
Path: not-for-mail
From: Conn Pierre <damaeus@yahoo.com>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.gay.moderated
Subject: Bobby's Day to Day Life (Mother/B, hung, muscleboy, strict, authoritarian, forced nakedness)
Date: Mon, 30 Mar 2009 20:25:24 -0500
Organization: Organization?  Surely you jest.
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===================

Introduction

Bobby stood before his mother, dressed for school.

"Are you wearing underwear?"  his mother yelled with a warning
tone.  "If you are, you will regret it."  She didn't wait for an
answer.  She rudely yanked the waistband of his shorts out and saw
his always-soppy underwear, loaded with his own boy goo, and
several loads of others who had used the boy's underwear to clean
themselves up, then made him wear them all night while they took
him out on the town: shopping, out to eat, to the movies, and to
lots of public restrooms.  She tore his shorts and underwear to
his ankles and pulled foward, causing Bobby to fall backwards.

When he hit the floor, a thick flow of precum poured slowly out of
his cock, forming a shiny, sand dollar sized puddle.

His mother saw it.  "SLUT!"  She ripped his shorts and underwear
out from around his ankles.  "Get on the bus, now!"

Knowing she would also take his shirt and shoes if he didn't get
on the bus immediately, he walked out the front door.  His shirt
barely came down to his waist.

Everybody at the boys' school knew what a slut Bobby was.  So
nobody laughed when they saw him walking nalf naked toward the
bus.  Nobody laughed.  They all developed erections, watching the
muscular boy god traipsing across his junky front yard.  His cock
was half-hard, sticking straight out, yet bowing and bouncing from
the middle out, causing a long, thick rope of precum to bounce and
dangle, ten inches in front of the boy's body, spattering his
thighs and calves with boy juice.

He got on the bus and walked down the aisle.  As he passed rows of
seats, the kids turned to see him from the back.  His butt cheeks
were so muscular that they were not even touching each other, but
instead were spread wide apart, leaving the defeated fuckneed of
his hairless boy pussy exposed in plain sight for everyone to see.

As about fifteen kids and the bus driver were looking in utter
silence, white sperm suddenly appeared at the gaping entrance to
his fuckhole, poured out of his ass with a sloshing squish, flowed
down both sides of the deep, wide valley formed by his
forever-parted butt cheeks.  The gooey ropes of fucksnot trailed
down the insides of his legs, the forward of their descent,
artfully formed by a combination of the fluid's thickness and
heaviness.  and down the insides and backs of his legs to his
ankles.  It was pearly white spermarrhea, and the whole bus was
filled with the aroma of fresh, meaty-smelling sperm.  That's how
they all knew he had been fucked.  When it was Bobby's own sperm
that poured out of his ass (due to his ... "anatomical problems"),
it smelled so damned clean that you felt like you could bring a
Thermos and wait for Old Faithful.  And everybody knew that about
him.  That's how people were able to find him so easily.  He
smelled so fucking different from everyone else that the kid never
had any privacy.  Everywhere he went, people were so curious about
an odd, but strangely pleasant smell that there was always someone
peeking around a corner or looking into a room as if trying to
find something.  And they'd always find Bobby there, leaking out
his ass, cock and mouth, as if just oversexed and abandoned just
seconds before being found again by someone entirely different.

But when Bobby had a meaty smell, they knew he'd been fucked.  He
just didn't smell like himself for a while.  People knew that if
they wanted to fuck him fresh, they just had to enjoy watching him
drain and wait for him to smell right.

Bobby went to the seat that everyone always left available for
him, right over the rear axle, sitting by the window next to a
tough kid everyone was afraid of.  Yet Bobby seemed to follow him
around like a puppy, no matter what was done to him.  Bobby didn't
appear to be afraid of Mike, even if he was four years older, even
though other boys didn't really want to have anything to do with
him.  Nobody ever saw Mike do anything nice to or for Bobby.  Even
when Mike was found fucking Bobby, he wasn't nice to him.  People
have tried to help, but anytime the two are separated during
something like that, Bobby looks disappointed, Mike gets pissed
off and starts hitting people, and after everybody leaves, Bobby
looks for Mike and follows him around again until the bully rudely
tells him to get lost.  Then people look in shock as the kid's
eyes sparkle with glee and he gets a huge, leaky boner all over
again, just after being psychologically abused by his unwilling
lover -- a kid who often just seems to fuck the kid as hard as he
can, just to be left alone for five minutes without having Bobby
rubbing up against him or "accidentally" bumping into his leg with
an "inconspicuous" thrust of his cock against the 13-year-old's
thigh.  Mike didn't like the feeling of his pants sponging the
sperm out of the younger boy's shorts when he did that, so he'd
push Bobby away and tell him to go find somebody else to bug.

At home, the muscleboy was sometimes kept in a diaper that just
barely fits when people got tired of slipping in the fucksnot he
trailed around the house.  Most of the time they just make him
stay outside if they aren't actively using him because he goes
through a diaper every 30 minutes, filling it with so much sperm
that it starts running down the kid's legs again and he leaves
gooey footprints everywhere he goes.  They're cute...but slippery.
When they're washing him, they just make him stand on the matching
footprints stuck on the bottom of the bathtub if they don't want
him to slip and fall.  That has the added convenience of making
him stand still instead of squirming and gyrating his body in all
manner of contortions trying to keep away from his guardians and
turn them on at the same time, while leaking precum all over the
place and moaning in heat at the slightest touch of the washrag.
The kid has to have a bath, but you can't touch him anywhere at
all without him getting hard and waving his oversized,
overstuffed, boy bat in your face, moaning with such a misty-eyed
glaze of lust in him that he sounds demon-possessed, as if he
can't continue living if you don't wash him more thoroughly.  I
don't know how he controls himself, but if you tell him to stand
on the footprints, he will.  If you tell him to shut up, he will.
He can even have a normal conversation while you scrub his
dickhead and blows a load into the washrag as you work it.  But
how he controls that much lust, I don't know.  It must be
experience.  That's the only answer since the evidence stares you
in the face when you look at him.  So many convenient grips and
bumps formed by his muscles and bones on the smiling boy that you
can tug him in any direction, no matter where you grab on to him,
even if he /is/ splashed and splotched with his own fluids.  The
kid smiles so much that the only way you can make yourself feel
guilty for using him is to smack his butt while you're fucking him
until he stops smiling, reminding him that he's being raped and he
should stop acting like he's having so much fun and at least
pretend not to like it so everyone else can get some realism and
fun on their side of the experience.

Bobby sat quietly next to Mike and snuggled up against him.  Mike
must have been frisky, himself, because he responded by not
pushing Bobby away.  Bobby sat through the bus ride feeling the
vibration of the axle, grinding against the bulge of his perenium,
molesting his prostate area with the bumps and vibrations, and
forcing more jizz out of his cock and fuck hole with each bounce
of the school bus.

The more he rode, the more his fuckneed increased, bulging his
butthole out until he could just feel the hardness of his butt
cheeks sinking into the separation of the two cushions between the
back and seat, causing the seat cushion to bulge between them and
press against his slippery hole.  His boy pussy was bulging in
full heat and then began to throb and pulsate with lust, filling
its own self with warm, muscular, swirling folds of boy fuck,
stretched and repacked for more texturous grinding of his urgent
need.

Bobby's hole presented a convenient acceptance cup for radical and
hasty use in any form of sexual emergency.  His overactive
pheromones force-fucked the lust out of people just by virtue of
his innocent proximity, and he'd be found, wet and hard, having
learned that his butt is fancy decoration for the drooling sex
organ that was on it.  The muscular, bulging cheeks around his
sinkhole invite you to grab onto his hips and thrust up into him,
butthole muscles so weak they open to accept your approach.  It
never resists, and yet is always the perfect firmness, no matter
how used it is, making its user addicted to abusing him in public,
like winning the lottery and finding a fantastic crack dealer all
in the same night and feeling the rush of openly punishing a
shameless slut for groping innocent boys and trying to seduce
grown men into raping him.


Conn Pierre

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