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Subject: Punk Kids or Brent's Big Boner Chapter 07
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Punk Kids: or Brent's Big Boner
October 16, 2005

Disclaimer: 

If you are not yet 18 years of age, or if it is illegal to read materials of 
this kind where you live, then please stop now. This story is for adults, and 
contains descriptions of sexual activity between teenage boys initiated by 
them and with older men.  This story is completely fiction, all descriptions and 
names are also made up, and any similarities are truly just that, purely 
similarities.  I do not engage in or condone sexual activity between adults and 
teenagers which is regulated by law.  These are fantasies for sexual private 
sexual enjoyment, not for emulation in real life.  

I have not had the opportunity to write a major story, with the exception of 
one in collaboration with a colleague whose writing I admire.  My stories are 
posted on Paulie's Personal Web Site and on ASSGM.com.  I would appreciate 
comments on my writing which may be a bit rusty.  I certainly admire the good 
writers on the web, and consider myself still a learner.  Please contact me at 
glaucon55@aol.com.


Chapter:  07 Trapping Brent

Brent McDermott stood in his room dressed only in his baseball cap, his jock, 
leggings and his socks.  He had fantasized about Amy walking into his room in 
one of those black negligees he'd seen in a Victoria Secret catalog that 
Darryl Romberg had brought on the team bus on one of their road trips.  He 
imagined her licking her lips as she stared at his perfect body and bulging jock, and 
then envisioned her crawling up his body dressed as he was now, and him 
fucking her senseless.  But those fantasies only gave him a nut ache, and made his 
leaky prick soak his jock or briefs.  So he tried as much as possible not to 
go there too often.  As he swung his bat staring at the handsome, sexually 
powerful image in the mirror, his cock started to get stiff anyway.  Christ, he 
had not come for three days, trying hard to keep himself for Amy on the weekend 
even though his prick was driving him crazy, and the sight of his own body 
made his prick lurch.  He couldn't understand it, but whenever he was alone, 
staring at his gorgeous face with those sexy dimples and his hairy, teenage form, 
he would spring an erection.  He chalked it up to blue balls, but at the same 
time, he admired every inch of his own frame, just as much as the girls at 
school did.  

When Brent was thirteen he used to masturbate in his age group baseball 
uniform of the time, staring at his reflection as he lay in bed facing the mirror 
on his closet door.  Two years later watching his hand slide up his thick prick 
when he masturbated, and staring at his own handsome image, gave him almost 
as much excitement as the thought of slipping his boner into Amy's sticky cunt 
and having her milk the sperm out of him.  With a guilty look about his room, 
to make sure no one was watching him through his window, he grasped his 
semi-hard prick through his jock, and licked his tongue over his full, beautiful 
lips.  His cock drooled a bit of boy sap wetting the inside of his pouch, and he 
groaned as he squeezed one last time and let his randy teenage pecker go.

The boner problem was getting worse and worse.  He had even spoke to the 
youth priest in confession last week about the problem.  He figured he did not go 
to confession all that often, and hell, some old priest would not recognize 
his voice…it was a way to see if he could get some free tips on how to control 
his libido.  Of course Brent did not know that the deep voice on the other side 
of the screen was Father John Richardson, just 33 years old, and full of 
surprises.  

>From his days as an altar boy, Richardson had found ways to suck and jerk the 
penises of both priests and parishioners.  At thirteen he had jerked off 
Aaron Stern while they sat in their altar boy uniforms to the side of the altar 
during a service.  His hand had slipped under the flowing white gown, and as the 
homily droned on, he had released and then fisted the other boy's ever-hard 
bone till he squirted his sap into a Kleenex wrapped around his fat knob.  At 
fifteen John had been seduced by a young novice priest, whose smouldering good 
looks and deep blue eyes had caused him to melt into submission.  Each time 
they met, the Priest would strip him naked, sit him on his lap, and pluck his 
nipples as he palmed the boy's overheated prick.  Many a time, the young priest 
had milked two or three ejaculations from the young Richardson, much to the boy
's delight as he grunted and whined on the young priest's lap.  When he was 
in seminary, he found ways to seduce the horny, young men whose transition 
from secular to religious life was difficult at best.  In particular he recalled 
a young hunk from Wisconsin who had played football in high school before a 
short stint in the Army.  Carey Carlson would feign sleep and allow John to slip 
his hands under the bedding in the room they shared once the lights were out . 
 Then John could explore every inch of his roommates firm, muscular body.  
Many a night, Richardson would torture his young friend, searching out every 
sensitive place on his body, then slowly masturbating his fat knobbed prick, 
teasing it, and milking it with agonizing deliberation until the sweaty balls 
would launch wad after wad of the sticky, viscous sperm.  The room would be filled 
with the familiar stench of bleach from Carey's huge ejaculations.  On 
occasion he would continue to milk the young novice who would not admit that he was 
awake, making him writhe a bit on the bed as his sensitive prick was worked 
cruelly after the explosive cum.  More than once his persistence got another 
load from Carey's always full balls.  But they never once talked of what 
occurred, and later when they separated and said their good byes, it was as if nothing 
had ever happened in the room at night.

All these experiences had prepared Father Richardson for the role he was 
about to play in the saga of Brent McDermott's ever stiff boner.  The good Father 
had modified the screen in one of the confessionals so that it could be 
removed if necessary.  In addition, while the screen on the parishioners side 
obscured any sightlines, on the priest's side it offered a clear view of who was 
sitting there. Already, Father Richardson has managed to suck the cocks of a 
seventeen year old street punk whose mother insisted that he go to confession, a 
Marine back from basic training whose long hairy legs and thick cock resulted 
in confessions weekly, and two young fathers who swung more ways than their 
wives realized.  Each of these men thrust their hips against the screen and 
flattened themselves against the partition to force their throbbing pricks into the 
wet, hot mouth of the voracious priest.  Moreover, Richardson had persuaded 
younger boys, as part of the confession, to demonstrate their masturbation that 
they were confessing.  As these boys performed what they thought was a 
private reenactment for God, the good Father was watching intently and rubbing his 
own leaking penis to an explosive ejaculation as these boys from thirteen to 
fifteen wrung several healthy young loads from their hard peters.  

When Brent arrived at the confession booth, Father Richardson thought he had 
scored a bonanza.  There before him in dress slacks, dress shoes, a dress 
shirt and tie was fifteen years of male perfection, big and with a masculine if 
vulnerable sexuality.  Once Brent was in the booth, Father Richardson got what 
he wanted.  

"My son, what can I help you with today?"

"Father, forgive me, for I have sinned."

"God will forgive you my son, what have you done that requires the Lord's 
forgiveness?"

"Father, I have urges and needs, and I have sinned by, ah, by, well, you, 
know, giving in.  I couldn't help myself father."

"My son, perhaps you should tell me exactly what you did, or what happened to 
put your soul in jeopardy."

"Ah, well, if I have to, okay, I guess I can tell you, huh, Father."

"Yes my son, the church has provided you with a shelter, a place to protect 
your soul and redeem yourself.  Tell me what has happened, and we shall see 
what we can do to ensure your grace."

"Well, it's like this Father, I really like this girl at school…her name in 
Amy."

"Love is the virtue of youth and a gift of God, is this your sin my son?"  
Father Richardson knew that Brent had something more private to share, he had 
been through this drill with other straight teenage boys.  But he wanted to 
calm any fears, and gradually lure Brent into his snare.

"Actually Father, it's not just that I like Amy, it's that I get feelings 
when I think about her…you know, guy feelings."

"Ah, you mean you have the lust of Adam, and the wants of a man with a woman? 
 Well son, God has made you as a healthy male.  You will mature into a virile 
man, and you will marry and plant your seed in your wife, and will procreate 
as God and the church intend so that our Christian community can continue to 
grow and be strong."

"So you don't think its wrong if I, ah, you know, get an erection?"  Brent 
blushed in his cubicle, not realizing that Father Richardson could see him 
clearly.  Brent reached down and adjusted his slacks, even talking about Amy and 
erections, made his unruly penis begin to fill with blood, the fat knob, begin 
to itch.  Even as he spoke to the screen earnestly, his big left hand began to 
unconsciously knead the swelling prick.

Father Richardson, watched as Brent began to absently massage his swelling 
prick knob, trying to relieve the ticklish itch.  "My son boys your age are 
supposed to achieve regular and constant erections.  No doubt your virility and 
normal sexual desires make you even more susceptible to constant erections.  
Tell me, when do you get them, and what do you do when you get them.  Tell me 
about the last week, in detail."

Brent squeezed his eyes shut, and his sweaty palm increased the speed of 
massaging his now rigid boner.  "Fuck" he thought, Father was going to make him 
go through his problem chapter and verse, and he wasn't going to be able to 
just skim over the details. Shit, he was lucky no one could see him, 
aaaaagggggghhhhh…." he groaned under his breath as his fingers stroked the feverish 
prong, now beginning to leak in his cotton briefs.  

"Ah, okay Father, well, let's see, since last week, I guess I've been having 
erections every day, sometimes more than once.  Is that what you need to know?
"

"Okay my son, so you have had erections each day, how did you deal with them…
tell me."

("Oh fuck," Brent thought…"here it comes.")  "Well, I guess I do what most 
guys do Father, sometimes I take a shower and try to ignore 'em, and then 
sometimes I jerk… ah, I mean, I masturbate."  Brent grasped his boner firmly, 
letting his thumb slide back and forth over the aching knob, squeezing his eyes 
shut and waiting for Father Richardson so respond.  Sweat was gathering under 
his arms, and beads were beginning to appear on his forehead.

"My son, your seed is a gift of God, it is precious.  It should only be shed 
or spread under the guidance of the church.  Tell me, how many times you have 
masturbated this past week, and under what circumstances.  I will tell you how 
we can address this problem, once you fully disclose your conduct."

("Oh shit…..") "Gosh Father, I guess the first time in the last seven days 
was last Saturday.  I woke up on Saturday morning thinking about Amy, and 
with, you know, an erection.  Everyone else was downstairs, so I just rolled over 
and began to grind my penis into the bed.  Gosh father, that felt sooo good.  
I just kept screwing the bed, and grinding my penis into the sheets.  But I 
was afraid I'd make a mess, I always seem, you know, to shoot a lot of cum…ah, 
I mean I ejaculate quite a bit of sperm, so I turn over and use one of my gym 
socks."

"Were you naked under your sheets my son, and what did you do with the sock? 
(Richardson smiled, knowing that his probing questions would only make Brent 
more uncomfortable, and his prick grow harder).  Is the sock part of what you 
use when you masturbate.  Do you grasp your erection and begin stroking 
yourself? And how do you use the sock?"

("Fuck…!) Yes, Father, I was naked…I often sleep naked or just in my sleep 
shorts.  I didn't just start stroking…I have the sock under my mattress, so I 
slipped it over my bon… I mean my erection, and cause I make a lot of natural 
lube, I just started to stroke the sock up and down."  Brent could not help 
himself, he unzipped his pants and slid his hand into his briefs, grasping his 
thick penis, and sliding his rough finger pads over and round the bloated knob, 
now sopping in its own juices.

"So you produce a great deal of pre-ejaculate…and you used that 
pre-ejaculate to lubricate your penis inside the sock, and then allow the sock to provide 
an artificial sleeve into which to masturbate your penis and shoot your sperm."

"(Oh Chirst….)Yeah, Father, that's how it happened."  Brent's fingers 
danced over and tickled the aching tip of his fat prick.

"How long did it take you to achieve your ejaculation, and what were you 
thinking about, please be specific.  Do you have a special technique that you use 
when you are masturbating your penis?"

"Aw gee Father, do we have to talk about that?"  By now, Brent was kneading 
his penis firmly, thumbing the leaking prick knob, making it tingle and 
tickle, squeezing his eyes shut at the ticklish sensations racked him.

"Yes my son, I need to know how far you have traveled down the road of 
self-abuse.  For example, do you touch other parts of your body?"

("Mother fucker…..") "Ah, yeah, father, sometimes."

"Where, and what do you do, now we need to have you stop procrastinating, and 
give me the details."

"Yes, Father, well, I also play with my nipples."  Even as he spoke, with 
his eyes closed, Brent stretched his long legs out and slouched on the 
confessiional bench.  His left hand continued to maul the thick tube and blunt knob of 
his erection, but his right hand reached up and tweaked his left nipple 
through his shirt as he described what he did the previous Saturday morning in bed.

Father Richardson was gratified by what he saw.  His own 7.5 inch boner was 
rigid in his pants, and was itself leaking into his briefs.  He reached down 
and unzipped his slacks, and slid his hand inside and extracted his throbbing 
erection.  With a sigh of satisfaction, and a stifled groan, he rolled his fist 
up his penis, over the tip and back down, picking up the drops of pre-cum, and 
smoothing them into the tingling flesh.  Struggling to keep his voice normal, 
Father spoke to Brent, "Go on son, tell me what you did…."

"Aw…jeez Father, this is so hard (not realizing the play on words as he 
rubbed his stiff boy pecker), I lay on my back, and I plant my feet and bring my 
knees up so I have some leverage.  Using one hand to play with my ah, nipples, 
I slide the sock up and down on my penis with the other. I kinda like to rub 
the head, but not too much cause its so sensitive (Father's erection burped 
more pre-cum as he listened to Brent's description), so I kinda stroke and then 
roll the sock over the knob real quickly, then go back to my shaft."  As he 
spoke, Brent looked furtively around the cubicle as if to see if anyone could see 
him, checked that the door was locked, and then using both hands, pushed his 
pants and briefs to his ankles.  His freed, thick 8-inch cudgel curved hard 
toward his stomach.  The moment his fist closed around the knob of his boner, 
his eyes closed again and his other hand went up reflexively to unbutton his 
dress shirt so he could slip his fingers inside and tweak his nipple directly.  
Now Brent was on auto-pilot, his thick fingers doing what boys' fingers across 
America and the world do when their sexual heat gets high, frigging their 
boners and playing with their big, hunky bodies.  His legs were stretched tautly 
out in front of him, and his body jerked each time his rough palm slid over the 
sensitive tip of his raging prong.  It took all his concentration not to 
betray what he was doing when he spoke to Father Richardson.  Little did he know 
that he was giving the Father a fabulous show, of slutty teen masturbation, by 
an All-American jock hunk.

"Is this a full description of how you touch yourself my son, just your 
nipples and your penis?  Or is there more…?"

Brent gasped as his fist slid over his cock head, and he yielded one last 
detail that almost made the good Father ejaculate on the spot.  "Well, I 
sometimes rub a finger against my anus Father, I know it's a dirty thing to do, and I 
know that men don't play with their asses, but it feels so strange, and good, 
I just can't help it.  I don't do anything else, unless I'm in the shower, 
and then sometimes I slip my finger inside to maybe the first knuckle.  But when 
I am in bed, I just tickle my pucker once in a while, then go back to my tits…
I mean my nipples."  By now, Brent was furiously wanking his big boy bone, 
sliding his fist up and over, circling his palm around the bulging knob and 
twisting his fist around it to induce more lubricant to bubble up and out of the 
wide piss lips.  The fat plum of his cock head was being chaffed by the rough 
skin of his palm, and the rigid stalk, curved and hard, shone with the slick 
juices of his boy sap, leaking from the knob and wetting the shaft as his fist 
slid up, over and down.  Each time his palm raked over the apple of his 
oversized prick tip, his body jerked and he squeezed the rubbery stiffness of his 
teats to distract him from the sensation.

Now it was Father Richardson's turn to maintain his self-control as his fist 
slid up and round the turgid pole jutting from out of his slacks.  He had been 
blessed with a thick penis, with a bulbous knob and deep piss lips which 
filled with his leakage.  So with his feet were planted wide and his torso 
slightly slouched, his mature fist kneaded the tingling rock hard cock.  He was so 
experienced masturbating in the confessional, he did not need too much 
adjustment to shoot a thick, juicy wad of priest cum.  Making sure he did not gasp and 
almost biting his lip, he spoke again to Brent: "What were you thinking my 
son, let us rid you of these impure thoughts, reveal them so we can deal with them
…."  Father squeezed his eyes shut as his rough fist and palm tortured the 
fat plum of his wet glans, now fully slick with his own leaking pre-fuck.  

Brent was in no better shape.  He was not completely slouched, his feet 
turned outwards, his pants and briefs at his ankles, one hand twisting his nipples, 
sending shocks through his prick, and the other hand grinding the fat knob 
and stalking of his boner, milking it ruthlessly.  "Father (he croaked, then 
whispered), I know I shouldn't think impure thoughts, but hell…I mean heck, I can
't help it.  Every time I see Amy I think how soft her skin is, and how 
perfect her mouth is, and how much I want to make love to her….we've made out and…
you know, she's so wet and her tits…I mean her breasts, there so sensitive.  
I just can't keep her out of my thoughts, and when I was jerking I kept 
thinking how nice it would feel to slide my prick…I mean my penis, into her.  I 
swear Father, I think we're gonna get married some day, so it's not like we're 
committing a sin.  Cause someday we're gonna be husband and wife and it'll be 
okay…but I can't hold it Father, I need to cum, I mean to ejaculate sometimes, 
and it feels so good when that sock is working over my penis like it was Amy'
s pussy…I mean, oh jeez, you know what I mean Father………"  At that moment, 
Father Richardson watched as Brent balled one fist and stuck it in his mouth 
after tweaking his tit one last time, and then gripping his raging prong just 
under the head, rope after rope of sticky boy juice squirted from the bulging 
glans and piss lips.  One, two, three, four, five, six, seven streams of cum 
bolted from the big teen prick, wetting his chest where his shirt had spread .  
This fourteen year old hunk was a sperm factory already, and his cock had basted 
his chest up to his nipples, only his own thumb preventing him from shooting 
scum up to his face.   At the same time, Father Richardson's own twitching 
penis squirted five long streams of sticky man cum across the cubicle, his mouth 
open, taking his breath in pants as he watched the beautiful boy masturbate his 
boner into submission.  Both both and priest shuddered and then fisted their 
overly sensitive prick knobs.  Unlike Brent though, Richardson had years of 
experience in controlling his response to the overwhelming feelings that fisting 
a bloated prick head after an ejaculation could cause.  As he wrung his hand 
of the starchy, sticky fluids, he spoke to Brent who was using a tissue from 
his pocket to wipe off his hands, and sop up as much of his cum as possible, 
while avoiding the achey, itchy knob of his penis.  

"My son, you are to keep your hands off your penis! (he spoke with deep 
sincerity and gravity)  I'm sure there were more times this past week you played 
with your penis, and more times that you spilled your sacred seed.  You don't 
need to describe them, or to deny that you did it.  We both know that you did.  
(Brent slumped in the next cubicle as if he realized the priest knew him too 
well)  God gave you your male member to impregnate a wife and to produce 
children in holy wedlock to continue mankind.  You must not waste your seed on 
adolescent self-abuse and impure thoughts.  Let your penis stay hard, let it leak 
in your pants if necessary.  If it twitches and leaks from deprivation, it is 
the restraint of purity.  If it aches rubbing against your briefs or against 
the sheets at night, remember that God knows if you are engaging in sinful and 
lustful onanism.  But if you find that you cannot control your urges, you are 
to return to me and this confessional, and we will deal with your problem 
discreetly and privately.  I will minister to you directly.  Do you understand my 
son?"  Say twenty-five Hail Mary's and pray for forgiveness.  Now go home, 
take a cold shower and keep you hands away from impure activities."

Brett blushed deeply again, realizing how stupid he had been to masturbate 
while he was in the confessional, and hoping that he had cleaned up all the 
evidence in the darkened space.  What if the Father had detected what he had done? 
 But he was fortunate, he'd gotten away with it since no one could see him.  
Now he would try to follow the Father's instructions.  He would struggle to 
control his urges to masturbate, even when his prick tip tingled and leaked.  If 
he needed help, he would consider coming back to Father Richardson.  "Father, 
thank you…I feel much better. I'll do what you asked, and if I have 
problems, I'll let you know.  Thank you Father, thank you very much."  With his 
clothes in order, and his prick beginning to shrink, Brent slipped out quietly as 
the priest smiled.  He knew if Brent did what he was told, he would see him 
again soon.  No fifteen year old boy with a body and cock like that could resist 
stroking himself.  Father Richardson felt sure he had another conquest.

As Brent left the confessioinal cubicle, the air smelled strongly of sperm.  
But Father Richardson still had another two hours to provide relief to 
sinners, and he knew at least one other teenage boy who would be coming in to slide 
his fat boner through the screen for some special attention.  He licked his 
lips and waited in anticipation.

Johnny Sets up Brent

Unwittingly, Brent was trapped by his lust for Amy and his desperate struggle 
to control his prick.  At fifteen, he wanted nothing more than to stroke his 
penis into submission if he could not thrust it deeply into a hot, clinging 
cunt.  But he could do neither.  Amy would not let him into her pussy yet, and 
Brent's strict upbringing had made him turn to the church and Father Richardson'
s advice on how to manage his teenage hormones.  Nothing could assist Johnny 
more in his quest to gain control of Brent's body.  Brent's unrelenting 
horiness would become Johnny's foil.  He would use that weakness to push Brent into 
a situation from which he could not escape, and he would become the master of 
the older teenage boy's remarkable teenage penis.

Johnny began, by tracking Brent's every personal move.  One Saturday morning 
when he saw Brent leave for baseball practice he took his chance.  He went 
next door and asked Brent's mom if he could go up to Brent's room and borrow a 
basketball.  Brent's mom knew Johnny's mom, and had watched Johnny grow up 
next door.  It never dawned on her that there was anything untoward about Johnny'
s request.  As she went down to the basement to continue with her laundry, 
Johnny raced upstairs to Brent's room.  The room was surprisingly neat, like 
Brent.  The bed was made, and even though there was baseball gear on the 
floor(bats, balls, gloves, uniforms, gym bags), it was organized and stacked carefully. 
 Johnny quickly went to several locations, two in the bedroom, and two in the 
adjacent bathroom.  There he installed remote cameras and microphones.  He 
also went to to Brent's computer, and although it was off, he was able to attach 
a device to Brent's DSL connection.  Time was passing, and he had to get out 
of the house before Brent's mom came upstairs and found him.  He went to Brent'
s closet and found a basketball, and as he was turning to leave, he saw 
something on the floor near the hamper that made him stop.  It was one of Brent's 
used jock-straps, and a pair of soiled leggings and baseball socks.  
Impulsively, Johnny scooped them up and stuck them under his jacket.  Then he raced 
downstairs, and through the kitchen door as he heard Brent's mom coming back up 
the basement steps to the kitchen.  

When he got to his bedroom, Johnny closed the door and hauled Brent's clothes 
out.  He thrust the crusty pouch of the jock strap under his nose.  The 
starchy scent of testicles assaulted his nostrils and he inhaled deeply, his dick 
going hard with the thought of Brent's balls full of boy sap.  Then he picked 
up the socks and sniffed the soiled toes, stinky with boy toe sweat, but not 
raunchy or rancid.  These treasures would inspire Johnny until he was able to 
have Brent in his hands.  He put the stolen items into a shoe box and slipped 
them under his bed for use at night before he went to sleep.  Then he went to 
his complex computer, video and audio set up to ensure that the remotes he 
placed in Brent's room all registered on his apparatus.  Within minutes he had 
everything set up to record Brent's toilet, his shower, his bed, and a panorama of 
the room.  He also could pick up any sounds in the room or bathroom.  He set 
his system to activate on motion or sound.  The trap was about to be sprung.

Brent was sitting in the back of the van on the way back from practice.  The 
guys were goofing off, talking trash---but Brent was leaning against the 
window staring intently out the window, trying to will down the erection in his 
uniform.  His big, hairy hand was kneading the aching prong trying to force its 
way to full erection in spite of his best efforts.  Fuck, when he sprung a 
boner in his jock, his dick would get strangled first, but its size and strength 
would eventually lead to the damn thing protruding outside his pouch and now he 
was leaking onto his hairy leg, making the fat knob itch from the bristling 
contact.  He could not get Amy out of his head…he wanted to get home, get 
showered, and take her out to the movies tonight.  He needed to cum, and he did not 
care whether it was her soft fist or some hot action---maybe (he prayed, and 
his cock lurched) a blow job, but he needed to get off TONIGHT!

When he scampered out of the van and said a quick good-bye to the guys, he 
sprinted through the front door and up the stairs to his room.  He vaguely heard 
his mother saying something about Johnny borrowing something from him…but he 
could have cared less.  All he wanted to know was how long it was going to be 
until Amy's soft lips were on his, and her soft hand was tickling his fat 
prick knob until he squirted a gallon of boy jizz.  He closed the door, and 
grabbed his cell phone from the dresser and made a call, and then as he breathlessly 
waited for Amy to answer, he began kicking off his sneakers, and peeling off 
his clothes.  

As he stripped down to his jock strap, socks and leggings, Brent forced the 
tight strap down and allowed his throbbing erection to spring out, its fat tip 
already wet and sticky from emissions during the ride home.  When Amy picked 
up the call, Brent's fist slid slowly up and down his penis, milking out more 
pre-ejaculate, lubricating his fist as it allowed him to relieve the tension .  
And as he started to talk, as he worked the teenage boner cautiously, Johnny's 
cameras and microphones were in action.

"Am, jeez, for a second I didn't think you were gonna pick up…when are we 
meeting tonight?"

"Brent, I've got some bad news…I've come down with a low fever, but my mom 
won't let me out…she says I have to stay home and rest.  I tried to tell her 
we would not be out late, and we would stay indoors, but she said no.  I'm 
sooooooo sorry baby, I was looking forward to seeing you…but my mom won't budge."

"Awww cripes, damn, I was really hoping we'd get together tonight, I've been 
looking forward to it all day," Brent's fist slid up his rigid pole, and 
palmed the leaking glans, making him shudder even as he controlled his voice into 
the cell phone.  "You think you might be feeling better tomorrow?"

"Even if I am, our family is driving out of town to visit friends, that's 
why my mom is so unwilling to let me go out tonight.  She wants to make sure I'm 
feeling better for tomorrow."  Amy bit her lip, and her other hand kept 
moving under her shorts and panties.  If Brent only knew that Amy's beautifully 
manicured index fingernail with its red polish was rubbing lazily back and forth 
over her engorged clit before it dipped down to slip between her labia to 
gather some sticky juice to keep her finger-pad lubricated, he would have 
ejaculated immediately.  The very place he needed to soak his fat prick knob, Amy was 
teasing while he masturbated in burning frustration.  Two horny teens, talking 
so innocently to one another, and both were on the verge of a huge climax.  "
I gotta go baby, mom is calling to me and I can hear her coming upstairs.  I'
ll talk to you on Monday. Maybe we can get together Monday night and go to the 
Library, after your practice and dinner.  Call me Sunday night…miss you."

Brent made his good bye, professing his undying love, even as he nursed his 
unrelenting lust.  The moment he ended the call, he groaned out loud as his 
fist continued to slide slowly over the sticky helmet of his raging boner.  "I 
fucking need to cum…." he croaked loud enough for him to hear, but no one else 
in the house.  What he did not know, was that Johnny was recording every 
movement and every sound.  

Brent reached down under his bed, and out came a sock.  "I can't fucking 
wait, I can't… sorry Father, I can't hold out….I need it bad, and my girl's not 
available to help my blue balls, I need to shoot my crud and I gotta do it now
…"  Every time Brent spoke, Johnny was carefully listening and recording.  
But Brent pulled a surprise that caught Johnny off guard, but would open an 
even more satisfying opportunity.  "Aw Christ, why did I have to say 'Father', 
fuck, I better call him, Jesus Father, you better have a good idea, cause I'm 
not gonna wait till Sunday unless it's really good, and my balls stop aching."

Brent picked up his cell phone, and called the cell phone number Father 
Richardson had given him if he needed any assistance coping with his "problem."  
He hadn't called yet, much to Richardson's regret, but he was about to get a 
stunning surprise and an opportunity to do more than watch one of the hunkiest 
teens in the community.  

Brent waited as the number rang, impatient that the call would be switched to 
message, and he wouldn't get through, when suddenly it was picked up:  "
Hello, this is Father Richardson, can I help you?"

"Hey Father, this is Brent, Brent McDermott, you remember I came to 
confession a few days ago, and we talked about a personal problem?"

"My son, I gave you my phone number, but you did not give me your name.  
Perhaps you can help me by recalling our discussion, or your problem."  Father 
Richardson recognized Brent's voice, but he wanted to make the boy humiliate 
himself, and admit to his needs.

"Ah, Father, it was kinda personal, something I'd rather not discuss on the 
phone, but maybe we could talk this afteroon before dinner…I could come down 
to the church and we could meet in the confessional.  Would that work?"

"Brent, I hope you don't mind if I call you by your first name, would this 
be about the sin of masturbation, and difficulties you were having controlling 
your urge to play with your penis?"

There was a silence, and then Brent spoke slowly and reluctantly.  "Yeah, 
Father, that was me…I'm having a real problem, and before I go astray, I'd 
really appreciate your guidance."  In the meantime, Johnny had sprung a full boner 
of his own, listening to Brent and Father Richardson.  The moment the priest 
began to speak about masturbation, Johnny began to knead his boy prick, and 
work the inflamed knob.  The Father and Brent had been discussing Brent's 
masturbation!  Holy Shit!  And now, Brent was going down to see Father Richardson, to 
talk with him about it some more.  He listened as the two agreed to meet in 
forty-five minutes, and in the confessional booths at the far end of the 
church.  There was only one thing for Johnny to do, get there first.  

Johnny grabbed some of his electronic devices, and flew downstairs, telling 
his mom that he had to get to Darren's house with some school work immediately. 
 He jumped on his bike, and flew down the street, only five minutes away from 
St. Mary's.  He locked his bike around the corner, and then made a discreet, 
quiet entrance to the church.  He scoped out the sanctuary, and saw where the 
alcove where the confessional was located and the priest had directed Brent to 
go.  Quickly and quietly he worked his way to the alcove.  He noted that the 
cubicles where Father Richardson and Brent had agreed to meet were currently 
empty.  The Father on duty was at the other end of the aisle, and the door to 
the booth in which the confessor would sit was open.  The priest was on his 
own, and the privacy gave Johnny the time and cover he needed.  It took him ten 
minutes, but he was able to place a remote camera and speaker into the 
confessional booth behind where the priest would sit, and then another in the confessor
's booth that would capture the small panorama of the cubicle.  He wanted to 
make sure to get Brent's face, as well as the words between him and Father 
Richardson.  Little did he know that he would get much, much more, and that it 
would feed perfectly into his plans for Brent.  Johnny made sure there was no 
one in the alcove, and as quietly as he slipped in, he slipped out, getting back 
on his bike, and heading home.  He needed to be ready to capture the intimate 
details that Brent would be sharing with Father Richardson, information that 
he hoped would help.  But what was about to happen would not only help Johnny, 
it would provide a venue for some of what he had planned for Brent.

As Johnny raced home on his bike, his still erect prick was rubbing madly 
against his shorts, torturing the burning knob, and making him leak like a sieve. 
 When he arrived he ditched his mountain bike in the garage, and sprinted 
upstairs to get to his computer, monitors, and speakers.  

At the same time, Brent was walking down the street to get to St. Mary's and 
Father Richardson.  He had showered quickly, all neatly captured on Johnny's 
equipment, especially when he soaped and massaged his long, thick cock, unable 
to keep himself from playing with the big prick and working it into a tingling 
erection.  But in spite of massaging the soft, lubricating suds over his 
raging boner, and plying the sensitive glans, he finally wrenched his fist away 
from his cock.  He got out of the shower, dried himself and dressed casually, so 
he could get to Father Richardson and what he hoped would be a miraculous 
relief.  The clock was ticking, and even as Brent walked his big boy penis was 
still leaking, soiling the clean white briefs and causing it to chaff the 
sensitive knob.  Soon, Brent McDermott would lose control of the cock which was the 
center of his teenage focus, and the object of his frantic efforts for sexual 
relief.

To be continued…I appreciate all the comments I have received since I began 
posting this story.  Since this is my first written work on my own in two 
years, I will continue to look forward to hearing from you. Glaucon55@aol.com
20051121025809
