Date: Thu, 7 Mar 2024 07:32:10 -0500 From: Hank Subject: Sophomore Year 20 Sophomore Year 22 Hank's first full day in his new home continues much as it started, with several of Hank's doubts confirmed though in ways he had never imagined. Buck continues as his guide along the many twists and turns of this wondrous journey that lies ahead. Many thanks to all those who continue to send encouragement and share their own experiences and fantasies. I love hearing from Nifty readers. And remember - Nifty depends on our donations! Let's help it survive and thrive! If you have ever shot a load reading a Nifty post, then please contribute if you can at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html Sophomore Year 22 "Well, damn!" Buck eyed me from the doorway, "Is that Jack's singlet?" "Oh, I'm sorry, sir." I jumped, "I'll take it off." "I can't believe he left it." Buck continued as though I hadn't spoken. "He loves that thing." Attempting justification, I explained, "I just found it here in the closet..." "Wears it all the time." Buck went on as though alone, "Must be going crazy without it." "...and thought I'd try it on real quick." "Don't worry, sailor." Buck finally seemed aware of me. "Remember, I told `im, anything he leaves behind I'm sellin' off. Teach him a lesson. `Needs to learn to take better care of his stuff." Still embarrassed to be found wearing it, I insisted, "I'll fold it up nice and we can send it to him today." Buck seemed distracted again, looking at the floor. Trying to regain his attention, I continued, "I can take it by the post office on my way to work." "And what do we have here?" Buck crowed, completely ignoring my words. Scooping up the pair of crusty briefs I'd forgotten on the floor, he asked with a sly smile, "Could these be the source of that sweet boy-juice smell that greeted me in here this morning?" To my horror, he started bringing them up to his face. "No, no!" I hollered, "They're just dirty. And gross. I'll go toss `em in the laundry. Heck, I'll wash `em right now the sink." Which had been my original plan, I just didn't want to make noise in the middle of the night. I reached out to take them. Buck twisted away to keep them out of my reach. "Hmmm..." he took a deep breath as he held them to his nose. "I wouldn't say `gross.' Definitely a scent of sweaty boy nuts. That's one we're pretty familiar with around here." He chuckled. "And a little somethin' else..." This was torture. He was intentionally drawing this out, savoring my humiliation. "Kinda smells like it does when my boys get frisky. Yeah, that's it. Y'know, I can always tell boy cream from man cream by the smell. `Like it's sweeter or somethin'. See?" And he pressed the soiled briefs to my nose. When I started to protest, he brought his other hand to the back of my head and held it firmly. "Not gonna hurt ya," he soothed, "Sure you've smelled your own ball sweat and spunk before. What boy ain't? Kinda sweet, right? A little bleachy but not so much as a grown man's. We'll do a comparison some time and you can see for yourself." I had no idea how to respond to Buck's words. My head was spinning. "Meanwhile," and here his tone darkened, "I think we've already had a couple of conversations about `panties in the basket,' ain't we, Sailor? And not on the floor?" "Yes, sir." I responded, steeling myself for the storm I could feel brewing. "Well, how `bout this? How `bout you walk these fragrant little panties over to the basket, but with your hands behind your head?" "Uh, ok, sir." This did not sound like it was going to be too bad. "So how do I carry them then?" "Good question," he nodded, then leaned in so close I could feel his breath in my ear. "How `bout in your mouth, Sailor? In that pretty little mouth of yours." I felt a chill run up and down my spine. He stood back again. "Maybe that'll help you remember for next time. Now, arms up." And as I locked my fingers behind my head, I watched Buck inspect my briefs closely to find the crustiest part and, wrapping it over two fingers, he pointed it at my lips and hissed, "Open wide for Daddy." In a dazed state I did as instructed. With his two fingers, he tucked it deep into my mouth. It was humiliating and my face burned red. But I couldn't say it wasn't fair. I had been warned and had been careless. I had hoped Buck might look away, but he watched me like an eagle as I adjusted my jaw to the soiled cotton in my mouth. "That's it." He cooed softly, "now, bite down hard to hold `em in place." I did and then he started stroking my throat, like you do when you're trying to get a dog to swallow a pill. "Let's see ya take a nice big swallow there, sailor." I did and winced a little from the salty, acrid taste. I started towards the hall, but Buck detained me with a hand to my shoulder. "Not so fast there, Sailor. Let's take a good look at our boy, shall we?" and he marched me over to face the closet door mirror. I looked at the floor, not wanting to see myself in this predicament. "Look at yourself, son." Buck said softly yet firmly. "Take a good long look." I lifted my gaze and saw myself with a mouthful of last night's underwear and slobber already starting to drip down my chin. I could not imagine anything more humiliating. Whether from the sour taste or from shame, a tear formed in my eye. "There, there." Buck cooed. He gently reached over and taking a corner of the briefs hanging lowest from my mouth, used it to sop up the tear. It was a gesture both tender and cruel. "Ever seen yourself like this before?" Buck whispered. I emphatically shook my head back and forth to say `no,' causing the briefs to swing wildly. "No?" he continued, "Never made to stand in front of a mirror with last night's panties in your mouth, the crusty spots slowly melting on your tongue, releasing all that sweet boy cream flavor?" Again, I swung my head frantically, setting the briefs in motion. Another tear was forming. "You probably feelin' shame right now, huh, Sailor?" I nodded assent. "Well, that's OK. For a bit. But then you gotta a decision to make. You can let this break you, be stronger than you, and leave you more broken." I sniffed back another tear. "Or, you can look yourself in the eye and say `I am stronger than this. This will not break me.' You can take pride in facing your punishment like a man. You understand what I'm sayin'?" I nodded `yes.' Buck's behavior may seem a little excessive now, but I was thinking then that he'd been in the military and had raised two boys already and was probably very knowledgeable about the best methods to instill discipline. He was certainly getting to me in a way no one had before. They say a good coach must be willing to get right up in your face and be able to get inside your head. Buck seemed by his nature equipped to be a great coach. I was pretty certain that this lesson would stick with me for a very long time. "Alright then, Sport," Buck's tone turned gentle, and he again dabbed at my tears with my soiled briefs and even wiped my nose. "You're a good boy." He softly stroked my chest and for some reason, those simple words kindled a spreading warmth under his hand. "Now go drop those pretty panties in the laundry basket." And he sent me off with a gentle pat on my butt. "And remember," he called as I walked away, "next time, you might be chewin' on `em all day!" It was often hard for me to tell when Buck was kidding or serious. But I had learned enough already to be prepared for anything he said to turn out to be serious. ---------------------------------------------- After dropping my `panties' in the laundry basket, I came back into the room and, anxious for a change of topic, returned to Jack's singlet. "Again, sir, I'm sorry. I can pack up the singlet and take it to the post office today." Buck had taken a seat on the bed and again, as though he hadn't heard a word, commanded, "Come over here and let's take a look." Of course I obeyed. Just like with the shorts the day before and Captain Bill with the swimsuit, he started pulling and tugging here and there and smoothing out the fabric. Only once before, when my mom took me to get fitted for a suit to wear at my First Communion or Confirmation or something, had I ever had an adult man fuss over how a piece of clothing fit on me. I remember how it had totally surprised me at first, all the touching, but that I quickly came to enjoy it. Brisk but gentle, it almost resembled affection and triggered a warm feeling. I remembered it long afterwards and used to dream I was back there in that fitting room with the salesman. It felt a little weird with Buck because I was still unused to it, but it felt comforting, and lulled me like hypnosis, or like when a barber combs your hair. You revert to some sleepy, altered state. Meanwhile, Buck kept up a running narrative. "Hell, I think it might fit you better than Jack. Really shows off these tanks of yours." He started stroking both my ass cheeks, smoothing out the fit, slipping his finger under to readjust the leg strap of my jock, and then straightening out the leg band of the singlet. It felt like something between a tickle, a poke, and a caress. I closed my eyes and savored the sensation, like I'd seen dogs do when getting their belly scratched. I could have stayed glued to that spot for hours. But suddenly, with a stinging slap to my ass, he barked, "Now let's see how things're shapin' up in front." I slowly spun around drunkenly to face him. "Whoa!" he reacted in comic surprise, "Careful, ladies! Looks like there's a new stallion in the stable and he's fully equipped!" I opened my eyes to see Buck ogling my crotch. It took me a second to grasp that this was more of his play teasing, and I started to giggle. He went on, "Hell, even opponents on the mat gonna be scared when they see that comin' at `em. You plant all that on their face and their last memory's gonna be gaspin' for air while they're beggin' for mercy!" I knew he was acting silly and had started to laugh but then to my total shock, illustating his point, Buck smashed his face up against my crotch and rubbed it back and forth a few times, play-screaming, "Help, Mr. Hank, Mercy, I can't breathe!" I jumped back out of reflex, laughing a bit nervously. I had not engaged in that kind of horseplay since my uncle was alive. It brought back distant but very fond memories. Of course, I had seen guys kid around like that in the locker room before, but never engaged in it much myself. I definitely was not used to having another guy's face pressed against my crotch. Without missing a beat, as though nothing unusual had just happened, Buck asked, "That the captain's jockstrap under there?" I nodded `yes.' "Thought it felt familiar." And he rubbed his jaw as though recalling the sensation. "Smart move." And then, as if to explain what he'd meant, he added, "I'd be worried without it you might just bust right outa that flimsy thing!" He chuckled leaving me to wonder how the captain's jockstrap would come to feel familiar to his face. From wrestling maybe...? Guiding me back to the mirror, he added, "So, you're likin' his jockstrap, huh?" I nodded yes. "Well, `seems to like you, too, son." I didn't really know what those words meant, but I knew I liked the way they felt. I was also thankful that so far, Buck had only stood beside the mirror, so had yet to notice its cum-crusted condition. I wasn't ready to imagine what kind of reaction seeing that might trigger in my new host. Buck continued, "Don't think I've ever even seen this singlet worn with a jockstrap before." Not sure how to react, I followed one of Buck's strategies for when feeling nervous in a situation like this: I locked my fingers behind my head while he looked me over. "Nice to see that not every young guy with a big set of balls feels the need to swing `em around to show `em off." He gestured towards my crotch again, "they look plenty impressive as it is packed in that pouch." I didn't think I'd ever heard my balls referred to as particularly large before, except maybe by my uncle when kidding around about "las pelotas Perez." So even though it was very embarrassing to have somebody refer to them so specifically, I was still a little bit flattered. When I looked in the mirror, though, I noticed there was a sizeable wet spot on the singlet over my balls. I wasn't sure if maybe I had dripped a little at some point or if Buck had drooled on me in his horseplay. Or some combination of both. At a loss for how to respond to all this, and to avoid and comment on the wet spot from Buck, I mumbled the first thing that came to mind, "Trust the pouch." At that, Buck's face lit up like a Christmas tree. "There's my boy." He said warmly and stroked my cheek. "Only like this," and he repeated the phrase but reached down and cupped his balls as he said it. "Trust the pouch." A little tentatively, I did the same, reaching down, cupping my balls and repeating, "Trust the pouch." "There ya go!" and he raised his hand up for a handshake. We shook and it felt weird that we were clasping hands that seconds ago had been wrapped around our privates, but it also felt warm and comforting. Without skipping a beat, in his next breath Buck told me to come with him downstairs to help with some chores. "Sure," I said, "just let me change real quick." "Nah, why bother?" Buck dismissed my idea as he walked out the room. From the hallway he called, "Who do ya think's gonna see ya, anyway?" I followed him down the stairs. At the bottom, he turned and added, "Besides me, I mean," and gave a little wink.