Date: Sat, 3 Feb 2024 10:09:03 -0800
From: Sammy <sammy010168@gmail.com>
Subject: Dreams have consequences - Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER:

While key aspects of this story are based on true events, the most graphic
portions of it are complete fiction. It describes vivid sadomasochistic
sexual activities between boys and adult male individuals. All true events
had explicit consent of all parties involved and took place in a locality
where the age of consent was 16. Please stop reading if you are underaged
or if such materials offend you or if it's illegal to read such materials
in the locality you live in.

Chapter 1

It's hard to decide which period in my life was most exhilarating, my first
few years into my newfound discovery of thick oaty jets shooting off the
lips of my pee hole or a couple of years later when serendipitous events
exceeded my wildest dreams.

The beginnings of the former started when I was twelve. At the time I
vaguely knew what sex was. But by fourteen it was fairly clear. My sex-ed
began with a handful of boys relaying second or third hand information of
what happens, in whispers intermingled with giggles. Of course none of them
actually had experienced any of it. But on the other hand, long before, at
twelve, surprisingly even without any erection, I'd had my first dry
orgasm. Dry... not even a drop of precum! My shyness held me back from
bragging about what it actually felt like. Those teens in that group only
had their imagination to rely on. Then a couple of years, the scent of my
white globs amidst a splatter of precum... those first few years ... Gosh!
It drives me nuts just thinking about it. It can best be compared to a new
car smell. They'd never get it. Even right now there've been just a handful
of occasions when I've had sudden whiffs and relived those
moments. Completely out of the blue, like walking in the park. Couldn't
even jack off there. As I said, just like the new car smell, it lasted only
for the first few years of my puberty. After that, it took on a different
scent.

My fetish finds its roots in my mental state that eventually led to those
dry orgasms. My home, like many others nearby, was part of a relatively new
town. This town was built on reclaimed land that previously served as a
cemetery. Although a lot of work was done to respectfully relocate remains,
every so often during construction they'd uncover a new skeleton. Stories
of ghosts terrorizing kids were abound. Most of these stories were probably
fabricated by my older brother and his devious friends. But that didn't
take away the dread of an approaching night.

From the light switch to my bed, there was no looking into mirrors,
windows, closets or any dark places... I'd just jump into bed, shut my eyes
and pull my blanket over.

Then I'd let my imagination lead me to a large room with around two dozen
similar aged boys from my school, standing in a semicircle, eagerly waiting
to witness the punishment that was to be meted out to the skinny kid in the
center of the room. That skinny kid would be me. Funny, I never saw the
face of any of those individuals who'd torment me. I'd done something that
was considered unacceptable at school, something like swinging my fist at
someone. I'd felt tremendous remorse for what I'd done. On being asked what
punishment would fit my crime, I had proffered this one.  I'd be fully
clothed. The first order for me was to turn around and bend over and touch
my toes. I'd then feel the sting of a paddle on my arse cheeks. Usually at
least ten.

Next I'd be ordered to stand up, turn around and take off all my clothes,
which I'd do one piece of cloth at a time, quietly eyeing those who were
reveling in my indignities. I'd always drop my underwear last. Once it had
been determined that everyone had had a good look at my exposed privates,
I'd be turned around and forced to lie face down on an exercise mat.

From the corner of my eyes, I'd see all the boys come closer and
surrounding me. One of those boys would be asked to give whatever number
came to mind. He'd eagerly spit out a number, like 8. I'd plead and beg the
teacher and boy to reduce the number, promising them that I'd be a good boy
going forward. But that number would stick.

What followed was an improvised version of a story that I had overheard two
teachers discussing in the staff room. I was barely out of their sight, but
I could hear them discussing a 17 year old boy who had poked sewing needles
into the soles of his feet to cope with stress and how his mother had been
horrified to see blood stains in his bed the following morning. I didn't
hear much of that psychologically impaired boy, but that little bit made
its way into my lucid dreams every night.

Only in my version, I was pinned down by 3 boys and the boy who provided
the number, would be handed a box of pins. His evil grin would meet my
pleading eyes and I'd try to thrash around my legs, but to no avail. I knew
they wouldn't be normal pins. They were coated with some antiseptic that
had the same effect of a bee sting. It would start with a prick on one of
my arse cheeks, then pressure and then the horrible smarting. I'd scream
then plead, but the evil eyed boy would keep pushing the whole inch of the
pin down until its head was firmly stuck inside. It was intentionally
carried out as slowly as possible to maximize my agony. Gradually the
burning would subside and so would my groans. But not for long. The whole
process would then begin all over again on the alternate cheek. So it would
continue until my arse cheeks were studded with eight silver pin
heads. Then, another boy would be asked if I'd had enough punishment. He'd
of course say no, wanting to see more pleasure in the suffering of my naked
body. A new count would be shouted out...

At this point, my arse cheeks would be super tightly clamped together and
every piercing would cause me to dig in my groin deeper and deeper into the
exercise mat. Some nights I'd drift off to sleep. But other nights there
would be a prolonged session of more than fifty pins. My arse cheeks would
be literally glittering with all the pinheads. The extreme strain on my
arse and groin muscles had to find a way out.

One night I found the whole stretch from my hole to the head of my dick
convulse from inside. I'd had more than fifteen spasms, each a bit less
intense than the previous. The first time this happened, I literally jumped
and flipped over to my back, the shuddering still continuing on its course
to completion. I thought I'd broken something inside me. The images of
being hauled to a hospital scared me so much that it kept me up for a
while. But strangely I also felt serenity in the moment. As soon as I woke
up the following morning I opened my eyes to dread. But rolling my hand
over my groin revealed nothing abnormal. No pain whatsoever.

I might have paused the nightly torture for a week or so allowing my
thoughts to dwell on what had just happened. But then I gradually slipped
into my old night-time routine. The second dry orgasm might have happened a
few weeks later. By then I'd guessed what might be going on. I'd already
been given the bees and birds treatment. I settled into the thought that
this was how bees felt while pollinating those bird eggs. This continued
off and on interspersed by dry orgasms for a couple of years and eventually
I substituted my nightly activity with wet masturbations. However, the
first time I spilled cum was not at night. One afternoon, I had felt crazy
urges to rub my foreskin back and forth over my dick head. The sudden
eruption caught me by surprise. My pee hole shot cum all over my bed sheet
and left me with lot of damage control to prevent being found out by my
mother, or worse my brother.

The months that followed my first masturbation revealed three things about
me to myself. First, I realized that I was comfortably in the middle of
full blown puberty. Second, I was unequivocally gay. And Finally, I was
pretty much a sub. That bit of uncertainty on the last one was mostly
because I also had urges to feel the other guy, do things to him that I
wanted done to myself. But objectively, I liked being dominated a bit more
than I liked dominating others. However, getting pinned down and having
pins pierce my arse cheeks ... sort of domination melted away. The need for
it had diminished. There were no ghosts to quell. It had been replaced by a
much milder form of domination ... being groped ... having someone on top
of me going through the motions that mimicked fucking me and me spilling my
sperm in my underwear.

During those years my sexual proclivities averaged at least twice a
week. The only sore point was that during that whole time, all the boys I
had sex with were exclusively in my mind. I was so scared of being outed,
that on the single occasion in my sixteenth year, when my desk mate dared
me to grab his dick through his pants before he did mine, I fought hard to
make sure that neither of us won. This was despite being alone in the
classroom and having the desk provide adequate cover even if someone
accidentally walked in on us. I was dying inside to fake losing, but the
utter terror of him ratting me out to his other friends and word getting
somehow to my parents got the better of me. He remained one of my best
friends and we still talked a lot of sex, but it was within the confines of
what was considered "normal".

Year sixteen was far from being a lost cause though. Not even a month after
the desk affair, I knew something was off the moment I entered school. I
could hear a lot of whispering and nervous laughter at the school
assembly. Then came the announcement that over the next three days, each
class would be assigned one period where boys would need to line up and
make their way to the school auditorium for a health check. No details!
11th grade, meaning my class, would be on the last day. No exceptions and
anyone falling "sick" would be disciplined. I turned to my desk mate and
got the low down. I now forget exactly what they were looking for, lice or
scabies ... I'm not sure.

But if they followed the same recipe as the school a couple of miles away,
the auditorium would be partitioned so that multiple examinations could
take place at a time. Very likely the boy being examined would be in the
line of sight of at least three or four other boys. As they got closer to
the area, they'd be told to remove their shirt and undershirt. At the point
of examination, they'd be asked to unbutton their pants but hold them up so
that it didn't fall to the ground. The doctor would pull down their
underwear and check their groin for whatever they were looking for. They'd
then pull the underwear up, have them turn around and do the same. They'd
inspect the cheeks and use a small mirror to check the area around the
hole. For that, the student had to bend down a bit. For most part the other
boys would see nothing because the doctor was always behind the boy and the
terrified boy would do his utmost to ensure that the underwear in his
clasps was not revealing anything to their prying eyes. Of course there was
that occasional boy who'd forget to wear underwear.

This had never happened before at our school. Outwardly I laughed and joked
like my peers, but inside I cringed. At some point during the day I came to
the decision that I would indeed fall sick, discipline or no
discipline. Maybe whatever they wanted done could be done by my local
GP. For the next couple of days we got to learn that the auditorium was
arranged just like the other school and everything went in an orderly
manner.

When that day arrived, I faked a bad headache, quickly ran some hot water
over the thermometer just enough... not too hot... didn't want to be rushed
to the doctor or anything. I ended up having a lot of free time and no one
at home to pry on me!

The next day before the school assembly all my friends made fun of me
`cause they guessed exactly why I had fallen sick. But I brushed all that
aside and by the time classes started everything went back to normal. The
morning classes were uneventful. As soon as the bell rang for recess, I
headed towards the door when I felt a hand pat me over the shoulder. I
turned around to find my math teacher with a note in his other hand. I was
to report to the principal's office. Damn! I thought. I'd already submitted
my sick note to the office earlier. So this had to be about the health
check-up.

I had a pit in my stomach as I walked down the long corridor of the stone
building of our school. At its end was the school office. I entered the
office and gave the note to the person at the front desk. She waved her
hand indicating that I was free to enter. Although the principal was
generally a nice elderly person, I always had knots in my stomach entering
his office. I knocked and heard his voice telling me to come in. Behind a
formidable wooden desk sat an equally formidable man. His hair and his
beard were both shiny white. His thin gold rimmed glasses and his light
blue eyes behind them gave him the appearance of an old sage who probably
could be counted on for life advice. His thin calm voice and the facial
expressions that went with it absolutely added to that image. He'd always
been fair, but on every occasion I'd enter his office feeling overly
anxious and leave his office feeling utterly relieved.

As I opened the door, I noticed that there were at least a dozen boys in
there.

"Good, good. Come on in. We were just waiting for you". The principal then
went on to say "OK now that you all are here..." he paused and then gave a
silly smile "I suppose you all know why you are here.  But if not, let me
fill you in." ... a long pause ... then "In all my time at this wonderful
school, I've never had so many students who've all come in with sick notes
that are remarkably the same. Let's see" waving up one note, "it says, John
had a fever. Oh this one ..." picking up another note "Nathan ...also
fever"...ruffling through some more notes "Samuel ... "

My heart jumped... I almost rushed to say "Yes Sir!" but I thankfully shut
up.

"Also a fever." The principal rose, looked us straight in the eyes. "I
wonder if we should be asking our city hospitals if there's a flu epidemic
... a flu that lasts exactly one day." .. in an even subdued and
disappointed voice... "I counted. I really did. There were fifteen notes
all claiming a one day fever"

He went on to lecture us on how he got what was on our minds, given where
we were in our progress to adulthood. Then as always, there was some story
for when he'd been our age. The final phase was guilting us into believing
that while every other student had just obeyed orders, we'd chosen a path
of deceit. How what we'd done was putting everyone else in the school
... No! the whole city, at risk... and it went on for a bit.

Finally he came to the point. "So here's what each of you needs to
do. Thankfully, our very own Dr. Wilson has agreed to step in to help
you. I want to see each one of you sign up for the checkup by lunch
break. You do have a choice, however... the other one being: to have your
parents meet me tomorrow.". That was it! "Off you go, now".

All of us had a look of relief on our faces... mostly relieved that the
talk was over.

The guy nearest to me muttered ... "at least it'll be in Wilson's office,
not in front of the whole fucking school".

That was exactly on my mind too. But I had no idea that what was to come
would exceed my wildest dreams.

To be continued...