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Subject: Hard Lessons (Mg, incest, cons)
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Hard Lessons (Mg, incest, cons)
by Blackdog
theblackdogs@aol.com
Chapter 1.
My wife Jane and I were sitting in our living room one
evening recently, chatting and drinking coffee with
guests when the conversation turned to the issue of
disciplining young people.
"I think some kids today could benefit from a good old-
fashioned spanking," offered Tim, and his wife Barbara
nodded in agreement.
I blushed fiercely red.
The guests noticed this and Jane laughed gaily. "Oh," she
said, cocking an eye at me. "Jack has had some
interesting experience with that subject. Someday we must
get him to share his stories with us."
I blushed even redder.
The subject soon shifted to more mundane matters, but my
mind involuntarily returned to the painful -- and I have
to admit, exciting -- days of my youth when my life was
anything but dull and predictable.
It all started when I was 11 years and entering Dalton
Middle School -- grades six through eight. I had been
enrolled in the regular curriculum, but based on my
grades and test scores, I was recommended for the
"gifted" program, something of which I was very proud.
The gifted classes for sixth-graders were so full that
they added a fourth class on top of the usual three. As
is turned out, this class of 28 students included 24
girls and just four boys. More to the point, the teacher
was the infamous Miss DeFlores.
Miss DeFlores was already a legend around the
neighborhood before I got to Dalton. A former Army nurse,
pretty and imposing at 5-foot-9-inches tall and with long
raven-black hair, she had a reputation for being a tough
disciplinarian who was especially strict with boys.
Before the new school year started, my parents were
required to sign a special form authorizing my
participation in the "Advanced Program For Gifted
Curriculum and Conduct." It was a 17-page document,
printed in small type and written in legalese. My parents
glanced it over and quickly signed. What none of us paid
attention to was the paragraph on page 11.
"Parents of the above-stated child grant to the school
and its designated agents and guests parental rights over
the child for the entire school term. The school shall
have authority over the child's curriculum, conduct,
dress, discipline and hours of school attendance,
including -- but not limited to -- corporal punishment
and special conduct requirements outside of traditional
school hours. Parent agrees to grant such rights without
conditions or right to withdraw such approval. Parental
agreement is secured by a lien on any real property owned
by the child's parents. Withdrawal from the program shall
result in forfeiture of real property so secured."
What that meant, of course, was that the school (and
anybody school wanted to include) could do whatever they
wanted to me, and that if my parents objected and tried
to remove me from the "gifted curriculum and conduct
program," they would lose their house.
Room 18 was where I spent the next nine months, although
I must say they sometimes felt like nine years. I arrived
"on time" at 8 a.m., only to find the doors locked and
Miss DeFlores and the 24 female students inside, while us
clueless four boys stood outside, wondering how we could
possibly have all shown up late.
Then the door opened and a smiling Miss DeFlores greeted
us. "Sorry to make you boys wait. No, you're not late; we
had a special meeting of the female students that began
at 7 a.m. Come on in; welcome!"
What was spooky about Miss DeFlores is that she was
always smiling; even when inflicting the most
humiliating, painful punishments, she had a merry, light,
playful tone to her voice. For us, the merriness was
going to be more difficult to achieve.
Chapter 2.
We stood there for one awkward second, and then Brad,
whom all the girls would later pronounce the cutest boy,
stepped forward. There was a delighted gasp from the
females in the room.
Miss DeFlores smiled. "What did this bad boy do wrong?"
she asked.
"He crossed the yellow line without permission!" replied
the preteens.
Brad looked flummoxed; as did we. We all looked down, and
sure enough, there was a yellow line painted on the tile
right inside the door, forming a square four feet-by-four
feet where we had stood, unknowingly. Now Brad had
"overstepped his bounds," quite literally, if
inadvertently.
"And what's the punishment for that?" Miss DeFlores
asked.
"Bare-bottom spanking!" the gleeful reply came back.
"OK, Brad, take down your pants," Miss DeFlores said. "We
have a lot of room to cover today and I don't to take up
too much time with this."
"I -- I'm not going to take down my pants in front of --
all -- all -- these girls!" he stammered out his
objection. Miss DeFlores quickly reached out with her
strong right hand and grabbed Brad's crotch through his
slacks. She tilted her head and squeezed.
"OUCCCHHYIKKESSSOGOD!" yelled Brad, who was soon being
pulled to the center of the room by his privates.
"Now, take off your pants and briefs this instant or I'll
really squeeze your precious nuts hard this time," said
Miss DeFlores, pulling a long, flat paddle from her desk.
It looked like a cricket bat.
Whimpering and starting to tear up from the pain in his
nuts, Brad pulled off his pants and pushed down his white
briefs, revealing his hairless 11-year-old cock and
balls. The girls giggled and pointed when Brad's
privates came into view.
"Now, bend over and put your hands on your knees. Stick
your tush out; no, further," commanded Miss DeFlores.
Poor miserable Brad did as best he could, under
circumstances. His face got even more miserable when the
first blow of the teacher's paddle connected with his
defenseless bottom.
"YEOOWWWWUWTCH!!!" he yelled; he'd never been spanked
quite so hard before. The blow almost knocked him over.
Seeing his unstable situation, Miss DeFlores grabbed his
by the arm, and -- twisting his elbow -- flopped him
across her lap.
"Stop wiggling or I'll really give you something to
complain about," she said, and applied nine more swats to
his increasingly crimson behind. By the time the last one
landed, tears were streaming down Brad's scrunched-up
face and his buns were as fire-red as his face.
Released, Brad stood up and frantically rubbed his
buttocks, a motion that made his hairless privates bounce
and bobble, to the considerable amusement of the girls.
Miss DeFlores regally smoothed out her skirt and stood,
facing us boys, now -- except for the whimpering Brad --
white-faced with fear and disbelief.
"You young men may benefit from what Brad here learned
rather painfully, and that is that classroom rules are to
be enforced without exception and without any false
sympathy for those two lazy to read and follow the
rules," she said, pointing to a large piece of yellow
posterboard on the wall next to the entrance.
She crossed to the board and gestured to it. "Perhaps we
could all benefit from a little review. Jack, would you
be so kind as to read the classroom rules aloud for us?"
she purred.
With a stammering voice, a hammering heart and increasing
wonder, I croaked out the following regulations recited
from the yellow board.
1. Boys may not enter the classroom (cross the line)
without permission, and until they have disrobed.
2. Unless otherwise instructed, boys will be nude
throughout the school day, except for lunch period.
3. Boys are expected to manage their bathrooms needs and
limit their uses to the lunch period; otherwise they will
use the chemical toilet in the classroom.
4. Boys are subject to discipline as ordered by the
teacher, but such discipline can also be administered by
the teacher's designees, which can include visiting
teachers, administrators, other school employees and
parents. Female students may discipline boys when
authorized to do so.
5. "Pre-emptive" discipline to prevent rules violations
will be a regular part of the classroom program for boys.
6. Punishments will be inflicted for any violation of
school and classroom rules, including any failure to
promptly and politely obey any direction of the teacher
or her designee.
7. "Moral straightness" components of the curriculum will
require some examination of the sexual development of the
boys. Failure to maintain an erection when requested is a
violation, as is having an erection when prohibited.
Similarly, boys will be punished for achieving orgasm
without permission, or failing to orgasm when so ordered.
8. Boys may be required to stay after school, or undergo
special punishments outside the classroom and outside of
typical school hours.
9. To maintain maximum flexibility, such regulations may
be modified, supplemented or suspended by the teacher.
When I finished reading, every boy's face reflected fear
and amazement; the girls looked thrilled, and not a
little predatory.
"Now, boys," said Miss DeFlores, swinging her paddle for
emphasis, "you have 10 seconds to avoid violating the
first rule. Strip, now!"
There was a second of hesitation, and then we all took
our cue from Brad, who was desperately (and somewhat
comically) pulling his shirt over his head in an effort
to avoid another punishment. We all just made the
deadline by a the narrowest of margins; we stood there
naked before the prying eyes of 25 clothed females.
"Look," cried one pretty red-haired girl, "look at the
blond boy on the end. He's got a stiffy!"
And sure enough, Jeff was sporting a rock-hard preteen
boner of three throbbing inches. The very act of being
nude in front of all these girls had its inevitable
effect, and he blushed a deep red as he stood there. He
tried to cover up his groin with his hands, an attempt at
modesty that was rewarded by a stinging swat on the butt
by Miss DeFlores.
"Nude means no covering up, Jeff," said the teacher.
"Now, you didn't have permission to show off your vulgar
erection. You have 10 seconds to make to go soft,
starting now . . . "
Poor Jeff was miserable with fear; he couldn't control
his rock-hard schoolboy penis either way; he certainly
couldn't will it to shrink back down. When the 10 seconds
were up, Miss DeFlores let out with a disgusted sigh and
grabbed the boy by the arm. Now the punishments would
really start in earnest.
Chapter 3.
One of the really scary things about the "Gifted
Curriculum and Conduct" program was that all us boys were
held jointly responsible for the conduct of any one; if
one transgressed, we were often -- although not always --
punished as a group.
Miss DeFlores explained that this was in order to create
"positive peer pressure" to be well-behaved; at the time
we suspected it was just to make certain there were more
opportunities to see us boys punished and humiliated,
with the greatest possible frequency and variety.
In this instance, all four of us naked boys were now
draped in position on our "punishment easels." They were
wooden frames with a variety of pulleys, planks and
manacles. The girls locked us in these devices bent over
a wooden piece covered with carpet that arched our
buttocks up. Our legs were wide-spread, exposing our
pink-brown anuses and our ankles secured with steel cuffs
covered with fabric; our arms were stretched out
perpendicular to our bodies and our wrists secured in a
similar fashion.
When Miss DeFlores was satisfied that we were all
properly positioned and secured, she addressed the eager
young girls. "This punishment is for having an
unauthorized erection," she said. "Let us show these
nasty boys just how far from fun it can be to have a
disgusting stiff penis. Girls, to your posts."
Four girls stepped forward and knelt in front of us, one
girl before each boy. At a nod from the teacher, the girl
reached up and grasped three flaccid and one hard 11-year
members and began to stroke.
"Slowly and firmly, girls," said Miss DeFlores. "Enough
to get them nice and hard." And it did not take long.
Soon all four of us were sporting raging, throbbing
boners under the tender ministrations of our female
fellow students.
"Now, the ring," she commanded, and each of the girls
slipped a rubber-elastic ring over the head of each penis
and worked it down to the base. Soon each of our preteen
boners was even redder and stiffer as the blood was
trapped in our teased organs.
"First, we focus on the buttocks, ladies," said the
teacher. "There are many ways to punish a boy there. The
most common way is to spank him across the fleshy areas,
with strong, rapid strokes, like this," she said, and
walked down the row, striking each of us quickly twice on
each firm young bun. It hurt, but we knew this was just
the beginning.
"Another way is to punish the anus," she said. "Boys'
anuses are very sensitive, as we will learn throughout
the school year. Today, we illustrate how a sharp,
stinging blow to the anus with create a very satisfactory
disciplinary effect." With that, she unwound a long
leather thong from the handle of the paddle; it hung down
about two feet. She unclipped it and it formed a handy
little whip.
The position in which we were bound spread our legs,
revealing our hairless anuses to the prying eyes and --
as it turned out quickly -- punishing devices of the
females. Without another word, Miss DeFlores reared back
and struck me right on the puckers of my 11-year-old
butthole with the thong, sending a sharp message of
screeching pain through my body; I screamed out in
surprised pain.
That produced a delighted roar of laughter from the
girls. When Miss DeFlores repeated that effect with
bullseye strikes against the clenched holes of each of us
boys, the roar grew loader and was punctuated with
giggles and cheers.
"Let's practice a little with those areas, girls, and see
how you do," said Miss DeFlores. "Each girl should try
five spanks on each buttock for each boy and then try the
thong twice on the boy's anus. But be quick about it; we
have lots more ground to cover."
Imagine it; each of our four 11-year-old boys, bound
naked in a humiliatingly widespread position, our cocks,
balls, buns and anuses open for viewing and abuse. We
were set up by 24 vengeful, excited fully-clothed school
girls, who spanked our buttocks and stung our defenseless
bottomholes. Each of us got 240 spanks; poor aim limited
the actual strikes on our twitching pink-brown holes to a
dozen or so, but even so we were all crying and wailing
with pain and embarrassment.
When the spanking was finally over, our butts were red
and screaming with pain; our anuses were twitching with
fiery stabs of irritation and discomfort. And
surprisingly enough, our schoolboy boners were all the
more stiff and throbbing nevertheless. The ring, combined
with the idea of being humiliated by all those females
somehow created the biggest, hardest erection I had ever
had in my young life, and somehow it seemed to me that
pain and pleasure might possibly be connected.
I looked over at the faces of each of the other boys, and
saw the same thing; although they were all crying with
faces smeared with tears. their "things" were throbbing;
one boy, Tom, even seemed to be leaking from his purple-
headed penis what Miss DeFlores would later call "pre-
cum."
When our weeping and crying died down to whimpering and
minor sobbing, Miss DeFlores produced another device.
"Ladies, it's believed that much of the problem with men
and boys is the testosterone hormone that is manufactured
in their testes, which are located in this sack, called
the scrotum," she said, pointing to the exposed pink-red
"jewels" of poor Brad.
"Luckily, nature also provides the remedy. The 'balls' of
males are even more sensitive than other boys parts," she
said. "Let me illustrate."
She took a green plastic ruler, lined it up against
Brad's helpless nutsack, and bend back one end. With a
slight smile, he released the bowed end, and it struck
flatly against Brad's plump sixth-grade balls.
His cry of pain produce a fresh rush of giggle from the
girls.
"My point exactly," said Miss DeFlores, drying, setting
the ruler down. "At the other end of a boy's naughty
parts, the penis is an often neglected area of
punishment."
The teacher strolled in front of us, loosened the thongs
in her right hand and addressed the deeply-interested
girls. "An erect male penis is also very sensitive to
stimulation, pleasurable or not. Penis-slapping is not
well-known, but combined with penis-whipping, it can have
some very positive effects on male behavior."
With that, she walked the down the line, quickly slapping
each of our throbbing pre-pubescent cocks, making us grit
our teeth as the world reeled. We were barely coming back
from the pain when she gave each of our rock-hard
schoolboy penises two quick downward lashes with the
thong, the blows striking us on the top of the shaft or
the sensitive tip.
We were all writhing, groaning and crying now: our
buttocks were still aflame from the spanking; our anuses
throbbing from the whipping, our preteen cocks twitching
and jerking from the lashes they'd received. And poor
Brad had endured the worst of it; Miss DeFlores' powerful
spanking, the ball-busting ruler and all the
"corrections" the rest of us had endured.
It was a chastised and thoroughly humbled group of four
boys who were finally released from the easels and
allowed to sit at our desks.
Chapter 4
For a while the first day was -- by comparison --
routine. We boys were all allowed to dress for lunch, and
although sitting down in the cafeteria was a difficult
process, we didn't want to have to explain why we were
standing up to eat.
Returned to the classroom, we meekly sought permission to
strip. When we got to our desks, we noticed that into the
seats had been inserted plastic phalluses; slick plastic
devices whose purpose we could only guess at.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" asked Miss DeFlores, a
twinkle in her eye. "Boys will be seated immediately."
Tom timidly raised a hand, and the teacher nodded, giving
him permission to speak. "But Miss DeFlores, if I sit
naked on that . . . it'll . . . " he stammered.
"Go deep into your nasty little boy rectum?" she said,
sweetly. "Well, perhaps that's the reason it's there,
young man. Now, sit, or I'll have to punish you."
With the memories of the pain that had been inflicted
earlier still vivid in our memories (and elsewhere) we
boys all gritted our teeth, opened our legs wide and
straddled the plastic horns. Although it was probably
only three inches in length, it seemed like a foot-long
bat going into my most intimate hole as I eased down onto
it, grimacing.
As the device stretched my 11-year-old anus and rectum,
the pressure and discomfort mingled with another
sensation, one of forbidden pleasure. By the time my
sensitive buttocks bottomed out on the wooden seat and
the phallus was buried well up my ass, I could feel my
preteen penis filling with blood and twitching into an
erection.
It happened to the other boys, too, to the considerable
amusement of the girls in class. "Miss DeFlores," said
one pert brunette. "The boys are all getting boners. They
must like have something shoved up their behinds."
The teacher smiled. "That's good to know, Stephanie," she
said. "Maybe we can arrange to conduct some experiments
along those lines. In the meantime, let's put rings on
those erections nice and snug and proceed with the day's
lessons."
We boys spent the rest of the day totally naked, impaled
on hard, plastic dildos, our hard cocks jerking teasingly
as the ring around their bases kept us aroused and
frustrated at the same time. Forbidden to touch
ourselves, we sat there for hours while our preteen
assmuscles gripped the sodomizing invader in our rears,
and our steel-hard erections throbbed and pulsed until
the school day ended at 2:30 p.m.
At 2:25 p.m., we boys were allowed to dress, but before
we left, we were handed a sealed envelope to be delivered
to our mothers and sisters. We dared not open it, but we
feared -- rightly as it turned out -- that our teacher
was taking steps to make sure that our punishment and
humiliation did not end in the classroom.
Chapter 5.
That evening, I was in my room, doing my homework, when
my mother and sister came in. I had dutifully handed over
the envelope earlier, and silently ate my dinner and
finished my assignments.
My mother seemed a little embarrassed but my eight-year-
old sister, J.J., had an expectant grin on her face. I
didn't know what was in the letter that Miss DeFlores had
sent home with me, but I recognized the expression that
J.J. was wearing; I had seen it all day from the girls in
my class.
"Jack," my mother said, "this note from your teacher says
there are certain home conditions that we have to enforce
on you. They may seem a little strange, but Miss DeFlores
insists that they are necessary parts of the program at
school."
I nodded without saying anything. By now, I knew that
disputing anything that Miss DeFlores had required was
going to cause even more pain and humiliation than I was
already in for.
"This letter says that from now on, you have to be nude
all the time while at home; that the doors are to be
taken off your room and your bathroom, and that the
shower curtain in there be changed to a transparent type.
Any outdoor chores except in the front yard have to
be done in the nude, and that you may be required to wear
certain . . . devices.
"There are other things listed, but the most important
one is that your have to have a discipline monitor, and
J.J. here is appointed to be yours. She will have
complete authority over you, and will administer most of
your in-home discipline."
"Starting NOW!" said J.J., gleefully. "Get naked this
very instant!" she said, and pulled from behind her back
a ping pong paddle. My bottom throbbed in anticipation of
the kind of punishment my spirited sister was going to
inflict on me.
I stood and started to pull off my clothes, blushing to
be getting naked in front of my mother and sister. "What
about Dad?: I asked. "What does he think about this?"
hoping that the other male in the house would step in and
bail me out.
"Your father is in the garage, making your punishment
chair," said my mother. "It should be ready in a few
minutes."
Once I was naked, my sister and mother inspected my nude
body, an examination that produced an erection. My mother
blushed and J.J. giggled. They lifted my arms, pried open
my firm butt-cheeks and pulled out my penis and testicles
for closer examination.
"He doesn't have much hair," my mother said, "just a
little in his armpits and a couple in the cleft of his
butt. But they'll have to be shaved off every week. As he
gets older, he'll get hairier, so that will be a bigger
chore as time goes by."
J.J. nodded. "And that," said J.J., flicking a finger
against the wobbly violet head of my erect cock, "does
that get bigger as he grows older?"
My mother giggled. "Oh, yes. But you may not have to wait
that long."
At that moment my father entered the room, carrying an
unfinished pine chair. There were manacles for the ankles
and the wrists attached, and from the seat projected a
wooden dowel of about three and one-half inches.
"I've got all different sizes," my father said,
indicating the upthrust piece of wood. "Thinner, thicker,
longer, shorter, smoother, rougher. They just screw in
and out."
"I'll bet they do," quipped J.J., and everyone laughed
except me.
A few words about my younger sister may be in order here.
Like me, she was a gifted student; in fact, she started
reading at age three and by the time she had reached the
age of this narrative, she'd read hundreds of books and
had the vocabulary of a college student, only better.
At eight, she was a spunky brunette with short, sassy
brown hair and a well-shaped body; athletic without being
masculine. At 4, foot, 6 inches tall, she was almost a
foot shorter than me (I was 5, foot, 4 inches tall at the
time), but her confidence and the power that our parents
and Miss DeFlores had given her made her more than my
equal.
J.J. made a quick inspection of the chair, and smiled
broadly. "OK, Jack take a seat on your new throne," she
said.
My mother, kind soul that she was, asked out loud if
maybe the dowel might not be lubricated with baby oil or
Vaseline.
My sister shook her head. "Aw, Mom, you always want to
baby him. Let him put some spit on it if she doesn't like
it dry," she said. Getting the hint, I applied some
saliva to my fingertips then as quickly as I could
smeared it on the prong.
"Quit stalling," she said, and pushed on my shoulders.
"Pull your ass wide open . . . I want that wood to go all
the way up your butthole."
I lowered myself down slowly; but buttocks had almost
recovered from the spanking, but my rectum was still sore
from the hours of anal invasion I had suffered at school
earlier that day. As the dowel tunneled deeply into my
rectum I felt the sensation pump fresh blood into my
sixth-grade stiffy.
Looking back, what seems strange is how little any of us
questioned this whole regimen; maybe deep-down we all got
a perverse thrill out of it. Just how perverse a thrill,
I would find out later . . .
"We're going to leave you to J.J. here for your home
study work," my mother said, and when my parents
departed, my "little" sister approached me with a smirk
that sent a shiver down my spine.
"Comfortable?" she said, approaching me. Before I could
make any comment, she walked around me and said, "Oh,
let's see if the manacles work," and secured my wrists
and ankles. "And let's try this," she said, and from
somewhere produced an elastic ring that wound around the
base of my yearning pink-red stiffie.
She stepped back to examine her handiwork. "Perfect," she
said. "Perfect for what I have in mind."
There's something about being naked, bound and helpless -
- and with a thick hard object stuffed up your backside -
- produces a prodigious erection in a young male. I had
been getting "boners" off and on since I was maybe six or
seven years old, but none of them compared for hardness
or excitement to the reactions of this amazing day.
I was aware that as boys turned into men, they had
"orgasms" that resulting in shooting their semen. I'd had
never experienced them, but the whispered and giggled
descriptions I'd heard led me to believe that it was
quite an amazing experience.
J.J., too, was curious about the male orgasm, but she was
in a position to do something about it. "You know, Jack,
I've heard that sometimes nasty boys like you can shoot
without any thing coming out. Can you do that? And how
often?"
I was flummoxed; I knew that this whole nudity and
humiliation and punishment thing was to try to keep young
boys from acting up as they approached puberty; the
brochure had hinted chastely at that. But what was the
reason behind the increasingly sexual aspect of the
"corrections"?
"I've never . . . "I stammered, as I felt J.J.'s small
cool hand curl around my red, stiff penis. The touch sent
a jolt of excitement through me; another squirt of blood
entered my member despite the cockring.
J.J.'s grin got bigger; she skootched closer on her chair
and nudged my naked legs wider apart. "This is going to
be soooooo fun," she said and began to stroke me up and
down, a little awkwardly at first. As the sensations in
my 11-year-old peter began to build, her touching evened
out, and she found a rhythm that was soon shortening my
breath and making my butt-ring clench around the dowel in
my schoolboy behind.
She stuck her tongue out of her mouth at an angle in a
cute expression of concentration; her eyes narrowed as
she sped up his jacking motion, her fingers getting
tighter around my tingling cock. I felt my nipples
harden, my skin heat up and my balls roil as a strange
and wonderful new sensation took hold of me.
Faster and faster, tighter and harder she stroked me; I
started to moan and throw my head back. All of a sudden
it overtook me, this unprecedented sensation of stretched
arousal and excitement eruption unimaginable release
and relief.
I arched off the chair the dowel still two inches in my
rectum and bucked my hips through J.J.'s busy hand. My
cock pulsed and throbbed; the piss-slit opened and closed
and my ass-muscles gripped and clenched in a frenzy. I
groaned out an in articulate series of grunts and gasps
as I felt the greatest pleasure I'd even imagined.
No fluid came out of me, but the powerful sensation was
clearly my first "dry cum." When the feelings subsided
and my vision cleared, I saw J.J. with a look of perverse
triumph on her face. "That's one," she said.
Without giving me more than a few seconds to recover, she
went back at my still rock-hard cock, stroking and
caressing and teasing it with increasing expertise. She
was a natural at this comparing her handiwork with my
reaction, and adjusting accordingly.
Her hand continued to jack me up and down, head to balls,
in a rapid, close motion. At age 11, my body was on the
cusp of puberty, and it was already tuning itself to
response to erotic sensation, which certainly described
what was happening between my pre-teen legs.
J.J.'s efforts didn't take long to have the effect she
was trying to induce; my already stiff penis got even
harder and perhaps longer, and it wasn't three minutes
after my first orgasm that I felt that amazing feeling
starting to take hold of me. Again, my asshole and rectum
sought out the perverse pleasure of the thick invader and
clenched onto it, even as I could feel my cock pulse and
quiver as it prepared to climax.
For the second time, I threw my head back and cried out
in ecstasy; for the second time I felt my sixth-grade
cock tingle, buzz and then "explode." The pissslit opened
and closed, my balls seemed to pucker and throb, and my
cockhead jerked and twitched madly as the orgasm raced
through me, sending jolts of thrilling energy to my
brain, my nipples, my anus and everywhere. Again, no
liquid spurted out, but the feeling was intense and
draining; when my dick stopped jumping around and trying
to expel the sperm that my body hadn't yet started
manufacturing, I noticed that I was sweating, and that my
muscles had tensed and pulled and flexed against my bonds
as the orgasm rolled through me.
"That's two," said J.J. "Let's see if you can go for the
record."
Gasping to recover my breath, I asked, "The record? What
record?"
J.J. started to resume her stroking of my cock, still
stiff despite the two powerful climaxes she had just
induced. "Miss DeFlores wrote in her note that there's a
record of a preteen boy having 10 straight orgasms, and
one who had 14 in an hour. I wonder how close you can
come to that."
"Ten?" I squawked. These first two seemed to have wrung
me out. How could it be possible to do this 10 times in a
row? Wouldn't you pass out? Wouldn't your dick get too
sore to feel enough pleasure?
My body soon betrayed my doubts. J.J. had a talent for
this, and my cock and balls had more resilience than I
imagined. It was actually taking less time than before to
regain full stiffness and to feel that wonderful eruption
sensation all over again.
I was right on the edge of my third climax; my whole body
was straining for the delicious release. My back was
arched, my wrists and ankles straining at the (fabric-
lined) cuffs, my shitter clenching and unclenching
rapidly at the erotic invader in my rear hole. My teeth
were grit, and my breathing was loud and raspy. I felt
the moment come tantalzingly within reach and . . .
She stopped stroking. She took her hand away and sat back
on the bed. It took a moment for my erotic haze to part
sufficiently realize what she's done.
"J.J.," I gasped out. "Why did you stop?"
She looked blankly at me. "Stop what?" she replied.
I blushed even more than I had when they first disrobed
me. "You know . . . with your hand. I was real . . . you
know . . . "
She stared back at me with a resolve unimaginable in
someone so young. "I don't know you mean unless you tell
me right out," she said. "In detail."
I shook my bonds in frustration and pumped my twitching,
red cock at the empty air. "Why did you stop jacking on
my cock?" I finally blurted. "I was just about to have a
. . . orgasm."
She smiled wickedly, and reached out her hand, stopped it
two inches from the 11-year-old "man"hood. "So what is it
exactly you want me to do?"
"Please," I said, again trying to push my cock into her
grasp. "Please, J.J., stroke my dick with your hand.
Bring me off. Make me cum, please!"
Her hand moved another inch and a half, almost there . .
. "So you want me to play with your nasty cock and make
you feel good? If I do, what will you do for me?"
I was breathing like a horse now. "Anything. I'll do
anything. I'm just so . . . hard and so . . . ready!"
Her hand closed lightly around my needy member, but did
not otherwise move. "Anything?" she said. "Will you be my
slave and do all my chores?"
I nodded quickly.
"Will you lick me between my legs as long as I want?"
A faster nod.
"Will you lick me between my butt-cheeks?"
A brief hesitation, then I nodded again.
"Will you let me shove stuff up your butthole and screw
you back there like a girl? Make you beg and cry for it?"
"Yes, yes," I blurted. 'Anything! Just get me off!
Please!"
She shook her head, her eight-year-old page boy haircut
flaring. "You are going to be so easy to boss," she said,
and resumed her attentions to my desperate, jerking
preteen cock. Ten, maybe 15 tight, twisting strokes with
her talented hand and I was back at the edge again,
groaning, straining and pushing myself through her
arousing grip.
"GODDDDDDDD!!!!!! OH MY GODDDDDDDD!!!" I cried out as the
third orgasm blasted its way through me; I rattled my
chains and arched off the chair and writhed; for some
reason, this third one was more powerful than the other
two had been. The scorching physical thrill lasted longer
and was more shattering; I jerked and moved almost
violently, held down only by my restraints and the dowel
in my spasming anus.
This time, though, J.J. did not pause between climaxes;
her sturdy schoolgirl arm went right back to work,
jacking and stroking and twisting and stimulating my
already red and pulsing boy-cock. Not a minute after the
last orgasm, I was again rushing toward the edge,
reaching blindly out with my thrusting groin to have her
give me the release which I was now becoming addicted to.
A dozen powerful strokes and I was groaning through my
fourth climax.
Again, J.J.'s stamina proved remarkable. She was started
to breath heavily, too, and her face started to show a
sheen of sweat, but she kept right on masturbating me.
Some switch had been flipped in my body and mind, and now
the rush toward climax was faster and more violent.
Her talented hand tore a fifth orgasm from me; only this
time the spasming of my loins took on an achy feeling, as
if the "muscles" down there were getting sore from all
the work they were doing. The skin on my penis was also
starting to feel a bit abused as well. In reaction to
this, my cock wilted just a little, but stayed about
three-quarter hard due to the ring and the dowel in my
butt.
When she started up to try to make me cum a sixth time, I
protested. "It's starting to hurt a little, J.J.," I
said. "Please stop."
J.J. grinned and fisted my cock tighter and rocked it
with a powerful up and down stroke. "It's supposed to be
punishment, dumb big brother of mine! Did you think all
this was just so you could have a bunch of nasty fun?"
My eyes opened with surprise . . . then the reality of my
situation started to sink in. Her rapid and snug motions
on my member moved my cock back up to full-stand status;
even though the strokes made my overworked penis start to
smart with pain, my lust continued to fuel the cycle that
I knew would lead to another powerful but agonizing
climax.
My face grimaced with discomfort; I tried to wiggle away
from her grasp but the wooden post in my butthole
prevented much movement. In my mind, my spunky little
sister was now a nymphet sex-vampire, raping me with her
hands, sucking my energy painfully out of my traitorous
penis.
"Please, J.J., please . . . it's really gonna hurt this
time, I know it!" I begged, but to no avail. "Big sissy,"
she jibed, her fist flying on her own brother's chafed
and hard cock. "You love it! You know you love it! Cum!
Cum for your little sister! Over and over until you pass
out!"
I thought I might pass out when the seventh orgasm burst
on me. This was the most powerful one -- it felt as if
the top of my schoolboy penis was exploding. Still no
fluid emerged, but my pisshole gaped wide-open for five
seconds, then fluttered shut and open in a rapid
succession of a dozen movements. I felt a contraction in
my balls and in my anus -- in what I would later learn
was my prostate gland -- and with all the sensations came
a flash of pain, as if I has tried to piss a bunch a
series of long, strong squirts of Tabasco sauce out of my
tortured prick.
Sweat poured off my face and body now . . . when my
spasms finally died away and my sex tackle stopped their
bizarre mix of agony and ecstasy . . . my head lolled
forward so my chin fell onto my chest. After a long
moment, my eyes fluttered open and I saw that my poor,
red, scraped, overworked cock was only half-hard,
drooping limply in a weak loop forward. Now, at least, I
thought, the ordeal was over.
J.J. tried to get me to erect with strokes, flicks and
feather-light touches, but my abused prick had had
enough. Or so I thought.
Huffing in frustration, J.J. stood up and quickly
stripped off her shirt, showing her naked, flat chest.
She unbuttoned her jeans and pushed them down (with her
panties down to her knees) and stepped out of them into
complete nudity.
She sat down on the bed across from me, and smiled slyly.
She opened her slim, preteen legs and showed me her
hairless but fascinating crotch, with the sleek vertical
slash that males are genetically programmed to crave.
"Now," she said, "wouldn't a sexy big brother like you
like to have a naked little sister around all the time,
flashing her cute eight-year-old body at him? Bet you'd
like to taste my sweet little-girl cunny, or finger my
hot little butthole." With that she stood up and spread
her legs, dropping a hand to her cuntlips, and began to
slowly rub herself. "Or maybe you'd like to put your big
brother cock in her pussy and fuck her? Is that what a
sexy big brother would like to do to little J.J.?"
In spite of myself, I could feel my body respond to the
sights and sounds in front of me. The images of my sleek
younger sister's nude body sent primitive lustful
impulses through me that overrode the pain I had just
suffered. "Don't do this, J.J.," I pleaded, even as I
felt my member stiffen and throb anew. "It's not fair."
She turned around, bent over and pulled her asscheeks
wide, showing off her perfect pink asspuckers. "I'm not
doing a thing," she replied blithely. "Can I help it if
you are a nasty boy with a filthy hard prick?"
I moaned in my fetters; I could see where this was going.
My cock was again at full-stand, which meant that it was
going to be attacked again and have another agonizing
orgasm raped from me. And that's what happened. Only this
time, J.J. sat astride my legs, reached down and jacked
me while she looked right in my face close up.
"C'mon, Jackie," she said, her hands starting slow but
speeding slowly up on my burning cock. "You're gonna have
the biggest one yet! It'll feel so good, you'll beg me
for number nine and 10."
She jacked and jacked and reached down to cup and caress
my swollen, teased balls. "And this is just the start!
I'm gonna jack you off all the time and make you cum and
cum and cum! Soon you'll be shooting sperm and I'll milk
a gallon out of you every day! And there's not a thing
you'll be able to do about it!"
J.J. leaned forward and kissed my throat, licking her
moist tongue all along it, even while she worked
vigorously on my throbbing, pain-laced cock. "Maybe once
in a while I'll milk it with my tight little third-grade
pussy. Would you like that, Jackie? Shoot a bunch of hot
cum deep inside my little cunt?"
Her hands and mouth and the smutty imagery did the trick.
My sore cock and balls exploded once more, and my body
shook with such violence that J.J. slid from my lap and
landed on the floor while I howled out my climax. I
spasmed and shook and groaned and cried and bucked as my
immature body tried to accomplish the impossible -- hurl
up big wads of non-existent semen out of the pulsing tube
of my penis.
My body rattled like a man touched with an electric wire;
the restraints crashed against the wood of the chair and
my screams and cries were such that they even brought my
parents to the door of my room.
"Is he all right?" Mom said, looking a little worried at
the sweat-soaked, pain-clenched vision of her young son.
"He's fine; that was just his eight orgasm. Miss DeFlores
said we should try to get 10 out of him. He's really
enjoying it," J.J. said.
I was so wrung out I couldn't speak; my head lolled and
my mouth was desert-dry.
"Well, he looks pretty tired," said my father. "Let him
go to sleep and you can get your last two in the
morning."
J.J. pouted. "But it's not as fun if you don't have all
10 at once!' she said.
In my dizziness I said a prayer of thanks that my parents
entered the room, unbound me and pulled me gently off the
dowel in my behind. They helped me to my bed, but took
the covers with them.
"Rest up well, Jack," my mother said as she departed.
"You have a very exciting week ahead of you."
Chapter 6.
I slept like the dead; my cock was still store the next
morning, but I put some cold cream on it and it felt
better. As J.J. overslept, I managed to avoid having
another two masturbations pulled out of me, and I went to
school thinking "Things can't possibly be any worse." Of
course they can!
The next day was actually fairly non-shocking. The
"horns" in our seats were missing. and aside from being
nude all day -- which did produce a certain number of
involuntary erections -- it was almost like a regular
school day.
Brad was spanked again for some minor infraction, but the
10 blows were nothing compared to what had happened on
the first day.
The following day, however, we stripped and noticed that
the horns were back on our seats. And in trying to sit
down on them, we felt a difference.
"Yes, boys, the pegs in your tight little butts are
bigger today," said Miss DeFlores. "They are each a half-
inch longer and wider. But it's for you own good; we have
to get you ready for what's coming later in the program.
Believe me, you'll thank me for it."
I groaned and moaned as the three-and-one-half inch
plastic phallus sliced into my anus. The raping presence
in my once-virgin butthole had its typical effect on all
of us: soon all four boy-cocks were standing tall. The
cockrings were then slipped over them, and we were erect
and throbbing until dismissal time.
At home, even J.J. was nice to me, not demanded any
degrading tasks from me except to give me one playful
goose between my buttcheeks. "I can think of more fun
things to do with that," she said. "You will, too."
It was the very next day that the perversity of our
strange new worlds came surging back. The horns were gone
but Miss DeFlores had not forgotten our tight little-boy
assholes and how they were connected to our throbbing
penises.
"Stephanie, you said the other day that boys liked
getting things up their bottoms," said Miss DeFlores,
fiddling with a box at her desk. "Would you like to be
the one to lead our little biology experiment?"
She laughed gleefully and ran from her seat. Miss
DeFlores said to her "Take the four boys to the
punishment easels and have them bend over, their legs
nice and spaced and their buns pulled wide," the teacher
said. We boys glumly complied, figuring we were in for
another round of spanking.
We must have made quite a sight to the females in the
room. Four clean-limbed boys, stark naked, with their
butts, balls and cocks all on full display and subjected
to whatever treatment the girls and women wanted to dish
out to them.
Miss DeFlores handed something to Stephanie -- I couldn't
see what -- and told her . . . "you put in on like this
. . . that's right and then, pick a boy. Yes, you look
very nice." The roomful of girls broke out into a excited
gale of smutty laughter.
I felt Stephanie move behind me, and started to tense
myself for the spanking that was I was certain to
receive, possibly followed by some anus-whipping.
Instead I felt her small hands pull my asscheeks
uncomfortably wide, and then a hard, slick something
pressed against the tight puckers of my schoolboy
butthole.
"Do it! Do it!" yelled some of the girls. With that
encouragement, she pushed forward, and the strap-on fake
penis that Stephanie now wore lanced its way into my
defenseless rear.
I grunted with the pressure of the phallus grinding its
way into my shittube. But the feeling of the artificial
cock scraping against my prostate, and stroking the
sensitive erotic nerves in my anus flashed a message of
primitive pleasure through my body.
"Look!" cried one girl. "Look at his dick get bigger!"
It was true; as Stephanie started to fuck me in my
schoolboy asshole with her strap-on, sensations of nasty
pleasure made my cock swell bigger and longer than usual.
Soon it felt steel-hard and throbbing as my female rapist
plundered my amazingly receptive backside.
Soon the other girls were clamoring for the chance to
fuck a boy's ass, and in another minute, there was a girl
behind each of us, hammering a long plastic penis up the
clenching asses of each miserable but aroused boy.
They fucked our asses long and hard for about five
minutes, and it wasn't long after that that we began to
spasm. I was first, feeling an orgasm burst gloriously
from the feeling of being butt-raped. My cock jerked and
throbbed, and my tingling asshole clenched so powerfully
around the strap-on phallus that for a few moments, the
plastic invader was held fast by my spasms.
The three other boys climaxed also, but Tom was the star.
With a mighty shout, he arched his body and actually
squirted out a respectable amount of real live cum. A
wet, hot spurt of boy-milk spurted out of his purple
cocktip and splatted wetly on the floor.
"Very good job, Janice," praised Miss DeFlores. "To get
an 11-year-old boy to shoot actual semen, that's very
impressive!"
All the girls in the class got a chance to strap-on the
fake penises and have a go at our defenseless anuses.
Each of us got sodomized by at least five girls, and each
of us also climaxed two or three more times. Tom even
shot wetly one more time, although it was only a dribble
this time.
That set the pattern for the next two weeks. Our assholes
were progressively stretched until were sitting on five-
inch long horns, and getting used to them. At home, our
sisters were raping our cocks with their hands and
shoving dowels, fingers, carrots and other objects up our
rears.
J.J. had me licking her moist cunt while she lay on her
back on her bed, talking with her friends on the phone. I
was, of course, naked, usually with a buttplug with a
chain that was attached to a cockhead ring that bent my
pulsing cock uncomfortably between my legs. I had to lick
her four hours on end, giving her numerous little girl
orgasms. Sometimes she would flip on her tummy, and I was
have to lick and kiss and suck her eight-year-old.
At school, we went through a cycle of relative calm
followed by the most degrading of chastisements. Somedays
we spent almost all day in one of the other punishment
devices. We were spanked on our buttocks, balls and
cocks. We were forced to jack off on command, and even
required to masturbate each other.
Our rears were regularly plundered with strap-ons, and we
have to perform a variety of other degradations including
being photographed in a wide variety of poses and
activities, and sometimes even being made to wear girl's
panties and bras, especially when being ass-raped.
As it turned out, though, it was all just preparation for
the "high point" of the fall semester.
Chapter 7.
It was Thursday, a "Talent Night" that I first got a clue
as to what was on its way for us poor, friendless boys.
"Talent Night" was a mysterious event that involved me in
my familiar pose naked on the punishment chair, impaled
on a thick invading prong.
Only on "Talent Night," I was blindfolded and gagged, and
earplugs stuffed in my ears to muffle noise. The usual
wooden butt-plug was replaced with a five-inch long
vibrator, which was set to "medium."
Those nights, people came in and sexually used me. They
sat on my pulsing, jerking cock; they jacked me off,
sometimes painfully. They ripped the gag out of my mouth
and made me lick them.
They were always females -- at least at first. I could
tell that some of the time it was J.J., but other times
it had to be some of her third-grade friends. None of
them sat all the way down on my twitching, needy cock,
but they teased it with their pussylips, and did
everything to it but put it in the pencil-sharpener.
One night I could tell it was a grown woman. I couldn't
learn much, bound and blinded as I was, but the lady
straddled me and sank herself down onto my preteen cock.
Without saying a word, she took all of me in her wet,
moist cunt and rode me like a cowboy rides a horse. She
slammed herself roughly down on my swollen member and
handled me roughly, biting my shoulders and chin,
twisting my nipples and slapping my face from time to
time. Eventually though, she started to climax on top of
me, and she groaned and bucked and writhed, motions which
brought on my own orgasm.
Some "Talent Nights" I was used by a half-dozen females
ranging -- as far as I could tell -- from the preteen to
the middle-aged. They used me to have their delicious
climaxes and debased me by making me stiff and spasming
against my will.
It was eight weeks into the school years that the next
big step occurred. That "Talent Night" was drawing to a
close, and when the last guest left, my mother came in
and began to release me. She first intended to turn the
vibrator from medium to off, but she accidentally
switched it to "Very High." The rapid strong buzzing in
my anus made my poor, chafed, tired cock jerk back into a
vertical stand, and my mother laughed.
"Well, that's good to know," she said, caressing the red
hardness of her son's throbbing penis. "Especially with
what they've got planned for tomorrow."
The next morning was pretty routine; sitting naked at our
desks, doing math problems, no horn in our rears or
rings on our cocks, which were only half-hard considering
we were getting no stimulation other than being totally
nude around 25 fully-clothed females.
We came back from lunch, and we boys felt our hearts go
in our throats; the punishment easels were again set up,
and in a strange new way. As we stood nervously peeling
off our clothes, Miss DeFlores said gaily, "We will be
having some special visitors this afternoon. I know you
will all do your best to make them feel welcome and to
make the purpose of their visit successful."
Our teacher then whispered instructions to the four "head
classroom discipline monitors," and clapped her hands.
"OK, girls, let's get ready for the excitement! Our
guests will be here in about one-half hour."
We frightened boys were led to the easels, and put into a
new pose. We were tilted forward, with our arms stretched
out and our legs drawn up but splayed. We were level with
the floor, but about three feet above it, and -- of
course -- shackled into position. Clever preteen hands
found our cocks and quickly jacked them into full, hard
boners, which were then crowned with a elastic ring
snugged down the base of our penises, right above our
swollen balls.
It was about five minutes we were in that position,
waiting, dreading, when the door opened and in stepped
our visitors. It was the coach of the local high school
football team, and eight of his players.
Coach Frommer had a successful program at the high
school, and part of what made it successful -- we were
told later -- was the way he kept his horny teenagers
concentrating on football by preventing them from chasing
girls. As the season progressed toward the playoffs, his
"boys" were especially hot, having stayed away from
females since the start of the school year.
To give them relief, but to prevent them from getting in
distracting relationships with high school girls, the
coach brought them here, after a discussion with his
long-time friend, Miss DeFlores.
The high school youths were all fit and muscular lads,
and all of them sported thick erections in their jeans.
The girls in the class quickly went about to their
appointed tasks, which involved helping the boys undress,
oiling up their cum-congested balls and virile cocks, and
incidentally spearing oil up our poor sixth-grade
rectums. It was soon clear just where those thick,
leaking teenboy rods were going to be plunged.
The girls crowded around the hunky 15- 16- and 17-year-
old boys from flirted with them quite sexually, stroking
their twitching cocks, cupping their sperm-bloated balls
and making sure they were primed for the next act, which
was quite clearly to use our hairless preteen boy bodies
as vessels to vent their lust.
Two boys paired off for each one of us. One took his
place in front of our faces, the other stood behind our
widespread and helpless buns. In my case, I felt one boy
-- a senior running back, I would later learn -- reach
out and spread my already wide-open asscheeks, then press
the tip of his cock against my "virgin" puckers.
"Man," he said, "haven't shot off in weeks. This is going
to feel fuckin' good." As he sliced his throbbing thick
erection -- it was about six inches long -- into my
yielding asshole, I felt a wave of indescribable pleasure
wash over me. As inch after inch of pulsing hot male meat
slid into me, I could feel my own cock get harder and
longer and hotter.
Now, don't get me wrong; I am not gay and never will be.
I have no interest in dating or kissing or being with men
in a romantic or sexual context. But as an 11-year-old
boy in a sexually-charged atmosphere, sporting a teased,
hot cock, with hot warm flesh pressing against the
sensitive folds of his anus, I have to admit it felt
awfully good.
As long as I had no say in the matter, I gave in to the
feeling. So did the other three boys. It wasn't long
before all of us were moaning and grunting as stiff,
virile teenage cocks were plunging into our preteen
rectums, powerfully raping our clenching, gripping
shitters.
The teen fucking my ass long-cocked me -- he would slam
his wonderfully swollen phallus balls-deep in my stuffed
rectum, and pull almost all the way out, with just the
tip of his purple cockhead still nudging my sucking,
pink-brown asspuckers apart. Then he plunged back again,
his strong hands, yanking me back so that he went in as
deeply as possible. Thanks to the stretching we had, and
the lubrication provided, we were able to take the
ravishment of our snug buttholes with a minimum of pain
and discomfort.
Each hammer-blow of his hot, hard cock sawed against my
prostate and pleasured the sensitive nerves in my
asshole, which gripped his invading manhood strongly. I
felt my body heat up and my breathing change as he
plundered my shitter.
"Tight fuckin' ass!" he grunted, and kept pounding, each
stroke getting a little bit deeper in my wiggling,
thrilled pooper. My whole world was reduced now to the
wonderful feeling of getting my 11-year-old asshole
power-fucked by this steel-cocked teenage stallion.
As I moaned with pleasure, my lips parted, and between
them slipped the thick, juicy dick of the other horny
football player assigned to me. I didn't know anything
about cock-sucking, but I didn't have to; he lustily
fucked my face. All I had to do was keep my lips snug
around his 16-year-old boner and he would do all the work
of this act of oral sex.
So there I was, trussed up, splayed wide open, with my
aching hard preteen cock jerking and twitching while
bone-hard teenage erections were being pistoned into me,
head and tail. The same thing was happening to my three
male companions; they were all getting shafted deeply in
their clutching boy-pussies and gulping mouths by the
super-aroused athletes.
It didn't take all that long for the high schoolers to
reach their climaxes; I felt the flashing cock in my
asstube swell up and then begin jerking and spitting. The
boy riding my ass cried out a string of obscenities as he
pissed a series of long, thick spurts of virile male milk
in my happy anus. I couldn't exactly feel the hot cum
splash in me, but I could feel the contractions of the
cock, and as the boy emptied his testicles and prostate
into me, the amount was so copious that as the butt-
raping continued, the excess was starting to squelch out
of my hole and roll down my thighs.
If it hadn't been for the ring around the base of my
cock. I'm sure I would have shot off right then. The
sensation of a hairy, plumb cock ravishing my asshole and
filling it with male-milk was soon joined by the
splashing of semen into my ovaled mouth, as the second
boy grunted and arched his back and squirted long, hot
streams of his slippery essence right down my throat.
After a long moment, all eight boys had -- temporarily --
emptied themselves into our rectums and mouths. The high
schoolers stepped back, where eager preteen girls wiped
down their still-stiff members, and handed them cool
drinks.
"How was that, guys?" asked the coach, grinning. "Did you
get off good?"
The high schoolers grinned and laughed. "Man, I musta
shot off a gallon of cum in this tight little ass," said
one of the players.
"Yeah, and no hassles about spending money on them for a
date, or any of that committment crap!" said another.
The coach looked pleased. "I knew you'd like it. You guys
just keep on winning in the playoffs and you can bury
your aching bones balls-deep in these grade school
shitters as much as you want," he said.
Of course, one cum was not enough for these virile studs.
For the second round, the girls flipped us over so that
we were facing up, our thighs wide-spread and drawn-up,
our wrists trussed to our ankles, our teased and
unsatisfied cocks pointing at the ceiling.
After a rest break of about 15 minutes, the girls stroked
and "fluffed" the teen boys' rammers back to full,
swollen erection, and the athletes approached our
helpless bodies again.
Now the boys switched; the ones who had fucked our faces
now had access to our asses, and they wasted no time in
raping us there. Wet hard cock quickly disappeared to the
hairy balls of the strong young men, punching all the way
up our sensitive rectums.
They put their firm hands on our slim hipbones for
leverage, and then really started slamming their aching
hot meat deeply into us. Each solid cock-punch into our
snug rear holes send a jolt of erotic energy through our
release-deprived bodies. Our preteen boners got thicker
and longer than ever before; the elastic that was binding
them was stretching and stretching as fresh blood forced
its way into our cocks.
"Take that!" grunted the stud fucking my ass. "Take my
big horny cock all the way up your tight little asshole!
Feel it! Feel it!" He was giving me shorter strokes than
my first "partner" had, but they were more powerful and
more rapid.
"Fuckin' tight asshole! Tight little shitter!" he
grunted. "Feel my cock in your ass! You love it! You know
you love it!"
Again, I am no homosexual; but at that moment my body
betrayed me. "Yes!" gasped out, wiggling my ass as best I
could. "Fuck my asshole! Rape me hard! FUCK YOUR HUGE
COCK UP MY LITTLE SHITTER! HARDER! HARDER!"
Before long all of the boys were begging to be fucked
hard -- really hard and deep -- by their older "lovers."
We boys tried to spread our legs as wide as possible to
allow the virile, hung teen boys the maximum
accessibility to our sucking, happy rectums.
My body was in a state of suspended and ecstasy; I felt
myself hanging at the edge of explosion. Sooo close . . .
Suddenly I felt the thick sausage in my ass swell and
start to throb. "Fuck! I'm cummin' so fuckin' HARD!"
cried my fucker. "Goddamn! Damn!" he said as he began to
piss out his hot sperm into my guts. Somehow his orgasm
triggered a reaction in me . . .
A moment later I arched my body impossibly high off the
easel and started to cum. The ring around my penis was
stretched from pink to pale as my preteen cock swelled
prodigiously and the piss slit opened.
"OH GOD!" I yelled. Even as copious streams of boy-cum
was being fucked into my spasming rear, my own cock and
balls climaxing. But unlike the dry cums that had been
forced on me, this one was wet and glorious. A satisfying
mass of my juices tore through my over-stimulated penis
and blasted out of the purple tip, making a huge arc in
the air and splatting wetly on my chest and throat. A
moment later, as I felt another deposit of teenboy sperm
enter me at one end, I spouted another load of my juices
out of my retooled preteen pecker. It was as if the cum
was going in my asshole and coming directly out my
pisshole.
As good as it felt to have dry cums, it was nothing like
having a wet orgasm, to feel the juice pulse through you,
to have that tremendous sense of release as the empty
yourself in such a paralyzingly pleasant manner.
Each of us boys got fucked at least four times; myself I
had three thrilling wet orgasms and one of the other boys
started squirting off, too. By the time the teen boys
went home, their balls emptied, we were filled with cum
leaking from our lips and anuses.
Our "visitors" returned for the next three weeks, and
eventually each of us had been used by each member of the
high school football team, which -- by the way -- won the
state title. And when basketball season rolled around,
well, you can guess what happened then . . . .
Epilogue
I don't have the time and space here to recount all that
happened to me and us poor boys for the three years we
spent at Dalton. Needless to say, we were humiliated,
punished, molested, raped and more all that time, and
were used as slaves and concubines for girls, women, and
older boys and men.
But it did have several positive effects. We became model
students and citizens. All the boys in the program
(expanded to a total of 25 boys by eighth grade) were
well-mannered, polite and studious. We became student
leaders; Brad, the boy who was the first one punished on
that very first day, was student body president our
senior year in high school and went on to a prestigious
college and career.
And me, well, I found not just manners and study habits,
I found a wife. J.J. and I developed such a bond in those
years of "corrections" that after we both graduated from
college, we moved to another state, changed our names
legally, and J.J. became "Jane."
She says I am a wonderful lover; I can achieve an
erection on command, and keep it up indefinitely. I can
cum a half-dozen times, and I am more than willing to
enjoy any kinky thrill she has in mind.
Like tonight. She's going to put me on that punishment
chair and ride me, just like she -- and my Mom -- used to
do all those years ago.
THE END