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Date: Sun, 27 Nov 2005 13:51:18 -0600
From: Glaucon55@aol.com
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Subject: Punk Kids or Brent's Big Boner Chapter 08
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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:  08
 
When Brent arrived at the church, he went straight to the alcove where the 
confessional was maintained, and to the same booth he had used last time he 
spoke with Father Richardson, as the Father instructed over the phone.  He looked 
about furtively, and blushed as he walked into the booth.  The last time he 
had been in that booth, he had shot scum from his aching pecker, and the thought 
of it made his whorish prick stiffen and leak a bit.  Brent still did not 
know that the Father had watched him masturbate during the confession, nor that 
the screen between the two booths could be removed---if necessary.  All he knew 
is that he was unable to control himself the last time he had been here; the 
town's most handsome and athletic boy, with an unruly penis that seemed to 
have a mind of its own. 
 
For his part, Father Richardson was ready.  Earlier in the day he had "
counseled" one of the altar boys.  Morgan Kenney was a twelve year old with an 
attitude.  Mature physically for his age, he already had a sprout of hair above his 
penis, and that unruly member was only four inches when erect, but stood 
straight up and had a fat cap, often wet and sticky from the thoughts going 
through the boys head.  Morgan's mother had approached Father Richardson about what 
could be done to bring her twelve year old son under control.  Since his 
father had divorced Mrs. Morgan and married another woman, moving out of the area, 
the boy had become more rebellious and angry.  It wasn't enough to have him 
serve as altar boy, Mrs. Morgan felt that her son needed a man in his life, one 
who could exert some authority over him.  Father Richardson had been only to 
happy to assist.  He could play the part of stern father confessor, and soon 
had Morgan in sessions where the boy's attitude was punished in unorthodox ways. 
 It began with push-ups, escalated to humiliations like standing in the 
corner with his pants at his ankles, and ended up with good old fashioned 
spankings.  Fortunately, for Father Richardson, whenever Morgan got a spanking, he 
developed a rigid erection.  Each time the priests open palm connected with his 
taut buttocks covered by his white briefs, Morgan's pricklet would become like a 
four inch bar of steel, and on more than one occasion, Richardson had felt 
the tell-tale signs of shuddering and writhing on his lap as he gave Morgan his 
punishment.  
 
Soon the fiction was removed by the good priest advising Morgan that his was 
a sin of sexual depravity at an early age, and that unless he cooperated, he 
would be sent to a special camp where boy's like him learned attitude 
adjustment and a disciplined work ethic.  Fearing the influence that Father Richardson 
had with his mother, Morgan agreed to the priest's regimen which included the 
weekly spankings now on his bare ass with his briefs and pants at his ankles, 
and a ritual milking of his hard prick.  Morgan was disgusted by the thought 
of another guy handling his dick, but he could not resist the sensations 
produced when Father Richardson's calloused palm closed around his short, thick 
pricklet and brought him to at least two and often three shuddering ejaculations 
at each visit.  Today, after his spanking had resulted in the expected 
erection, Morgan had been required to strip naked, and lean back on his haunches on 
the Father's desk, his hands resting at his ankles, bowing his firm torso up and 
out.  The position accentuated his hard boy dick, it's ruddy knob, wet with 
anticipation.  Father had prayed as always, and made Morgan do the same in that 
awkward, lewd position.  Then the priest had taken some "holy oil" anointed 
his hands and while one frigged the boy's willing boner, the other had snaked 
in between his muscled thighs and found under his bouncing testicles the 
ragged line of his anus.  Working with a determined stroke, Father Richardson's 
index finger had wormed its way inside Morgan's resisting sphincter, and coupled 
with his relentless fist, he had brought the young boy to a shattering 
ejaculation, with pellets of his boy cum flying from the expanded cock head as the 
priest ruthlessly twisted it in his insatiable grip.  Morgan was given brief 
interludes, filled with praying, and then two more times his helpless pricklet 
was thumbed, squeezed, and roiled to delicious ejaculations.  The second time 
Father Richardson had tweaked his nipples, sending electric shocks to his penis 
as the fist slide up, over and down his stalk, and the third time he was 
required to suck two fingers while he was masturbated.  Ricahrdson had told him 
that the insertion of the fingers was a symbol of his silence before God, but in 
fact it merely reduced the boy to a helpless, distracted punk as his fat cock 
knob was mauled into submission one final time by the greedy priest.  Before 
he left, Morgan was admonished to keep his hands off of his penis, the priest 
reminding him that if their sessions did not produce strong ejaculations he 
would know that the boy had been engaging in proscribed behavior.  So Morgan 
left, realizing that his desperate boy need to cum would only be satisfied at the 
hands of this young priest, and resigned himself to another week of difficult 
self-control and spontaneous erections as he waited for his appointment with 
the uncompromising cleric.  Father Richardson had enjoyed his session, and 
masturbated furiously after the boy had left to relieve his own leaky prick.  But 
with Brent's call, his ardor was restored, and already his cock was stiff in 
anticipation of dealing with the most beautiful boy in the parrish.
 
When Brent entered the confessional booth, closed the door and sat down, he 
was immediately greeted by the Father's deep voice:  "My son, I am grateful 
that you called me before you gave into the temptation of the flesh.  Let us see 
if together we can find a way to keep your hands and heart pure, and to 
transfer your guilt and sin from your shoulders to mine."  Little did both of them 
know, that as they spoke, a third party was monitoring the entire scene, 
Johnny was gently massaging his rock-hard dick, scratching his nail across the 
sensitive tip through his shorts, and watching the split screen that showed both 
booths as well as capturing the sound.
 
"Father, I did as you said, I kept my hands from my penis, and did not 
masturbate to ejaculation…but, Father, I can't go this way for days and days 
without gettting sorta backed up, you know, my testicles ache  I gotta find a way to 
release the pressure.  Can you suggest anything, please Father, otherwise I 
feel like I'm gonna explode."  Assuming again that no one could see him, Brent 
began to massage his big basket with his long, thick fingers, and his cock 
hardened and lengthened, snaking up from his loose briefs, beyond the waistband, 
towards his navel.  The fat knob rested on his stomach against the depression 
where his hairy navel was located.  He unbuttoned his shirt and he let his 
thumb tease the leaky, fat knob that was exposed.  He closed his eyes, and 
pulled out the flaps of his shirt so that his cock drool would not stain it, and 
his thumb could have unfettered access.  As he grazed his fat plum, his tits 
hardened, and made cones in the material of his shirt.
 
"Brent my son, there are times when youth is beyond understanding the ways of 
God and man, and we should turn our hearts, souls, and bodies over to those 
who are experienced in managing the burdens of sin.  Do you understand my son?"
 
"Ah, I'm not sure Father…" Brent's furrowed his brow in an inquisitive 
manner, even though his eyes were closed and his fingers were toying with his fat 
mushroom cap.  
 
"Recently my son (Father Richardson lied), I had a case where a young man who 
was about to be married was in your situation.  I reminded him that in 
particular before his wedding, he could not spill his seed.  That he should save for 
the wedding night, in the arms of his wife.  He begged me to help him, 
because he did not feel he could resist the temptation of his strong calloused fist, 
sliding up and down his rigid penis."  Father carefully selected his words, 
growing more and more salacious as he spoke, making Brent get hotter and 
hotter, and leading the teen to the precipice he wanted him to fall over.  "
Eventually, I had to take matters into my own hands, so to speak.  The young man was 
going to slip into sin if I did not act, and so for the sake of his immortal 
soul, and to keep him pure for his wedding night, I volunteered to take on his 
pain.
 
Then there was the college boy who came to see me to confess his sin of 
self-abuse.  He said he kept a soft white cotton sock under his bed, and at night 
when his roommate was asleep, he would either slide his hand into the sock to 
glove its sinful intentions, or he would slide the sock over his long, thick 
penis and chaff the material over and over the sticky, prideful head.  It got to 
the point that he would sneak into the room during the day when he should 
have been in classes to play with his always rampant penis, and even went into 
the bathrooms in the library to lower his pants and briefs and expose the snake 
to his calloused fist." Smiling as he watched Brent lower his own pants and 
briefs again, and begin to slide his fist up and down his rigid shaft, Father 
continued his careful speech.  "I explained that the only way he could achieve 
salvation would be to turn the offending member over the God, and that I would 
help him cross over to the path of righteousness."
 
"What did you do for them Father, can you do that for me?"  Brent spoke even 
as his palm glided over the bulging knob, and smoothed the copious drool it 
found around the sensitive, tingling prick tip.
 
"If there is no other way to counsel you into controlling your physical 
demands and unholy wants and needs, I will perform for you the same service I have 
for other young men who wish to live up to the gospels, to the virtues and to 
their own honor.  Come forward to the screen."  By now, Johnny had a painful 
erection as he watched transfixed.  The gullible Brent McDermott stood and 
shuffled over to the screen, while Father Richardson on the other side was firmly 
stroking his own erection underneath his cassock.  "I want you to rest against 
the wall, and close your eyes, and pray with me…and I will handle your 
problem.  "Say with me…Father, help me to have strength to resist my unmanly lusts, 
my desire to touch my flesh and spill my seed; allow me to surrender to 
Father Richardson my wicked intentions so that he may lead me away from the path of 
sin."  
 
Brent was pressed up against the screen, his crotch and throbbing member just 
under his unbuttoned shirt, drooling as it pressed against the opening.  His 
face was pressed against the booth wall, his hands flattened against the wall 
to the sides at shoulder level, and his legs slightly spread.  He murmured 
low, the words that Father Richardson told him to say, and he kept his eyes 
closed surrendering to whatever the Father was planning.  The more he spoke the 
words, the more he seemed to drift away, feeling almost detached from his body, 
relaxing deeper and deeper into a state of mind that he hoped would make the 
throbbing between his legs subside, and the tickle from the dripping pre-sap 
stop.
 
Johnny watched with rapt attention and while stroking his own throbbing 
erection, and he listened to Brent's quiet incantations.  Then he saw something 
that made his eyes good wide.  He took control of the camera and zoomed in closer 
to the screen as he captured Father Richardson unhinging the confessional 
barrier and removing it.  As he did so, Brent's long, slender curved prick gently 
lowered into the opening and stuck through the partition like some punk at a 
roadside glory hole.  As he continued to urge Brent's repentance, the good 
father lifted his fingertips to gently stroke the bloated cock head.  Brent 
gasped, but Father Richardson whispered firmly in unison with the lost fifteen year 
old to keep him focused (or distracted depending on your perspective), on 
asking for forgiveness and guidance.  Brent hardly realized that his precious 
tool was being gently masturbated, and Father Richardsonson's practiced fingers 
were making more and more boy sap leak from the deep pisswell.  The turgid boy 
pole was soft and yet rock hard, already reaching up beyond the elastic waist 
of the briefs.  So Father's fingers danced up and down the wet stalk and 
circled and palmed the oversized cock knob, tenderly ministering and gripping the 
pole and allowing his own meaty thumb to slide around Brent's overly sensitive 
corona to tease the wide flange of the helmet.  The lusty teenager spread his 
legs further, and forced his hips toward the sensations, the delicious feeling 
of someone's hand working his fuck-pole and milking him slowly up the ladder 
to ejaculation.
 
Brent grunted now as he repeated his lines, and he squeezed his eyes tightly 
shut.  What was happening, what was Father Richardson doing, oh, but fuck… "
aaaaaggggghhhhh" it felt so damn good, oh Jesus, my knob…my fucking knob…what'
s he doing…."oooooohh" shit it felt so sweet!  Brent forced his crotch into 
the opening as far as he could, and the large opening, now allowed his entire 
crotch and half-way up his abs to be available.  Father Richardson did not 
waste any time.  He kept his chanting going along with Brent, and quickly used 
his free hand to unbutton the boys shirt all the way up to his neck.  
 
Johnny almost ejaculated, his drooling boy prick aching from what he was 
seeing and recording.  He couldn't touch his own cock because he was so close.  
There was the object of his dreams, Brent's big boy prick, sticky and wet, and 
rigid as a stick, its slender shaft widening as it went from root to helmet, 
and on top was a fat, mushroom cap with wide piss lips.  Johnny was filled with 
lust and wonder as he watched Father Richardson take control of the penis, he 
so coveted.  Brent had a sharp curve to his cock from root to knob, and now 
the top of the shaft was reaching up to caress the space just below his jutting 
pectoral muscles.  Father's hand continued its slide up, till the hand reached 
the sticky cock head, and his fist closed just under the corona, the thumb 
rubbing softy back and forth over the jerking glans.  At the same time, Father 
took the chance to see if he could get even more familiar with his big teenage 
prey.  His free hand slid up inside the unbuttoned shirt, and moved gently up 
to the curvature of the mounded pectorals.  This hand's thumb reached a 
pointed, rubbery tit thrusting out from the edge of the curved musculature, and each 
time Father's thumb grazed the ticklish tip, Brent hunched and moaned even 
has he steadfastly continued to repeat his mantra.  As long as Brent just 
ignored what was happening, he was in Father Richardson's capable hands, literally, 
and the ache in his balls was being replaced by a tightening in his balls.  
Soon, his problem would go away.  
 
Father Richardson's mouth was producing saliva as he stared at the huge plum 
of Brent's oversized fifteen year old cock knob.  But he did not want to break 
the spell that was keeping the teenage hunk pressed against the confessional 
screen opening.  He slowly rotated his strong fist around the boy's shaft, 
making him squirm and jerk, and used his thumb to tickle and distract him even 
more.  And to make sure he got the most from Brent's thrusting body, he began to 
gently pinch and tug on each of the boy's sensitive teats.  Each pinch would 
make Brent's cock go rigid and his cock knob expand, spitting out more and 
more teen pre-fuck, and causing him to squirm and grunt.
 
Brent gave in, who the fuck cared…Christ, he needed to cum and he needed it 
now.  Father Richardson's padded palm and thick fingers might not be Amy's 
tight, gripping cunt, or her soft hands, but fuck, the delicious feeling of 
someone other than his own hands on his pulsing penis and stiff tits was a gift 
from heaven.  And in a perfect example of teenage denial, Brent reasoned to 
himself, 'If Father Richardson can't help me, then who the hell can…?"  Then he 
gasped and whined, thrusting himself into the priest's fist, turning over his 
most private act to another man who was milking him with wild abandon, as he 
fucked the fist that worked his cock like it was a cunt.
 
In the meantime, Johnny's cameras and microphones were doing there own magic, 
producing the materials that would allow him to finally capture Brent.  But 
now, he had a bonus.  He would be able to weave Father Richardson into his 
plans.  As these thoughts went racing through his mind, his cock lurched and began 
to spit wads of boy cum into a rag he was holding over the spurting penis.  
Because at that same moment, Father Richardson's torquing fist squeezed and 
twisted around Brent's feverish prong and his thumb scrubbed back and forth, 
urging the teenage piss lips to split wide open and blast wad after wad of teenage 
cum up into the open booth.  Father wanted desperately to engulf the spurting 
cock head into his mouth and suction the sweet boy cum down his greedy 
throat.  But he was afraid that Brent would freak-out, and pull away, leaving the 
booth and perhaps not return.  So he steeled himself, and with a smile of 
lustful satisfaction, he simply enjoyed the sight of Brent's teenage prick spunking 
ropes of teenage fuck sauce over the floor of his booth.  One, two, three, 
four, five, six, seven, and then smaller spurts and a long, drooling trail of boy 
spooge.  
 
Brent saw stars, and then surrendered, stopping his recitation and replaced 
it with a long, stifled groan…."aaaaaaaaaggggggggghhhhhhhh…. 
uuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhh, fucccckkk….aaaahhh, yes, yes, oh God….oh God…. aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!"  His 
hips thrust forward into the swirling fist of the relentless cleric, helpless 
to stop his body from wrenching every delicious sensation from his long 
ejaculation.  His face and body were pressed tightly against the booth wall, and he 
was up on his toes, grinding his crotch into the milking hand that now was 
torturing his sensitive glans, thumbing it over and over.  
 
"That's it my son," Father Richardson calmly intoned as his roiling fist 
mauled the fat fuck tip of the spewing penis, "let the sin drain from your body, 
release your temptation, and give up the stain that would separate you from 
innocence."  As he spoke the good divine milked the remaining dregs from Brent'
s still turgid shaft, and again thumbing the sensitive tip, caused the young 
man to hunch wildly, trying to extract his penis from Father's grip, and to 
bite his own fist to keep from squealing from the agonizing  sensations.  
Finally, Father Richardson released Brent's beautiful cock, and the teenager 
staggered from the opening, stumbling back to sit on the bench and gain his breath as 
he struggled to put his prick away and tuck his clothing back into place.  
Father Richardson had replaced the screen, and then licked his fingers and the 
palm of his other hand where he had captured as much of the spurting ejaculate 
as he could when Brent had cum.  Jesus the kid's cum was tasty, starchy and 
with a hint of bleach, but not bitter or too salty.  Father vowed he would drink 
straight from the spigot sometime in the future.
 
"My son, you are released from the tensions of sin and temptation.  You are 
not to touch yourself again.  If you need assistance controlling your urges, 
you contact me as you did this time, and we will arrange to exorcise your 
demons, and purge the excess seed from your body before it becomes the devil's brew. 
 Do you understand."
 
"Ah, okay Father, I understand.  Ah, thank you…I really appreciate your 
help.  I'll be good, I promise."  Brent knew this was wrong, but fuck did it feel 
good.  Besides, he couldn't be good all the time if Amy wouldn't give him 
any, and if he had to sin, better with a priest than with one of the loose 
chicks at school.  Brent was not counting on any regular action with Amy, but now 
that he had an alternative to his sock, one that was validated by the church, 
he would keep this to himself and take the opportunity to relieve himself on a 
regular basis.  Who would guess that the All-American boy with the perfect 
teenage body and the dick to die for was going to get his crank milked by the 
local parish priest.  Brent frowned earnestly as if he should reconsider his 
thoughts and actions, and then he realized that no one would know.  It was 
perfect, and his cock would get relief without him having to hide his masturbation at 
home.  Little did he know that his performance and the whole scene with 
Father Richardson had been captured in high resolution.  The perfect solution would 
soon become the perfect trap.
 
Father Richardson zipped himself up, and though flushed, would savor both the 
taste and the experience of masturbating the big teenage jock hunk.  This 
memory would fuel a nice long session with his fist and his prick tonight, before 
he went to sleep.  But what neither the good Father nor the hunky Brent 
MdDermott knew, was that they both had become film stars.  Soon they would be 
receiving an anonymous package, and in the case of Brent, his would come with some 
specific instructions.  There was more than enough time to get back to Father 
Richardson.  In the meantime, he could stew in the knowledge that he would be 
hearing from someone who had a record of his illicit and dirty sexual conduct 
in the confessional.  Johnny had set up Brent, but with the help of Father 
Richardson, the big dicked teen jock had fallen directly into a his snare.  
 
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
20051127135118
