Date: Tue, 3 May 2016 17:49:48 -0400 From: Kevin Peake Subject: Dads N Lads, Ep. 2 (Revised) Dads 'N' Lads Episode II - Footlong Daddy Cock by Daddy.K © 2013 For nearly twenty years, the Nifty Archive has enabled hordes of furiously masturbating perverts to drown Kleenex in a tsunami of jism. Keep up the tradition. Blow a load, wipe up, then donate to Nifty Archive. URL: http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html Note: I told some of those who emailed me that Episode II would feature Jesse's younger brother Kevin's incestuous deflowering. I didn't lie; I was mistaken. Sweet young Kevin Peake will get his brains fucked out in Episode III. Note 2 - This is a revised version of the original. Same damn story, just with fewer typos and more description. Story Code: Mbbbb.../mast/anal/raunch/incest At 1:30 pm, on a warm sultry afternoon, the bell rings in the hallway outside the gym in Calhoun Middle School, in Ellicott Falls, North Carolina. Twenty-one boys file into the classroom. It's located just off the gym, where Coach Sandy Dusker teaches Physical Education. Here in Chatauqua County, it seems like everyone wants healthy, strong young boys. In this classroom Coach Dusker teaches health. Posters display cutaway views of male and female anatomy. Because of the clever design of the cutaways, nothing of interest is visible. Fucking North Carolina. Oh well. Some enterprising lad has, in the past, sketched in cock, balls, and pubic hairs on the male poster. Thank God for seventh graders. These boys? Supple youths all, dressed for gym in the school's colors. Blue shorts -- real shorts, too, cut off high on those creamy smooth thighs, and unaccountably snug fore and aft. A golden tank top blazoned with the school's name and mascot. Sneakers. White socks. The insouciant wear baseball caps. The ones who take no bullshit have reversed their caps. Let's admire these adolescent lads, shall we? Look at the streaming sunlight, glittering on the soft hair adorning the boys' forearms. Focus on those lips. Moist. Pink. Supple. Eager to smile, to laugh, maybe even eager to pucker up and blow. Certified peachfuzz free. Those thighs? Well, if you were there, all you could think about would be the feeling. You'd wonder how that smooth skin would feel under the palm of your hands. Would they shiver when your fingertips ran up the insides, seeking the hem of those shorts? Those calves? Well, if you found one of these boys lounging on his belly beside a pool, you'd sit down beside him and casually stroke his calf as if it were a new born puppy, sleek and firm. Then, of course, you'd move on to his thigh. Naturally you're curious about that boy's bulge, 'cause that's the endpoint of your forbidden journey up their legs. Maybe the lad's bulge might be prominent, and you'd know that, yeah, puberty's working its magic. That his balls have swollen, that his cock is lengthening, that maybe just maybe, he's sprouted hair down there. But maybe you'd like to find him satiny smooth. His cock a deflated Vienna sausage. His sack holding nothing but two tiny marbles. One hundred percent boy. But to look at a youth's bulge is just a waypoint on your way to his butt. And, yeah, these guys got nice butts. Those shorts and snug tank tops show it off, emphasizing the graceful curve between shoulder blades and buttocks. The shorts' seams peel open these buttcheeks the way I know I'd like to do myself. I'm sure that, like me, you must imagine peering at one of these boy's ring, fascinated because that pale pink circle is no broader than your pinky. Yet it can stretch. And stretch. We all know that hearing the boy gasping in surprise after you've mounted him will send you over the edge. That you will jam your boyfucker in deep just to see your pubic hairs scrunched between his squirming asscheeks -- Whoa there. Let's calm down. Let's pretend we're kneeling between the boy's legs. Let's look up the boy's shorts. Because we're curious to know what kind of underwear they have. Well, in this class, because of Coach Dusker's strict rules, you'll see fresh white jockpouch. Gently cupping those burgeoning genitals yet leaving those tender young buttcheeks free to be plucked. Yeah. Seventh grade boys. Twelve year olds. Thirteen year olds. The hot ones. The kind we all like. The boys have group themselves by bonds of friendship. One boy is Jesse Peake. You met him in our last episode. Lithe, blond, fresh and bright as ever. He smirks, though, because he's been forbidden to share a secret. One of his friends is named Ben Harrison. Ben's eyes are brown and very curious. He knows something is up, since Jesse's been making vague hints about this afternoon's health class all day, but what? His mahogany-colored hair is shaggy; before the bell summoned them, these friends were shooting hoops in the gym. Ben's once slim build is beginning to fill out quite nicely. He's begun weight training; the results look promising. His golden tank top shows clear teen muscles swelling against his skin and the beginning of a nice V shape. He's a low body fat kid, with a lanky build. He is a serious, intent, quiet lad, though as he follows Jesse between the rows of desks he can't keep from adjusting his crotch. Jesse's other companion? Well, this is Chris Woodpine. Straw-colored curly hair that, if he could, he'd let grow, but he doesn't want to risk an afro. Crystalline eyes. His body still leans towards the boyish side, with long limbs and knobby elbows and knees. But he's begun to grow. Watch him stumble because his feet are a little larger than they were yesterday and his brain, lagging behind all these changes, hasn't yet learned how to make them move with his customary grace. His small mouth hangs open, anticipating something. He's shorter than Jesse. He is a runner. When he practices, jogging through the surrounding neighborhood, heads turn as the boy streaks past, wearing only running shorts barely adequate to cover the goods. Then the head-turned men go off somewhere to be alone with their forbidden fantasies. Chris, though not Nobel material, is no dummy. He too has picked up on Jesse's weird vibe. You might -- or might not -- be astounded to learn that today, for once, Jesse's slender butt is one hundred percent free of jism. That is Jesse's doing, and it has proved to be one of the hardest things he's ever had to do in his life. See, all three of these boys are into sex, not just Jesse. This trio often sway their teachers to slip them a hall pass so they can make their way to the special bathroom where they indulge their pubescent lust, grunting and groaning in their clear, high-pitched voices behind closed stall doors. But today, following orders, Jesse's fended off his friends. The talking, the joking, the taunting suddenly dies away. Whoa, man. Something's different here in Coach Dusker's classroom. Well, yeah, there's Coach Dusker himself, standing in his customary place at the head of the class. His head and neck remind the boys of a bullet, for Coach Dusker has a very thick neck, and he keeps his salt-and-pepper hair buzzed short. He's a muscular man, filling out his sweat shirt and pants. A whistle hangs round his neck. Dusker's more of a linebacker. In fact, he learned his trade in Penn State's football program. A whistle hangs round his neck. His shorts are longer than the boys' but are about as tight. Coach Dusker's eyes regard his boys with a steely commanding gaze. It is the other man, leaning against a wall, arms folded, that you must pay close attention to. Certainly the boys do. He is Keith Peake. He is the father of Jesse Peake. That's right. Keith Peake is the father who had no qualms about a young Marine buttfucking one of his young sons. At 39 Keith Peake is in the prime of life. Tanned and rugged. Dark brown hair, buzzed high and tight. Blue eyes, squared-off jaw. The man needs to shave: heavy stubble is thick on his cheeks and jaw. He wears an old wife-beater. Yellow stains reach south from both armpits. Oh yes, the tufts of hair escaping from his armpits are wet. Pungent. Exuding his natural scent, which fills the boy's nostrils and lungs. Keith sports a big, broad chest with a deep valley between the pectorals. In fact, his pectorals are so big you might suspect they're the culprit who spackled his wife-beater with so many strategic rips. Curling hair peers round the tank top and claws its way through those rips. Wide shoulders. Prominent biceps sporting a tattooed Maltese cross. Keith Peake is a man who likes to lift the iron, who doesn't shirk physical labor. Jeans? Of course their snug, fitting his body well enough to suggest his crotch, to show off his hard ass, yet not tight enough to cause people, overcome by fantasy, to start fingering themselves. And that crotch? Trust me. Keith Peake is a breeder. His only oddity is his bare feet. But that's not a sign of a fetish, but of a man who thinks strategically. He and Jesse share a wink. In subdued silence, the boys slip into their desks. Jesse ends up between Ben and Chris. The two boys lean over and murmur questions at Jesse. Jesse stifles a giggle. There is the sound of footsteps racing towards the door. Then the squeak of sneakers on parquet. Framed in the doorway is a slim, golden skinned kid. His name is Devon Whitewater, and he's Cherokee. His hair is a lustrous blue-black waterfall flowing in a wavy tangle to his shoulders. Devon's new to Calhoun. His face flushes when he sees the tall man leaning against the wall. And he swallows. "Uh. Sorry, Coach." Devon scoots towards an empty desk. Because his eyes are fixed on Keith Peake he misses one boy's outstretched leg. Devon goes sprawling. He stands, throws a kick at the culprit, and hurls himself in the desk. Keith Peake's eyes smolder at the hot Cherokee kid. Devon's eyes rise and fall, shy yet curious, shifting between desk and the man. Slowly his legs part, though little Devon doesn't understand why. It just seems like something a boy should do around a man like that. "All right, guys," says Coach Dusker. "Listen up." Attention swerves from Keith back to the Coach. "Boys," he booms, "you've learned a lot in my class. About your body, and how it grows and changes. About bones and muscles and how to build fine young bodies. And you guys have put it to good use. I can see you've been learning, just by the way you run your workouts." The Coach begins pacing. His whistle rocks like a pendulum. More precisely, like a stud's nutsack. The boys watch, rapt. "But you boys are coming up on an important time in your life. Maybe some of you have even reached that time." He licks his lips. "And it's time we start talking about that time." Coach Dusker grins. "That time is called puberty." He savors that last word like sugar. Soft giggling runs through the seated boys. Dusker holds a hand up, signaling silence. "Yeah, well, I guess you know that word, don't you? Well, Puberty ... it's a magical time ... it's when a boy starts to change into a man." Dusker's voice becomes husky and reverential. "Your balls drop. Your voice changes. You grow hair, down there, around your dicks. And your dicks ... " Dusker swallows " ... start to get big. And you start to need to ... do things." Pause. "Sexual things." More giggles. "So. It's time for you boys to start learning about ... sexual things. So, boys. Welcome to your first sex education class." Some boys -- Jesse, Ben, Chris, a few others -- exchange knowing looks. Most of the other boys now exude a feeling of quiet excitement. Hands drop to crotches that have swollen simply because the magic word 'sex' hangs in the air like musk from a man's armpit. The seventh graders unconsciously spread their legs wide, the way Devon Whitewater already has, exposing to Coach Dusker and to Keith Peake slivers of white jockpouch. A hint of excitement shimmers in the classroom's sultry air. Dusker exchanges a grin with Keith. This is going well, isn't it? "Settle down, boys. So. You guys are pretty close to becoming men. Fine young men, a credit to Chatauqua County and to North Carolina and to America." One of the sillier boys starts to hum the 'Star Spangled Banner.' Most of the other boys snigger. "So. Let's find out what a real man is. We've got a guest here. His name is Keith Peake. He's a big man in this county. He owns the carwash downtown, where a lot of your older brothers work, and he's also got one of the finest landscaping companies in the county. Some of your other brothers work there too." Jesse pipes up. "He's my dad! " Slim Devon Whitewater, who's been slouched in his desk, his eyes slowly roaming north and south over Keith's body, starts at this. He stares jealously at Jesse. He pouts, his lips moist and shiny. His palm rests on his crotch and he tells himself that he's not squeezing himself in that nasty, forbidden place. It just feels like it. He's not sinning. "Really, Jesse?" Coach Dusker grins. "Really? I didn't know that." He's being sarcastic, and most of the boys know this. Jesse Peake won't shut up about how great it is to be Keith Peake's thirteen-year-old son. "I guess this is a treat for you, isn't it? Now some of you boys -- " suddenly, Coach Dusker's eyes fall on young, slender Devon Whitewater " -- don't have dads in your life. So you need to get to know Mr. Peake. You understand? Maybe even join the Chatauqua County Boy's Club." Devon and several other fatherless boys nod. These boys savor a warmth they've never felt -- but have always suspected must exist -- emanating from the big man. These boys respond with inner excitement. They sense the adventure concealed in Keith's muscled frame. Unimagined kinds of fun. That's what a father is. "All right, Mr. Peake. It's your show." Coach Dusker strides towards the back of the class. As he passes he clasps this boy's shoulder here, strokes that boy's hair. Hearts flutter. Just before Dusker turns to face the front of the classroom, he surreptitiously adjusts his bulge. Keith Peake, wearing a slight smile, stands in a wide stance before Dusker's desk. His eyes sweep over the boys, lingering here and there until the target boy squirms. "You guys all got computers, right? Or smartphones?" asks Keith. The boys blink, murmur, nod. "So you get on the Internet and see stuff, right?" General agreement. "So I bet some of you -- most of you -- have seen porn?" Keith licks his lips. The honest boys nod vigorously. The ones who have -- but lack the cojones to admit it -- blush. The ones who haven't glance first at their brazen friends, and join them, nodding. "Yeah. Porn," says Keith. "Men fucking women." He watches eyes open wide when he utters that forbidden word. "Women fucking men. Women fucking animals. Men fucking animals. Men fucking men. Right?" The class nods. Some vigorously, since this animal-human thing seems, well, kinda exciting. "And you've seen things that make you think that, in order to have sex, you've got to be squeaky clean. You know. You've got to wear cologne. Scrub your skin till it shines. Right?" A few nod, but Keith's conversation has turned off the beaten path and gone into a howling wilderness. "Well, the Internet is full of shit!" Stunned silence. General consternation. The Internet? Full of shit? Could it be true? "Here's what you need to know about sex." Keith enumerates his facts on his fingers. "One. Women aren't for sex. Women and girls are for babies. A man makes a baby in a woman, but he has his fun elsewhere. And --" soft chuckle "-- sex is fun. Babies are great, if they come out a boy." His eyes linger on Jesse. "Two. Sex isn't something you do with animals. Not at your age. Fucking a cow ... well, that comes later, if that's your thing." He pauses as if waiting for a question, but none comes. "Three. Men fucking men? Well, sure, that's sort of fun. If you can't get hold of the right kind of sex. "Now. What does that leave to have fun with?" Silence. "Real sex, fun sex, the best sex ... is the sex that happens between a man. And a boy. Got it? Women are for breeding. Boys are for fun." The virgins amongst these seventh graders eye one another. What a strange concept this big man has broached. It contradicts the propaganda they've heard on the TV. Men? And boys? Doing it? Wow. Sure, they've seen their buddies changing clothes in the locker room. Sure, they've checked out those bulges. But ... doing things with a man? Some kids flash to images of their father entering or leaving the shower. Maybe an uncle or a brother waking in the morning with a strange tent in the sheets about waist level. Maybe they've pictured themselves, safe and warm, cuddling between a man's hairy thighs. For reasons they don't understand, a shudder runs down these kids' spines. Shy eyes shift towards Keith's crotch. The sexually active kids -- Jesse, Ben, Chris, and a few others --- already know where this is going, and clasp hands over their mouths to stifle guffaws at all these damn noobs. Sitting in the front row is a quiet lad. To Keith, he's tantalizingly familiar, but the boy's name escapes him. This boy is named Victor Franco. He has the kind of face that changes easily from intense concentration to benign amusement. He's twelve. A beautiful lad in a European way. A crown of short brown hair is disheveled from the activities out in the gym. His tank top reveals a stunning body. Victor's a diver, a rival to Jesse on the diving team. It's a disappointment to not be able to gaze upon his sweet ass, for it's one of the finest you can imagine. With a sly smile he raises his hand. "But we're boys, Mr. Peake. Should we start having sex with ... other boys?" His eyes roll Like Condoleezza Rice's, indicating how silly he thinks this notion is. Keith's eyes linger fondly on Victor. "So ... I guess you're wanting to have sex? Like, right now?" Victor nods eagerly. "Do you have ... hair down there? Down by your dick, boy?" Victor shakes his head. "No. But my balls are ... you know ... getting big. That's what my Da tells me." He spreads his legs. Yep. There between satin thighs swells a nice bulge. Hoarsely, Keith says, "Yes. I see. So. You're in puberty ... or close enough to it that it doesn't matter. All of you boys -- if you're not in puberty now, you're close to it -- so you'll start to need to have sex. I said need. Not want. Boys and men are different from women. We need sex, and there's no reason a boy shouldn't get it." Looking at Victor, Keith shrugs. "If you want to have sex with a boy, that's fine. But a man's really where you want to start." His eyes narrow. He studies Victor. "Um. Let me ask you this, boy. Have you ever had sex, you know, with a man?" Victor grins and winks at Keith. Mystery flickers in his eyes. "Uh, Mr. Peake?" asks Devon Whitewater, forgetting to raise his hand. "Uh. How do we find someone to have sex with?" "Well, guy, that's a good question. You'll need to find a mate. The way a man attracts a mate -- the way a boy attracts a man -- is with his natural scent. Yeah, boys, that's right. Sweat. Good old fashioned sweat. The kind you find in armpits. Or between shoulder blades. Or ... lower down." Victor's eyes crinkle as he smiles. "Can you show us, Mr. Peake?" Keith crosses his forearms behind his head, exposing his dank, swampy armpits. His powerful musk dominates the room. It's a heady blast of raw manfunk. Keith smells like ten thousand jockstraps. Like a locker room after a Friday night high school football victory. Like a platoon of Marines fresh in from combat. Like the floor of a porn theatre. Young noses nibble the air like goldfish after flakes. For the boys, this is an indelible moment. Sure, they've gotten whiffs of men, but no one's ever connected their noses to their crotches. And wow, what a powerful connection is being forged. Even Jesse's head begins to spin, and he's used to sleeping with his head cradled in his Daddy's armpits. "Yeah," says Keith, "I guess you guys can smell me, right?" "Yes, Mr. Peake," chorus the boys. "Well, you guys need to get a good whiff of this, so you can understand how powerful it really is. How important it is to attracting the right kind of sex partner. So. Stand up. Line up on my left. Come on. Do it." Keith grins. Jesse, Ben, Chris, Victor, and the other sexually active boys leap to their feet and race forward. The virgins are slower. They swallow. Exchange nervous looks. Rise. Many are careful to shield their crotches with their hands. Even with sex and manfunk hanging like powerful sorcery in the air, a lifetime of inhibition and shame still imprisons them. Nonetheless, their crotches are definitely snugger. Keith's eyes, watching the boys line up, glimmer with predatory light. A slight smile curves his lips. Wow. A whole line of seventh grade mates. He stares at each one in turn. At Jesse's body, so creamy and smooth, so familiar and beloved. At Ben's burgeoning body, which looks so enticing in the swim gear he wears at his father's pool. At Victor. Keith now recalls Victor. How could he forget the lad? Keith remembers Victor's swelling balls stretching his Speedos as the lad mounted the diving platform, though it's his ass -- often on show as the boy hauls himself out of the pool after a dive -- Keith hungers for. Then at young, unconsciously sexy, Devon Whitewater. Sweet. Innocent. Virgin. Keith's heart hammers as he thinks about the cherry hole buried beneath the Cherokee boy's taut buttocks. Keith exchanges a glance with Coach Dusker, whose moved behind his students to ogle that line of succulent buttocks. The coach's sweatpants are tented. "Good." Keith clears his throat. "Now I want each one of you to walk to me. One at a time. I want each one of you to sniff one armpit. Then the other." Keith feels his body responding to this illicit situation perfectly. Sweat pours from his armpits, soaking his cotton tank. The dank funk intensifies. He knows he'll blow these kids' minds. "Now. Who's first?" "I am!" The cry surprises most of the boys, for Victor Franco is normally a quiet, secretive lad. Keith grins. "Then come on, tiger." The star of the Calhoun diving team wears a shy grin as he walks towards Keith. As brazen as he seems, he won't meet Keith's eyes. Victor's gaze is fixed much, much lower on Keith's body. The lad's sleek chest rises and falls as if he's swam the aquatic part of a triathlon. Calhoun's snug PE shorts don't hide from Keith the fact the twelve-year-old is stiff as a nail. "Can I --" Victor begins. "How's your Dad, Victor?" Keith asks. Victor swallows. Quietly, he says, "You won't tell him, will you? He doesn't like me ..." Victor trails off, his feet shifting shyly. "We'll see, Victor." says Keith, his voice low and sexy. How long he's lusted for Victor. He remembers a recent diving competition, sitting beside Gene Franco, Victor's East European dad. They'd been swapping descriptions of their respective sons, Victor and Jesse, both prominent on the diving platform that afternoon. Gene was proud of his son's smooth skin. Burgeoning muscles. Dolphin-like grace. Tiny nipples. And, Jesus fucking Christ, those succulent buttocks! How they looked when Gene -- on those lucky days when the wife was away -- slowly tugged his son's Speedos down. Keith had come that close to impregnating his jockpouch with a gallon of dadspunk. "Come here, tiger," Keith repeats. Victor scurries to Keith's side. He buries his face in Keith's left armpit. Inhales. Savors the funk, eyes closed in private rapture. The lad's dick throbs, straining to escape those goddamned shorts. Inhales again. "What does it smell like?" Keith asks. "Like -- like --" But Victor falls silent. His vision is blurred. He looks like he's about to topple. "My smell makes your dick stiff, doesn't it, Victor?" "Yeah!" "Ever smell anyone else? Other than your Dad?" "N-- no. I don't think -- I don't think he likes it." Keith's well aware of the game Gene Franco is playing with his son. "Well. Maybe you should ask him if he minds if ... you smell other men's armpits." "Can I smell the other one?" "What's taking you so long, boy?" Victor sucks in the funk from Keith's right pit. He staggers back, eyes rolled up. "Not so fast, Victor," Keith says. To the other boys, he calls, "Now. Didn't I say smell was to attract a mate? So, if a man and a boy are gonna have sex -- you know, fuck -- doesn't it makes sense that I smell you too?" The waiting boys exchange looks. Then nod. Sure, it sounds reasonable enough, if thrillingly weird. "Raise your arms, Victor," Keith croons. Yeah. Nice. There they are. Naked boy pits. Not kissed by a hint of hair, though there's sweat aplenty. Keith leans in. Inhales slowly, as if he's savoring sizzling veal. Boys have a subtle, meeker scent. Not as dominant as a man's. But it's there. Always calling. Teasing. Pleading for a man's attention. Keith's nostrils flare as he drinks the air from one armpit, then another. Then he pats Victor on the shoulder with a trembling hand. "Go stand over there, Victor. And wait." Victor walks away. His shorts outline his fine, sculpted twelve-year-old butt. Victor tends to let them ride a bit low, so you can see the white band of his jockstrap. I don't know about you, but I could watch a fourteen hour long experimental movie featuring nothing but a close up rear view of a pubescent boy walking away from the camera. Something about the way those tight, naked cheeks sway makes it easy to imagine the sound of squeaking. Victor turns. He is grinning. A very happy boy! He rocks his hips forward, showing off a wet quarter-sized spot at the northern end of the ridge straining in his PE shorts. "Good boy," Keith growls. "Who's your Daddy, Victor?" "You're my -- " Victor catches himself, and blushes. "Gene's my Da, Mr. Peake. He works at the auto shop downtown." "You going to tell him about your first sex ed class?" "Yeah. Maybe. Some of it." Victor sways shyly. To the other boys, still waiting in line: "You see? That's what a real manfunk can do to you. Make a hot kid horny. OK, next!" Keith can tell from the way Victor smiles that he really likes to be called a 'hot kid.' One by one the boys come. Following the ritual created by Victor and Keith, they sniff one armpit, then the other. Some seem reluctant to let Keith sniff them back. That's easy to cure. Keith simply lifts their arms, his fingers rough against their smooth skin while he probes the lad's triceps. And he inhales, and these boys shiver, squirming with delight. They've never before been the object of a man's desire, especially a powerful stud like Keith Peake, and it exhilarates them. The boys gather in a semi-circle in front of Keith, some murmuring, all watching the show. The last boy is Jesse. He struts to his Dad. Embarrassed by his hardon? Not Jesse Peake. Jesse grins up at his Dad. Keith smiles down at his son. He can read that kid's mind. Behind Jesse's long lashes lustful light plays. Keith nods slowly to his boy. Son inhales dadfunk. Left armpit. Jesse draws a deep breath like he breathed amyl nitrate. "Yeah, Dad," Jesse murmurs as if hypnotized. "You like that, son?" Keith's eyebrows jump as Jesse's hand brazenly grasps his crotch. He grins. "Um-hmm." Jesse moves on to his Dad's right armpit. Breathes. His tongue emerges. Keith giggles a little as his son begins to lap the raw, hot sweat pouring from his armpits. Eyes widen in the semicircle of boys. What the fuck, man? What the fuck is going on between this dad and his son? The seventh grade boy's PE class watches Keith's bulge grow. And grow. And grow. Holy Christ! This man's just like them! He's getting a hardon. But, fuck, what a hardon! Something enormous slides down Keith's right thigh. Like he's got a cop's nightstick in there, and for some weird reason he's sliding it down his leg. The tube doesn't stop growing until it's just a little north of his knees. His snug jeans do little to hide what's going on. "OK, son, that's enough." He kisses the top of his boy's head, and murmurs, "For right now." "Thanks, Dad!" Jesse's lips shine with Keith's sweat. He trots over to join his classmates. His throbbing dick is perfectly visible because he's brazenly cupping his boner. Pulling the taut cotton tight to show off to his buddies what his Dad does to him. His wet spot is so big it looks like he's pissed his jock. Not even Marines, as sexy as they are, make Jesse leak like this. A semi-circle of horny seventh grade boys waits in front of Keith. The manfunk has established authority over the class. Prominent boners throb -- in many cases, leak; in some of those, it's the first time those dicks have leaked anything other than pee -- in their shorts. Erections aren't new to these kids, but for some of them it's the first time they've escaped chastisement or embarrassment for having one. For being a boy. For being alive with unbounded energy, naturally horny, sleek, beautiful and sexy. "You liked that, boys, didn't you?" Enthusiastic nods everywhere. "Good. Let me tell you how to work up my kind of scent. It's gonna be a little hard for you to smell like me. You're still young. What you gotta do is to slow down on the bathing. Every other day at best. Every two days is best. You can rinse off, sure, but no soap. And no deodorant. No deodorant ever! And fuck cologne!" Giggles. "All right. Now let me ask you a question. What was in my armpits that smelled so good?" "It was your sweat!" slender Devon says. "Yes, but there was something in my sweat. Something a man makes. What do you think that something is?" "More sweat!" giggles Victor. The boys -- and Keith -- laugh. "Well, good try. Let me tell you guys. What you boys just got a whiff of was testosterone. Ever hear of it?" A hand goes up. Ben Harrison. Is that a shadow of incipient armpit hair? Keith resolves to explore his son's friend's body again soon. "Yeah," says Ben. "It's the chemical that makes a boy a boy." "You get a C," says Keith. "It makes a man a man. But you're on the right track. See, what boys need in order to become a man is testosterone. A boy's gotta take testosterone into their body in order to grow up. So they can be a man. Now. Where do you think you guys can get testosterone?" "ITunes!" Chris sniggers. "Wal-Mart!" laughs another kid. "In the grocery section! I seen it!" "At dee Kwik-E-Mart," chortles another, channeling Apu. "All right, all right, enough with the smartassing. No. You get testosterone from ..." --pause-- "... a man!" The boys, especially the virgins, mutter amongst themselves. Keith lets his revelation sink in. "Come on, guys. You know I'm right. Your bodies instinctively know where to get testosterone, just the same way babies know how to get milk. But at puberty, when you need testosterone the most, you don't go to Mom. You go to your dad or, if he won't do it, any other man. And there's lots of guys who want to help you boys out. Am I right, Coach Dusker?" "Spot on, Mr. Peake." Dusker's eyes are fixated on Victor Franco's tempting butt. "Um, Mr. Peake," asks Devon, "so we gotta suck on your, you know, tit?" Keith smirks. "Well. You can try that. Damn, son, I wouldn't mind you doing that. Not at all. Not with a sexy boy like you." Devon blushes because being called son by a man like Keith Peake almost causes him to juice his jockstrap. "But that's not how a boy gets his testosterone. A boy gets testosterone," says Keith, speaking more and more slowly, "by having sex. With a man." Silence. The virgins exchange looks. What does this mean? Jesse, Ben, and Chris slug each other's bicep. Lewd as a construction worker, Keith palms the huge tube steak leaping and dancing in his jeans' thigh. He watches the boys watch him. Yeah, they're buying this. They always do, the horny scamps. "Now. Sex is what I'm here to show you guys how to do. But first, I want to show you something. Something I'm really proud of. Let me show you what large doses of testosterone does. Let me show you what you guys are going to look like when testosterone works its magic over you. Let me show you a man's body." Keith pulls his tank top off and flings it to the floor. The boys gasp. Wow. There it is! Fuck, what a man. Muscled chest. Pectorals thick and hard like tortoise shells. Thick chest fur, dense and long, spreading like an eagle's wings, each tip almost burying sight of Keith's big nipples. He flexes, showing off biceps. Slender Devon takes a few steps forward, licking and pursing his lips. Keith's overwhelming masculine presence seems otherworldly to him. Poor kid. Spent most of his life fenced in by women. Yeah, Devon needs a man. Needs to explore that mature body. Someone's gotta show him the secrets, and it's going to be Keith Peake. The lad just knows it. Casually but confidently, Keith points to himself. "See this, boys? That's what testosterone does. You need lots of it to make big muscles. You all want to be big, powerful men, right? You want to grow up to be like me, or like Coach Dusker, or like your Dad, right? Well, what you gotta do is get testosterone injected into your bodies." "With a needle?" Devon whines. "Hell no!" Keith struts and flexes. The tube steak jumps in his jeans. Keith watches Devon closely to see if the boy is getting the message. But the boy has eyes only for that chest. Keith is happy. This is going great. Keith knows Devon's small hands need to be exploring his body, low, throaty commands guiding those hands towards Keith's tube steak. Well. Let's advance towards that moment. Slyly, he asks, "You boys ever touch a man's muscles?" Jesse sniggers. Because he's heard this line before. Keith shoots his son a warning look, but there is an easy grin on his face. Silence reigns. As best as it can, for the boys are beginning to breathe heavy. The shirtless man is working is magic on these lads. The vision fixates Victor powerfully. The twelve-year-old breathes rapidly, shallowly, almost hyperventilating. And slender Devon? Sweat mats his black locks to his fine skull, and he is unabashedly stroking his young dick through his shorts. "Come on, boys. Answer up. You ever felt up a man's muscles?" Unbelieving looks pass back and forth. Shit, dude, do ya really think he'll let us? Suddenly, way too horny to control himself, Devon starts polishing his crotch using his palm. Starts polishing it so hard his shorts are gonna catch fire from the friction. "Oh, come on, I bet Coach Dusker makes you touch him every day in gym!" The Coach chuckles. But he's getting a little impatient. He wants Keith to get to the action right fucking now. He's spent way too much time watching these fine specimens in the shower, wrestle one another in tight singlets, run a half-mile in nylon shorts. Let the man-boy party begin! "OK, guys. Come on up here. Feel me up." The boys move diffidently, like virgins approaching the marriage bed, because this is too weird. And too exciting. Sometimes one pair of eyes will flick to the floor, as if embarrassed, but the smell of manfunk restores their courage, and they will look once again at Keith's muscles, on display for them. Keith's getting a fluttery feeling in his stomach. It makes him flash back to the first time he had sex with a boy, when his lust had carried him through what he'd been sure was a boy's impenetrable virginal armor. His eyes sweep across the ring of approaching young bodies. Yeah. This is life. He grins. "Come on, guys. Touch me. Feel my muscles. Run your fingers through my hair. Learn what a man's body is all about." He spreads his arms wide as if he were a messiah inviting salvation. Devon's the first to touch this man, a real father -- a blessing the lonely boy's never known. He shudders. It's like gripping iron. Wow. The feeling makes his groin sizzle. Victor is the second. The sleek lad won't meet Keith's eyes, but he senses when the man is looking elsewhere, and he takes a nervous moment to try and fathom the power glowing in Keith's eyes, while his hands streak sweat across skin and his fingers draw feathery patterns in Keith's chest hair. The others aren't far behind. Slim young hands, trembling with curiosity, stroke Keith's body as if he were a kitten. Keith's eyelids flutter as boy fingers trace his biceps and triceps, explore the rippling muscles of his forearm, sketch the outlines of his pectorals, and caress his deltoids. He shivers as the seventh grade boys comb his body hair. His nipples stiffen, spiking up high enough to appear above the furry canopy. Jesse, polite, sensitive to the needs of others, hangs in the back while his classmates feel up his Dad's boss body. Victor becomes the most aggressive. The boy yearns to touch the muscles of another man. A man who isn't his beloved Da. His young dick strains against his shorts. He feels the muscled man everywhere north of Keith's waist. Hair. Nipples. Flat belly. Deltoids. The twelve-year-old's mouth is bone dry. Looking down at Victor -- the boy's eyes are fixated on his body -- Keith purrs, "That's really nice, Victor. I like that. You make me feel ... warm and tingly ... down there." The kid looks up at this, licks his lips. "T-- they're pretty big, Mr. Peake," stammers Victor. "What's pretty big, Victor?" asks Keith. "Um. Um. Your nipples." The twelve-year-old leans in and gets another whiff of Keith's armpits, and begins drumming on the man's big nips. Keith grins. "You like playing with my nipples, boy?" Victor raises his gaze up to the man's face, expression earnest. "Don't they make you feel good? Don't they make you feel tingly ... down there?" Keith pats the kid's ass. "Yeah, boy, they do." Keith swallows. "Do you do this for your dad, too, Victor?" The boy blushes and is silent. He can't go that far. Not in front of his friends. Devon -- and many other boys -- have been staring at Keith's thigh. Wondering if, maybe, they should dare to touch the man ... you know, down there. But something's going on with that big baton he's got shoved down almost to his knee. It's bouncing. Bouncing hard enough that the thin denim ought to rip. Keith doesn't miss this. He takes Devon by the chin and turns the boy's face up. "You want to ... see how big and muscly my thigh is?" The boy swallows, eyes wide. But he says nothing. "Any of you guys?" There are no takers. This is too much like pedophilia, that horrid crime these poor kids here vilified every day. It's time to get this thing moving again. There's more to sex than letting a boy -- even a group of boys -- cop a feel. "OK, boys, that's enough." Reluctantly, the kids back off. Keith's eyes sweep over their shorts. Yep. They're all stained now. Even the most immature-looking of the boys, young Devon, sweet Devon with skin the color of honey, sports a spot of precum on his shorts. Fuck. Keith's got these kids primed. He and Coach Dusker trade an evil grin over the lads' heads. Keith locks eyes with Jesse. Even his son is totally enthralled to the moment here. His blond bangs shade his eyes, but his son's eyes are clearly focused on his Dad's crotch. Keith emits a short whistle. Jesse starts. Looks up. Grins. Jesse makes a circle with his fingers right in front of his mouth, makes blow-job motions. Keith shakes his head. He makes a ring out of left forefinger and thumb, then rams the right forefinger through it. Excitedly, Jesse nods. Keith resumes lecturing. "Now. How do you guys build muscle?" "Testosterone!" the boys chorus. "That's right, boys," says Keith, clearing his throat. "You've smelled testosterone. You've seen what it makes out of a young, boyish body. Now. Let me ask you a question. Where, exactly -- no smartassing! -- do you get testosterone?" A hand shoots up. Devon's. This is easy! "Yeah, Devon?" "A man's body!" "You got it, boy," Keith chuckles. "How did you know?" "You're getting senile, Dad!" Jesse chortles. "You told 'em earlier." "Oh. Damn. Anyway. Now. Where does it get made in a man?" The boys who know -- Jesse, Ben, Chris, Victor -- share smirks. But the innocent boys, like Devon -- well, this is a puzzler. For Devon especially. He lives with his mom. No dad round the house, lounging in boxers or tighty whities, showing off ballbulge to his son's insatiably curious eyes. His body is a complete mystery to himself. Victor thrusts his hand into the air. "Yeah, Victor?" "In a man's nuts!" So many jaws drop so far it's a wonder the seventh grade health classroom didn't fill with the sound of bouncing ping pong balls. "You get an 'A', Victor," growls Keith. He's gotta talk with Gene. Keith craves this sweet boy's flesh. He could spend hours licking the boy's armpit, listening to him giggle, feeling him grind his small boner into Keith's hard belly -- focus, dude, focus! "Yep. In a man's nuts. So, guys, let me show you my testosterone factory." Grinning like a pervert, Keith pops the buttons of his fly. The sound is like gunshots. The boys stare, entranced, as the opening fly reveals Keith's thick pubic hair. Keith slips the jeans down just a bit. The boys get their first look at the base of Keith's cock. Gasps echo. Keith stares intently at them. His mouth is dry. No matter how many times he does this -- exposing himself to a boy's stunned eyes -- it's always a special moment for him. He's also horny as fuck and needs to get this horse into the final stretch. In one smooth movement he rips his jeans off and steps forward. There. In front of the kids, there's a naked man. A strong, virile, man. Stark naked. Erect. Yeah. This is how sex ed should be taught to all boys. Eyes drop. Something has drawn the boy's attention from Keith's chest. Keith's titanic cock. It's a foot of solid, throbbing, daddy meat. No shit. One foot. Twelve fat inches. Three hundred and nine millimeters. Two-thirds of a cubit. One-third of a stallion's cock. Dadmeat, greasy and hot, throbbing and alive in front of worshipful boy eyes. The son of a bitch is fat as a boy's arm. Smelly, reeking of the need to breed. Webbed with veins. The urethra throbs and precum gushes from the pisslit. It rises like an obelisk from his hairy groin. Keith's testicles, each the size of large eggs, sag low in his hairy pouch. "Yeah, kids," Keith growls, pointing at his hardon, proud as a peacock. "Get a look at what I got!" Keith, a daddy with a huge boner, can't help but strut a bit in front of these guys. The boys stare, mouths gaping. No one's breathing. Well, Dusker is. He's hyperventilating, perving on all those wonderful seventh grade boy asses. "Ever see one this big, guys?" Keith asks hoarsely. You could hear a pin drop. "Yeah." Keith wraps his fist around his gargantuan shaft. Shit, Keith feels like a god. "Foot long daddycock!" Keith thunders as he struts back and forth. Showing off that daddycock. Nuts swing, wang sways. "Now, boys. What's it called. What do you call THIS?" "Weiner?" says Devon, awed. "Dick?' says Victor, eyes smoldering. "Penis?" says another wiry-thin boy with floppy, curly black hair. Keith shakes his head. "Those are all kid names. This -- " he makes his daddycock throb; a tendril of precum whipping around " -- is a COCK!" His hand drops. He chokes his sack and hauls his big testicles away from his body, displaying them to these kids. "And these are my nuts." Open-mouthed stares. "My nuts," Keith says, "Make the testosterone you kids need!" Eyes shyly seek Keith's. "Now get down on your knees, boys, and look at my nuts. You, too, Jesse. Stop that smirking and look at your daddy's nuts!" Keith's in a mood, yeah, feeling the power. He exults as the class of seventh grade boys drops to their knees in front of him. Their eyes blaze like lasers at his swollen balls. Fuck yeah. Keith is horny. Keith needs to breed. Has needed it since these sexy tykes sauntered into this class. Nothing -- absolutely nothing -- turns Keith on more than a seventh grade boy. If you've heard rumors about Keith and sixth graders -- well, those are just rumors, dammit. The kneeling boys stare at the huge hairy spheres. Wow. Those manballs are shifting slowly in their sack. Are they alive? They squirm with power. Keith's giant cock casts a shadow over their worshipful faces. Keith's erect dadmeat imprints itself on these guys' consciousness forever. Keith stands before the boys, hands on hips, cock up thrust, balls low. Fucking proud. Fucking arrogant. Fucking male. "My nuts. Is where. Testosterone gets made. In my goddamned, motherfucking nuts! In any real man's nuts. In a jock's nuts. In your Dad's nuts. And look at this." He twitches his cock again. "You see how big my cock is? Well, boys, you want to have as big a cock as you can grow. Big cocks mean something to everybody. Big cocks make sex great. If you got a big cock, they'll be throwing themselves at you right and left, kids. And the best way you get a big cock -- just like a hairy body and lots of muscles -- is to get lots and lots of testosterone in your sweet boy bodies!" "Mr. Peake," says Devon, his voice squeaking. "Can you show us ... test ... testosterone?" Keith grins. "Yeah, boy. You bet I can. Watch this!" Keith spits into his palm. A fucking huge wad of spit, thick with phlegm. He wraps his hand around the base of his cock. His dadshaft is so thick that even his big hand barely fits around it. He levels the throbbing red cockhead directly at the boys. "Now I'm gonna show you how a dad masturbates," Keith growls, sounding like a tiger. "Masturbate?" Devon asks quietly. "Beat off," murmurs Ben from the side of his mouth. The boy stares, fascinated as always, at his best friends hypersexed Dad. Devon still doesn't get it. "Just watch," says Jesse. Keith slides his hand up to the head, making a wet slurping noise. It feels so good to be showing this act to innocent boys that his eyelids flutter. Keith Peake almost blows his load like an exploding comet over these bright young faces. He recovers. He slides his hand back to the base. Groans. His pisslit opens and a huge droplet lets itself down on a pungent thread of dadlust. "See that?" Keith growls. The boys nod eagerly. They can't see anything else. That man's making the same stuff leaking from their own immature erections! The sense of kinship between boy and man strengthens. "It's got testosterone in it!" Keith jacks himself slowly in front of the lads. Up again. Slow and tight. Then back. Dadcock shivers in the boys' worshipful gaze. "Does that feel good?" whispers Devon. An imitative boy, he stuffs his fingertips into the waistband of his shorts. "Yeah it does," says Keith, grinning down at the boy. Keith loves virgin boys. Their curious, eager innocence intoxicates him. Their need to be initiated makes his heart blaze with fire. They hunger for man/boy sex; they just don't know it. Keith lives to wake these lads up to their own natural desires. "Tell me your name, son?" "It's Devon." "Come here, Devon," says Keith, slow pumping his dadcock. The boy steps up quickly. His eyes are glued to the masturbating man's massive meat. "Would you help me, Devon?" Keith says, voice throaty. "What -- what do you mean?" Keith takes Devon's hand. The boy's gaze snaps to the man's face. He's shocked. He knows he's feeling spit. Yeah, and that stuff that's leaking from Keith's meat. Wow. Devon feels special. Like for the first time in his life he's got a Dad. Then Keith takes it a step further. Keith places the seventh grader's hand on his throbbing, leaking adult shaft. Yeah. That's right. Boy's hand on man's cock. "Touch me, Devon. Touch your Daddy." Devon's never heard those forbidden words before. But the magic's there. He begins to explore the meat. There in Keith's footlong daddycock the Cherokee boy feels the man's thundering heart. His flesh is warmed by the man's burning need. There's fear in the lad's eyes. Fear in his heart. Fear of the unknown. But in the boy's dick? Devon feels lust. Pure lust. The desire of a boy to couple with a man. To absorb the man's power, and grow. Any boy's lust for dadmeat is far more powerful than his fear of the dadmeat's gigantic size. "You do that real nice, Devon," Keith coos. "Now move it up and down. Like I was doing ..." Shivering, the boy starts jerking the man. "That's good, Devon, real good. You're making me feel good ..." "I can help!" Victor blurts. A slow grin spreads over Keith's face. What a sweet boy. Gene taught him well. Devon's hand can't fit around Keith's giant cock. Victor will be the perfect complement. Keith nods. "Sure, Victor. Come here." Victor dashes to Keith's side. He stammers, "D- don't tell my Da I did this." Then he seizes the huge meat. He begins frigging rapidly. "Oh, God!" Keith growls. Fuck yeah! This is nice. It's better than Keith imagined. The stroking the boys are administering his dadshaft has two different paces. Devon, slow and steady, working the base. Victor, quick and frantic, teasing the delicate head. "Good job, boys. Fucking awesome job. You kids know how to take care of a man." Jism boils in Keith's balls. The mercury is rising. The man's going to explode. "OK, guys," he pants. "All you guys. Everyone else! I want you to join in." Huh? What? Jaws go slack. What does this stud dad mean? Can he want them to -- "Drop your shorts, boys," Keith orders. "Yeah," murmurs Dusker, his voice husky. Oh. OK. Nineteen pairs of shorts plop onto the floor. Nineteen teenboners throb against slimy jockpouches. Nineteen chests rise and fall. Nineteen pairs of lips are parted. Puffing, huffing, happier than hell, Keith glances at Victor to his left, Devon to his right. Neither boy has moved to drop their PE shorts. Both stare at the forbidden contact between their small hands and the man's illegal lust. Neither seems to be able to believe what's happening. Keith, though, has his own agenda. "Here. I'll help you guys." Though his body's shaking almost uncontrollably, Keith manages to yank down Victor's shorts, then Devon's. Now it's twenty-one dicks throbbing in jockpouches. Twenty-one overstimulated teendicks. "Now take 'em out of the pouch, guys. But," Keith growls, wanting more than anything to see this spectacle, "leave your jocks on." No one hesitates. Twenty-one seventh grade dicks leap in the air, glistening with sweat and boyish precum. Hands hanging at their sides, all of the boys look poised, ready for action. Keith fishes out Victor's dick. Six inches of boy lust. The base is naked of hair. Fucking nice. Keith sniffs his palm -- and almost blows it. Yeah. Young boy, no crotch hair. This sexy kid must be fun to breed. Lucky Gene Franco. Keith flashes to a vision of himself, creeping one night into Victor's bedroom through the kid's window, stark naked, hard, ready to fuck, while the kid hastily strips, flinging his pajamas everywhere. Devon's next. The Cherokee boy almost goes crazy when he feels, for the first time in his life, a man handling his little dick. The lad squirms. He giggles. He dances. He never knew how much he wanted for a man to touch him down there, in that private place that makes him feel so deliciously naughty. Fuck! Why was life so unfair to horny youngsters like Devon? Like this entire class of horny fuckers? Keith growls his command: "Jack 'em, boys!" The boys jack 'em. No need for further explanation. They've just had the best kind of lecture any boy can get on the subject of masturbation. "You don't mind if I touch you, you know, down there, do you?" Keith asks. Victor and Devon stare at Keith like he's crazy. Keith's hands close on the two shafts. The two gasping voices are music to his ears. He begins to move. He doesn't need spit. Both lads are slimy with precum. With sweat. They coo and squeal and squirm but neither boy releases their grip on Keith's gigantic mancock. The air gets rich and fetid, swamp-like, scented with the odors of masturbating teen boys and a stud man's raw crotch funk. Coach Dusker? Coolly he surveys the action from the back of the room, slowly rubbing his big throbber through his sweats. The stud dad throws his head back. His footlong daddy cock, erratically stroked by boys almost as excited as him, sprays precum everywhere. Slimy daddy sin flies like diamond dust. Slender Devon is going crazy, trying to watch each drop fall, mesmerized by the male emission. Keith, soaring higher and higher, is going crazy himself. Lewd fantasies flash through his head. Of Victor, speedos looped around one foot, bending over a poolside. Of Devon, in a shadowy forest, untying a loincloth, gazing at Keith with eyes glowing with eagerness. Fuck! Boys make Keith Peake hot! "Shit, guys, you're doing it ... yeah, fucking awesome. Oh yeah, jack your Daddy. Yeah, harder, faster ... yeah, touch your Daddy, yeah, you like how your Daddy feels in your hands ... fuck ... fuck ... FUCK Daddy's gonna blow, gonna blow a big one, gonna make my ... my ... my goddamned fucking DADDY JISM!" Hiroshima? That was nothing compared to the explosion that blasts from Keith Peake's cock. Two-foot long strands of pure white daddyseed streak through the air. So powerful is the force of Keith's orgasm that his titanic cock bucks out of the boy's grasp like a monster, a great dragon, rampaging, violently spewing reeking ropes of jism onto the crowd of boys worshipping this perverted dad who gets his rocks off with kids. Does Keith consciously wag his cock from side to side, spraying the semicircle of teenboys with his jism? It doesn't fucking matter. It's happening. A Gatling gun fires nutbutter all over the goddamned classroom. Sperm crashes into tank tops. Onto young skin. Splatters disbelieving faces. Rains onto desks in the back of the class. Spatters the posters of male and female anatomy. Hangs like spider silk from the ceiling. When his cock stops firing, every boy has a rope of Keith's jism hanging somewhere on his body. Thighs. Neck. Shorts. Jockstraps. The smell of sex fogs the air. The squealing begins. The teenboys begin to cum. Those who can shoot -- Chris, Ben, a few others whose surprised faces reveals this is their first time juicing up -- toss off teen loads: rich strings of bubbling jism. The others? Well, their balls struggle and strain, but there's just nothing in them to shoot. For these guys, there's nothing but the electric tingle of their nerves, and the sudden knowledge the fucking around with their cocks feels good. Shuddering, coming down, the Cherokee boy stares at the gray slime on his fingers. "What the hell is that?" Devon turns wide eyes on Keith's sweaty face. "Jism," Keith gasps. "Sperm," Coach Dusker contributes. "that's the right word for it. Don't forget it. Your final exam is going to be all about sperm." Devon lifts his fingers to his eyes and inspects the man's ejaculate. It dangles like snot. "Is that what babies are made of?" "Well," Keith gasps, "yeah, if you shoot it in a woman. But it's also testosterone. If you shoot it in a boy, you help him become a man." Devon frowns. "I don't understand. How do you get this --" he sways his hand, and Keith's sperm makes like a jump rope -- "into a boy?" The virgin boys nod agreement. There's still a big mystery here. "Well," Keith says, "one thing you can do with it is ... eat it." "Whaaaaaaaat?" Keith staggers over to Jesse. His son is sweaty, panting, happy and eager. Keith scrapes a rope of cum off his son's crotch. Turning so Devon can see, Keith lifts it up on high. It sways, a powerful white worm, looking almost alive. "Like this!" Keith lowers it into Jesse's mouth like a string of spaghetti. Jesse gulps like a piranha, then belches. He and his buddies giggle. Oh. So Coach Dusker's seventh grade health class partakes of its first dose of manspunk. The braver boys move first, scooping off some of Keith's jism from their bodies and gingerly tasting it. Hmm. Not bad. They slurp down a second helping. The shyer ones watch them, then -- once they confirm that their buddies haven't turned into werewolves; the only effect of eating Keith Peake's jism seems to be a reinvigorated hardon, though maybe that's due to simply pubescent horniness -- they join in. Spunk's on the menu, lads. Eat up. Watching a classroom full of seventh grade boys eat your jism is a sure-fire method of instantly revitalizing your cock. Keith's meat, which had slumped in a drowsy arc from his groin, lurches skyward again. He struts back to the desk, the massive shaft a towering monument to man/boy lust. "OK, boys. You just found out what testosterone smells like. What it tastes like. You know you can only get it from a man's jism. But!" He puts hands on hips. His cock lifts higher and higher. The veins begin to throb again. Keith's balls quiver with power. "The most effective way ... the way that'll help a boy the most ... is for a boy to get a man's cream up his butt." Huh? Holy shit, is this dude nuts? Keith rests his butt on the edge of the desk. His eyes roam the boys. He's the center of attention. He likes it this way. He spreads his thighs, showing off his nuts and his daddycock. He lets his revelation sink in. He's not sure if it does. Many boys eye Keith's footlong shaft with naked fear. Put that humongous thing up their butt? Impossible! Others -- especially Devon -- are trapped like flies in amber, unable to speak or move. It's as if they're hearing the word of God for the first time. A perverted, hot God, who doesn't promise salvation but jism. "Want me to show you guys?" Keith asks. Victor, Ben, Jesse, and many others eagerly nod. The rest simply wait. "Hey, Dusker," Keith calls. "Got any Vaseline?" "Sure thing, bossman." Coach Dusker pulls a small tin out of his pocket and tosses it across the room. As a Boy Scout, Dusker learn to always be prepared. Keith's eyes flash like a demon's. "Jesse," he growls. "Come to Daddy." Jesse pumps his fist. "Woohoo! Hot damn!" Then, chagrined, he whirls and looks at Dusker. "Sorry, Coach. Didn't mean to cuss." Dusker nods indulgently. ""Get your butt up there, Jesse. To your Dad." Jesse trots towards his Dad. A mischievous grin decorates his face. That's for Keith. Both father and son are glad to get to the climax of this lesson. Jesse's classmates are treated to a spot-on view of his slim butt, framed by his jockstrap. A teenbutt that turns Marines into pedophiles. Low whistles escape Ben and Chris. Light begins to dawn in other boys' eyes. Jesse, as he walks, gets more and more excited. Wow. He's gonna have a whole herd of sex partners after this! He stops in front of his Dad, his dick stiff and slapping against his flat belly. Keith's eyes roam north and south over Jesse's slim body in a way most father's never dare to. His gaze lingers on his son's spiked nipples. Crawls over Jesse's flat belly. Admires his son's brazen erection. No, that's not a man's cock Jesse's sporting. But, Keith suspects, it's going to be fucking huge by the time Jesse is done growing. "Anyone ever tell you," Keith growls, "you're a sexy kid, son?" "Yeah, Dad! You!" Keith turns his attention back to the class. "All right, guys, listen up. The way you get testosterone into your bodies is to ... have sex. With a man." He palms his nuts to emphasize his point. "Now you boys are gonna learn what real sex looks like. Right, Jesse?" He winks. "Right, Dad!" Jesse says brightly. "Now, Jesse. When a boy has sex with a man, what's the most important thing?" "Lube, Dad!" "That's right, son. Lube. You know what lube is, guys?" Victor murmurs, "Yeah. Something to make your butthole slippery. Like butter. Or Astroglide." "You got it. Show 'em, Jesse." Keith hands the Vaseline to his son. Jesse uncaps the Vaseline. He digs out a dollop of grease and holds it up. He shoots a grin over his shoulder -- exactly the way they do it on The Price Is Right -- wiggles his eyebrows, then he bends almost double, spreading his legs wide. "I can see his butthole!" one boy murmurs. Everyone can see Jesse's tiny treasure peaking from between his parted cheeks. Classmates trade disbelieving looks. How the hell can something that tiny open up enough to take a cock? This is an important question these lads need answered. "Been there, done that," says Ben Harrison, rolling his eyes. "Seen it, ate it, got it pregnant," intones Chris, bored. "Shut up!" Jesse hollers, his inverted face looking back at the class from between his calves. "Anyone ever tell you you're a jerk, Ben?" "Well, not you," says Ben. He grins and, speaking in falsetto, imitates Jesse. "Oh oh, Ben, put it in deeper, oh oh, Ben, hurry up so Coach ---" "Jesse!" Keith rumbles. "Get on with it." "You smear a lot on the outside of your butthole --" Jesse's finger swirls around his tiny pucker, anointing it with glistening Vaseline. While working his hole he flips Ben Harrison a Vaseline-smeared bird. "He's touching his butthole!" Devon stares, slack jawed. He can't wait to get home. His Mom works late. And he'll be alone, and can experiment. Somehow he knows that what Jesse's doing will feel really, really nice. "-- and then," says Jesse, "you got to push some up inside so your slippery up there, too!" His asshole seems to eat his finger all the way down to the root. Jesse's eyelids flutter as he indulges in a quick prostate-tease. He pulls the finger out, stands upright, and displays it. "See? Nice and clean!" He kisses it. He flings the Vaseline back to his Dad. Keith watches, bemused, as Jesse marches up to the desk and bends over. "Um. You forgetting anything, son?" "Oh, shit!" Jesse bobs upright. "Well, Dad, you gotta stand up!" Keith stands. He turns to face his son. The class tenses as Keith's cockhead barely misses Jesse's chin. Then they relax. Thank God there'll be no incest here -- hey, what the fuck? Jesse's just dug out another huge teardrop of grease and -- holy shit, he's just grabbed hold of Keith's cock! My God, sin alarms have got to be going off in purity defense bunkers all over planet fucking Earth! A son? Touching his Dad's cock? No boy can look away as they watch Jesse lovingly anoint Keith Peake's footlong meat with a thick layer of grease. In fact, the sight draws them closer to the pair. It's as if their sin is a drug and they want to be addicts. "With big cocks," says Jesse, trying to close his fist round his Dad's shaft, "you got to use a lot." Keith's chest is heaving and his eyes blaze with fire. A worm of precum wriggles free and falls, laying a stripe across Jesse's sneaker. Jesse again caps the Vaseline. Casually he tosses it away. "Now --" Keith lays a hand on Jesse's shoulder. "I'll take over. Boy." He pushes Jesse forward and bends the boy over the desk. For a few moments Keith gazes, mesmerized, at Jesse's sweet ass. It's a lovely sight. Two small buttocks, small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. Snowy white because Jesse always wears swim trunks or Speedos outdoors. The lad does not want to get his ass sunburned. Keith paws Jesse's buttock. "Oh, that's a nice butt, son. You got a really nice butt. It turns your Daddy on." The boys are pressing excitedly around father and son, their eyes flicking between the steely, mad look on Keith's face and Jesse's tiny, vulnerable ass. Something about Keith's expression frightens the guys a bit. Something about it attracts them. The boys, especially the virgins, feel the same sense of trepidation anyone does the first time they approach a roller coaster. "Now. A man's got to loosen a boy up. Boy butt is tight." Keith slips a finger between Jesse's cheeks. "So when you guys do it, ask your man to use a finger. You just need one." Jesse stiffens as Keith's finger slips inside. "Does it hurt?" cries Devon. "No," Jesse purrs, sawing his butt back and forth on his father's invading finger. "It's the best thing I've ever felt!" Keith realizes no one can see the penetration. "Hey Devon. Do me a favor." "Uh. Sure." "Hold my son's buttcheeks apart so everyone can get a good look." Devon shudders. Wow. Touching Jesse's butt ... isn't that, like, you know, sex? With trembling hands, he peels open his classmates white butt. The boys press close. Some drop to their knees behind Keith, peering at the juncture. All watch as Keith's finger slowly churns in and out of Jesse's ring. "It's sucking on his finger!" "It's going all the way in!" "Put another in, Mr. Peake!" "No, no," says Keith, voice husky. "I like 'em tight. Men like their boys tight. Don't forget that. Jesse? You ready?" "I'm always ready, Dad!" "OK, guys, get ready to have your minds blown," says Keith. He wrestles his steel hard shaft down and presses the gigantic cockhead between Jesse's cheeks. Jesse's eyes roll up the moment his Dad's cock makes the first forbidden touch with his ring. Keith's panting as if he's in the midst of a marathon. Keith Peake loves fucking his young son Jesse. His fingers clamp to Jesse's waist, but the thirteen-year-old has no intention of going anywhere. "I'm gonna put it in now," Keith purrs. "'Bout damn time, Dad!" Keith pushes. The boys watching from below and behind get the best view, though they have to cluster round Keith's calves to get a line of sight free of the Dad's big nuts. They watch Keith's gleaming cockhead open Jesse's ring. Open it wider and wider and wider. Some of them expect to hear a ripping sound as Jesse's tiny ring simply gives up, but it never happens. Jesse's hungry flesh yields to his Dad's lust. The boys gasp as the cockhead slips inside. Eyes sweep along the eleven visible inches of quaking manmeat bridging slim, hairless butt and furry mancrotch. The boys watching from above and in front don't get as clear a view of the start of this incestuous coupling. What they do see is the rapturous look on Keith's face as his son's tight rectum opens on his shaft. And they hear the soft cry of delight that escapes Jesse. "Now this, guys," Keith breathes, sinking ever deeper into Jesse's trembling body, "is sex. The best kind of sex. Doing it. With your son!" "Is he going to take it all, Mr. Peake?" asks Devon, staring down at the parted buttocks and the giant manshaft. "Every inch," Keith promises. He delivers. Jesse pretends to struggle to absorb his Dad's meat at its widest point: a few inches behind the head. He makes a big deal of it, pounding Dusker's desk with his fists, but this is show, though it's a show that gets the seed boiling in his Dad's balls. After that its one long, smooth glide, until a father's pubic hair nests in the forbidden crevice of his thirteen-year-old son's butt. "Wow!" says Victor, hanging on to Keith's right leg. "I saw your balls bounce off his!" "You're gonna see a lot more ball bouncing, you sexy bastard!" Keith shakes himself. "Now! Watch me! This is fucking, guys! This is what men do best!" At first Keith's strokes are long and slow. He wants these boys to see what he's doing. Wants to be clear what he's doing to his kid. The seventh graders watch the fat footlong dadshaft emerge from Jesse's rectum like a dragon squeezing itself out of a cave. They all feel a thrill in their guts as it pushes its way back inside. Jesse's delighted whimpering sounds as his father's cock fills him. The lad takes it all. All the way down to the base. The way good boys do. "Do it, Jesse," says Victor admiringly. His father's cock isn't half the length of Keith's monster. The doubts these guys may have had about taking an oversized mancock up their cherry buttholes is fully dissipated by this spectacle of father/son lust. Yeah. They can do it. It's possible. Young, innocent Devon stares wide-eyed, frigging his dripping dick. Gosh, this sex thing is awesome! Why has Mom kept it from him? He looks admiringly at Keith's muscles. There's something hypnotic about the way they bunch, tense, and relax. Something he'd like to experience for himself. "Yeah, Jesse," sneers Keith. "Show your buds how you take your Daddy's dick." Well, to be honest, Jesse has been mindlessly impaling himself on his Dad's shaft since Keith began moving within the boy. But those words make him show off. Make him arch his back, press his tender young buttocks against his Dad's hard, hairy body. Make him whoop and chortle and, when the sensation is really intense, drool. Yeah, Jesse lives to get buttfucked, but we all know that all ready. Nevertheless, it's dad doing him, and doing it with dad is always special for any boy. "You like it, son?" Keith grunts, pumping steadily. "Oh, fuck, Daddy!" Keith pops an asscheek. "Watch that language, son. We're in a public classroom." Sweat runs down his nose and dribbles onto Jesse's slender back. "Jesse's hard!" one boy whispers to Victor. He points. Trapped beneath him, Jesse's dick thrusts down the side of the desk. Precum drools from it. "Getting buttfucked ... by your Dad ... is the best!" explains Victor. But Victor, as much as he loves his Da, looks admiringly at Keith's muscles. Wonders what it would feel like to have that man's titanic erection stretching his guts. Victor feels all loose and shivery inside. He's tempted to push Jesse out of the way and take his rival's place. Yeah. That'd be awesome! Jesse, off in a secret world of boyish pleasure, babbles deliriously. All he wants to do is yield. Give it up to his Dad's powerful lust. Yield, because yielding is the only way a boy can get hold of that precious breeding sauce a Dad totes about in his nuts. "Feel my fat breeder up your tight boy butt, Jesse?" Keith growls. He rotates his hips, skewering Jesse. "I got it right where it belongs, kid." "Huh-huh-huh-huh--" Brainless breaths explode from Jesse's mouth as Keith's crotch rams his tender butt harder and harder. The atmosphere in the classroom is electric. Keith's hips, hammering against his son's ass, sends the message: Incest is best. Ignore all the laws, guys. Man/boy. Father/son. Do it. Their flesh sings with the thrill of the forbidden contact. All the boys present ride along with the ecstatic pair. Keith seizes Jesse by the waist, rotates his son still impaled on his footlong boyfucker, and lays the sweet cockstuffed boy flat on his back. Jesse's legs rest on his father's hairy chest. Keith pumps. It's a perfect display. Framed by Jesse's jockstrap, the fat dadshaft stuffs the thirteen-year-old boy's most treasured possession. The boypucker stretches so tight all the corrugations are gone. It strains on Keith's huge horsemeat. Hairy man ass saws away. Hairy fat man balls, churning with breeding sauce, bounce off tender smooth cheeks. He jams deep. The dadshaft throbs in the boycunt's sweet embrace. Jesse's belly swells every time his Dad fills him to the brim. "Now, guys," Keith growls over his shoulder, "watch me, 'cause I'm gonna show you how I fuck boys!" Keith withdraws. Slowly, groaning with despair as less and less of beloved soncunt encompasses his rock-hard boyfucker. Inch after inch of glistening dadcock emerges from Jesse's tight rectum. His son's flesh slurps lewdly on Keith's meat. Keith extracts eleven inches, leaving that final inch inside his son, holding the spasming sphincter open. "See it? See it, guys? See my cock in my boy?" The boys crowd father and son closely, masturbating crazily. Devon and Victor jostle for position, each needing to see the point where Keith's giant cock disappears into Jesse's squirming body. The class is too stunned to say anything. You probably shouldn't expose seventh grade boys to a live porn show of this intensity. I'm sure it warps their minds. The tight ring struggles to eject the titanic invader. It loses. Keith stuffs himself back in. Slowly. Jesse's toes curl. He cries out! But not in pain. His cry stems from the bottomless lust he feels for his Dad's titanic boyfucker. There's nothing of civilization and little of humanity left in Keith. Boys do that to men. Sons do it more intensely. Keith rams faster and faster, panting and grunting and growling. Gotta fuck his boy. Kid needs it. "You like it, don't you? You like it, you little slut? Tell me, Jesse!" "Fuck yeah, Dad, I love it!" "Gonna ram you, son! Gonna ram you all motherfucking day! You need it. You know you need it!" Keith powerstrokes his son. Sweat flies as his strokes hammer Jesse harder and harder. He wants the boys to get a good look at his nuts while he fucks. To see his fat dadshaft in glorious boyfucking action. To see it's the perfect instrument to open his son's butthole. And the boys do. Mouths hang open. Drool falls. Hands fly on boydick. "Oh fuck, Jesse," Keith pants, hips working, piledriving. "Yeah, Dad." The blond boy's head lolls on Dusker's desk. "Deeper!" "Can't go any deeper, kid," Keith pants. But he can fuck harder. So he does. The desk begins jumping on the floor, clattering like mad. This is too much! Boys begin squealing as orgasms explode in their brains. Drycums strike first. Lithe Devon falls to the floor, writhing, hips pumping madly, fist jerking at his dick, trying to shoot what doesn't yet exist. But real juicy action follows. An arc of white seed leaps from Ben Harrison's dick. The teen's been fighting it for a while. He's experienced Keith's cock. The memory causes a flood of juice to spackle Keith's sweaty back. Dad and son grunt, groan. striving, writhing against one another. Hairy flesh. Smooth flesh. Mature flesh. Flesh needing that maturity. "Yeah, boy," Keith murmurs. "I got my cock in you again. Just like that first time, yeah. Remember that, kid? It hurt, didn't it, son, getting my daddy dick up your butt the first time? Yeah. But I wanted it, so Daddy fucking took it. Shit, Jesse, I wanted your hot ass since you were nine. Sweet boy. Yeah. Daddy's got his fat dick where it belongs ..." Jesse arches his back, rising up into his Dad, and screams. They probably heard it in Raleigh. White goo flames out of his cock as if someone's set off a flare. Yeah. Sperm. From a smooth, hairless boy like Jesse Peake. The first gout catches in Keith's sweaty chest fur. The second shoots like a meteor and splatters on the whiteboard behind the desk. See, even though a Marine can be hot as hell, there are things only a Daddy can do. Only his daddy, the boyfucking Keith Peake, can make Jesse spurt the wet, gooey cum he craves to spatter the universe with. Jesse's dick fires rope after rope of cream like a machine gun. As he comes down from the high that only a boy whose taken his Dad up his ass knows, the intensity relaxes, and ropes of it streak his smooth chest. It was a fearsome thing. The classroom now resembles an ice cream factory that's suffered a catastrophic explosion. Strands of Jesse's cream sway from the ceiling. It dissolves yesterday's lesson, scrawled in dry erase marker. Fat slugs of it wriggle slimily over Keith's heaving torso. Victor Franco, staring in shock, topples over, jerking his dick, twitching and orgasming in epileptic abandon. "I'm gonna breed you, son, oh yeah, daddy's gonna breed you, yeah, Jesse, fuck that, daddy's gonna inbreed you, yeah, show you what I can SHOOT!" Keith's mouth gapes open. In the hot swampy night of Jesse's bowels, Keith's cock erupts. Keith can't make a damn noise. Can't scream. Can't yell. Can't bellow his boys name. To make noise, you gotta have a brain, and right now orgasm's eaten Keith's brain away. Yeah. He's coming. Coming in his son. Nothing is finer than juicing your son's ass. Keith's in boyfucker paradise. Keith shoots. And he shoots. And he shoots. It's less spectacular than Jesse's orgasm, because it's all going inside. But if you were measuring it, you'd have to measure what Keith floods Jesse's guts with in pounds. Every function of his body is devoted to pumping his testosterone-rich nutbutter into the hungry void of his son's ass. Only reason his heart beats is to shoot cum. Only reason he breathes is to shoot cum. Keith collapses onto Jesse. The smell of spunk overpowers even Keith Peake's powerful smell. The seventh grade health classroom reeks like an orgy palace. Boys lay as if felled by gunfire, chests heaving, dicks slackening. They stare at the ceiling. At the massive load Jesse spewed everywhere. The virgins are thinking thoughts they've never thought before. They're wondering -- but no, surely their Dads wouldn't do it with them. Keith withdraws his spent cock. For a moment his son's butthole gapes. The class can see hot nutbutter boiling inside Jesse's loose rectum, like lava in the throat of a volcano. Then it closes, trapping all that magical testosterone inside. The point of the lesson has been driven home. Yeah. These seventh graders gotta get mancock up their tight holes. Somehow. Some way. But they're gonna do it. They've got to follow Jesse to those places he's been exploring while his Dad fills his immature body with meat and spunk. Jesse's legs collapse on both sides of his father's thighs. He sighs, contentedly, stroking his Daddy's sweaty spine. The father kisses the son. Each becomes lost in the other. Clamor! Tumult! Mayhem! Everyone jumps. It's the bell, ringing. Class time is over. "OK," orders Dusker. "We're done here. You boys go change in the locker room. You're gonna be late but I'll give you a pass." He smiles. "I'll assign homework tomorrow." The boys rouse themselves and begin filing out. "Hey!" calls Dusker. "Don't be rude to our guest! What do you say to Mr. Peake?" "Thanks Mr. Peake!"