a cell phone, Wayne," I said. Worth a shot. The Otters laughed. Wayne handed me the phone. "I sent it to the rest of the guys," he said calmly. "And they didn't break the rules. Their phones are in the Security room. With the photo." The breakfast bell rang. "We can talk later," Wayne said, and we all hiked down to the mess hall so the Otters could have breakfast. Counselor Charlie didn't feel like eating. After breakfast, the Otters hiked back to the cabin to clean it up for inspection. They did an excellent job. The Otters did excellent work all day. And after Lights Out, the Otters went to work again. There was a knock on my door. "Yes?" "Come on out, Counselor Charlie. It's time." It was Wayne's voice. "What's wrong, Wayne?" "It's time for your trial." I suppose I could have just ignored it, told Wayne to get to bed, but there was that photo. Reluctantly, I grabbed my shirt. Before I could put it on, though, the door opened, and there was Wayne, with his hand on Dennis's shoulder. "Look familiar?" Wayne said, pointing to the pole sticking out of Dennis's shorts. "Don't bother to dress." The two of them stepped aside, and there were Carter, Terry and Mark, looking very solemn, holding candles they'd made in the Crafts Cabin. "Okay, boys," I said sternly as I stepped out of my room, "You know candles aren't--" "You sucked my wiener," Dennis announced, and the other boys tried not to giggle. Their candle flames did tremble, though. I didn't know what to say. I certainly couldn't deny it. My cock even twitched as I remembered ever so cautiously touching that shaft with my tongue, seeing a drop of liquid at its tip. I licked it off. Dennis didn't move, and it occurred to me that his invitation might have been part of a dream. But--in for a dime, in for a dollar--I took his cockhead into my mouth. "I wonder," I thought, "how much of this tent-pole I can take." It wasn't the best position, and I was trying to be as quiet as possible, but I got a little more than half of it down before it hit my gag reflex. Dennis moaned. "Do more," he mumbled, and turned on his side, offering me a much better position. I knelt by the bunk and obliged him. I sucked, he pushed. And pushed. I tried for a position that would straighten my neck enough to take what was beginning to feel like an endless pole. Just when I thought "this is impossible," my face hit his belly. Fortunately for me, at that age it doesn't take long to shoot. I took his cum, slowly slid my mouth off his cock, and knelt there, watching it soften and settle on his thigh. It was a nice image, boy and cock settled for the night. "What does the defendant have to say?" Carter asked, apparently imitating some television show. I cleared my throat. "Guilty," I said. No point in compounding the felony by lying. Counselors are supposed to be role models, after all. Carter looked at Wayne, who nodded. "The criminal will remove his clothes," Carter ordered, and this time there were giggles, at least from Carter and Mark. I took off my underpants, and Carter ordered me to kneel. Somebody, probably Wayne, put a pillow case over my head, effectively blindfolding me. "The prisoner will hold his arms out," Carter said. I did, and felt ropes being tied around my wrists. They were wrapped around three or four times--somebody knew what he was doing, it seemed. And then my arms were pulled up. "The prisoner will stand up." Judging from Carter's voice, he was a bit amazed that I was following his orders. I felt my ankles being tied, then my legs pulled apart, and the pillow case lifted off of my head, and here we are where I started, spread-eagled in the middle of the Otter cabin, between two bunk beds, facing that 10-inch cock. "Okay, guys," Wayne said. "Remember, nobody touches his cock or his balls. Go for it." Carter was first. "Aim right there," Wayne said, and handed his belt to Carter. Carter took a swing that struck my upper back. The tip hit my shoulder hard enough to sting, but otherwise, it was manageable. Terry was next, and he'd obviously learned from Carter's example. He hit almost the same spot, and it hurt. Mark, who is left-handed, hit from the opposite side. His blow went lower, and once again, the tip was the worst part. This time, it nailed me on my side. Wayne went next, and the force of his blow almost got a cry out of me. Then, to my surprise, Carter struck me again. Dennis still stood in front of me, watching. The rest of the boys passed the belt around, this time aiming for my ass. Apparently, it was a much easier target, because they all got some pretty good strikes in. And then, they went for round three. I took ten strokes on my back and ten on my butt. I was whimpering in pain at the end of it. And my cock was hard. Great. At last, Wayne handed the belt to Dennis, and guided him into position. He took one really good swat at each butt cheek. I was pretty sure he'd been practicing, because the pain was like fire. Now, Carter was standing in front of me with a bucket of clothespins with strings attached. "Come on, guys," he said. They handed their candles to Wayne and started putting clothespins wherever they could: my nipples, my armpits, between my fingers and toes, on the insides of my thighs and under my arms, everywhere. When the bucket was empty, the boys took their candles back, and Dennis gathered up all the strings. He wrapped three of them around his right hand, and pulled. There was no way of knowing which clothespin was where, of course. Two of them popped off. The third one clung for a bit, squeezing less and less of my underarm harder and harder, until it finally let go. Dennis picked three more strings and pulled again: two from my thighs, one from my left tit. He started picking up speed, after that, and invited Mark to help him. It was like hundreds, maybe thousands, of bee stings, or something, and I was feeling pretty tender by the time that torture was through. There was more to come, though, as each boy stepped up, grabbed some body hair and pulled it out. My body isn't very hairy above the waist, so a lot of it came from my underarms. As usual, Dennis was last. He whispered to Wayne, who nodded. Dennis stepped up to me, grabbed a few crotch hairs, and pulled. He did this three increasingly painful times. "All right," Wayne said. "Anything else, before we let him down?" There was no reply, so he and Carter undid the ropes holding my wrists. I looked around. "I'm sorry, guys--" Wayne put his hand over my mouth. "The prisoner will kneel." Oh, shit. Wayne quickly tied my hands behind my back. I was becoming convinced that he was the rope expert. "The prisoner will put his face on the floor," Carter said, and the excitement in his voice was obvious. I obeyed, and heard the boys giggling and whispering as they moved around the room. Suddenly, a bare foot was pushed under my forehead. "Lick it," Carter commanded. I obeyed. I licked everyone's feet. This was--or should have been--decidedly unsexy: boys' feet stink. But my damn cock couldn't tell: it was as hard as a rock. I could only guess whose feet I servicing, but I assumed Dennis's would be last, so I gave them extra attention. "The prisoner will kneel up," Carter ordered. I obeyed, and Wayne untied my hands, then retied them in front of me. He passed a rope around my head and between my teeth, pushed me down on all fours, and Dennis climbed aboard. I could tell it was Dennis because his cock kept poking at me. He grabbed the reins Wayne had created, and dug his heels into my thighs. "Giddyap," he said, and proceeded to ride me around the room. "Faster!" He slapped my side. "Slower!" He pulled on the reins. And all the time, that damn cock kept bouncing on my back. At last, he stopped in the middle of the room and Wayne helped him stand on my back. "All hail King Dennis," Carter cried. Dennis stood tall. "Who's number one?" he shouted. "Otters are number one!" came the reply. "Ot-ters, ot-ters," the boys chanted, marching around me while Dennis marched in place on my back. And as they went around, they dribbled wax on me: on my back and ass, in my hair, on my arms, on my calves, and on the bottoms of my feet. At last, it was over, I hoped. Not quite. "The boys need to get to sleep. You need to get this place cleaned up," Wayne said, as he untied me. "You need to get all the wax off the floor, prisoner. Don't bother getting dressed." The boys climbed into bed, laughing. "You're going to have to crawl all over the floor looking for wax. And if we find any you missed, you'll get another whipping," Wayne said. He sat on his own bed. "Get to work, prisoner!" I did a pretty good job, but I showed up at breakfast with wax in my hair, looking like I hadn't gotten much sleep. In fact, I hadn't gotten any. Before breakfast, the Otters checked every square inch of the cabin floor, looking for reasons to whip me. They found three, and I had to kneel on the floor with my butt in the air for my punishment. They found four more the next morning, then two more on Wednesday and five on Thursday. Somebody was cheating. And my butt was so sore, I didn't want to sit for lunch. Friday was "pack up" day. The boys all packed their gear and then, since it was the end of the season, we pulled all the mattresses out and loaded them into the camp pick-up to go into storage. At last, the Otter Cabin was stripped bare. I led the boys down to the bus and shook their hands as they got on board. Summer was over. The sprites looked me in the eye, smiling. Dennis shook my hand, quickly jerked it down to his crotch, then climbed on board, laughing. Then, I realized I hadn't seen Wayne. He was nowhere to be found. I hurried back to the cabin, but he wasn't there, either. But there was one big blob of wax, right in the middle of the floor. I pulled out my pocket knife and scraped it off. Then, on a crazy impulse, I stood in the middle of the room and spread-eagled myself, remembering the sprites that had surrounded me. Suddenly, I heard footsteps. I pulled my arms and legs back to their normal positions as I turned around, blushing, trying to come up with an all-ages-rated explanation. I didn't need one. It was Wayne. "Counselor Charlie," he said softly, his voice innocent as an angel's, "This is my application to be a Junior Counselor. Will you sign it?" "About that photograph," I answered. "I took my punishment, fair and square." Wayne nodded. "I already deleted it." "What about--" Wayne chuckled. "Mark is the only one who brought his phone besides me. Anyway, I didn't send it. That would have been way too risky." He gave me the sort of half-pitying look of a teacher with a clueless student. "Everybody knows that!" "Give me that application. And the pen." "One more thing," Wayne said moments later, taking back the application and smiling at my signature. "I'll be sixteen next year. That's legal in this state. In case you were wondering, Counselor Charlie." We looked into each other's eyes for a moment, then Wayne spoke. "Maybe I can help you resist temptation next year. My cock is fatter, at least."