From organs@backdoor.com
Please check the header! The following story contains some form of gay sexual content describing purely fictional events. If this is "not your bag", do yourself and us all a favor and hit the "n" key NOW!
Readers under a "legal" age somewhere who happen to be reading this are used to being told to ignore the existence of this material. Doesn't seem logical to me, if they happen to like and enjoy it. As above, if they don't, they too can hit the "n" key and be done with it. Since I have no control whatever over who does or does not read this, I think this paragraph is silly. Some hot-shot lawyer said it has to be here. Enough said.
Oh: permission to archive and/or re-post granted, so long as the author is credited. Otherwise, (c) Bruce Bramson 1996.
Bruce Bramson
THE SCHOOL OF HARDE-KNOX
By the time my parents sent me there, the Harde-Knox Military Academy was in its seventieth year, and growing a bit seedy. Visages of the founders, Horace Harde and Vincent Knox hung in large gilt frames in the foyer of the rambling Victorian structure, originally the residence of some wealthy industrialist. Much of the opulence of the home remained; even some of the furnishings were still in the Headmaster's suite. But years of "modifications" had taken their toll, especially on the upper floors, turning ornate boudoirs into dingy classrooms, marble-filled baths into smelly, overloaded "johns", and stuffy closets into repositories of moth-eaten uniforms, musty books and moldy photos.
The common rooms, headmaster's and teachers' private rooms, and kitchen were all on the main floor. What had been a glorious conservatory was now a dining room, replete with strategically-placed buckets to catch rainwater that leaked through the glass roof.
The second and third floors were given to classrooms (formerly bedrooms), each opening off the ornately balustered central hall that rose majestically through the center of the structure to an incredibly ornate stained-glass faux-ceiling. The fourth story, directly under the spiky roof, was a huge attic centrally pierced by the light-well for the stained-glass. This attic was the dormitory for about half of the boys; each had his own bed, storage box, and plain dresser. To emphasize the "military" aspect of the place, everything was painted in "olive-drab" - walls, floors, beds, dressers, boxes - which combined with poor light to give the place the most depressing appearance. A more modern addition at the rear of the building contained a gymnasium with a modest swimming pool, the usual showers and other facilities, and another large dormitory which (despite being much newer) almost exactly duplicated the dorm in the old house. We were always amazed that the Messrs. Harde and Knox had managed to find an architect for the new building who could so perversely re-create such abysmal living quarters.
Still, there was a bit of rivalry between the occupants of the two dorms. The usual progression was from the older to the newer, and it was the new boys like myself who drew "Howard" (for that was the singularly unimaginative name assigned to the attic dorm), while boys a bit older, or who had been around a while longer, lived in - you guessed it - "Vincent Hall".
But what the founders and perpetuators of the "School of Hard Knocks" (as it was universally known, despite its "Military Academy" proper name) had lacked in imagination, the hundred-odd boys made up for in spades! We, in our innocence, could never understand why admin and teachers thought that by establishing a rigid daily regimen they would break the spirits of adolescent boys: only in the years since leaving the school have I come to realize that the appearance of "regimen" was for our parents' consumption, and that "breaking our spirits" was, in fact, the farthest thing from the minds of the adults in charge. And, while amongst ourselves, our references to this place of our temporary incarceration were always to "The School of Hard Cocks", this appellation was never uttered in the presence of adults. It was, we blithely thought, our "secret", though in truth this corruption of the school's name was widely adopted by the Ohio citizenry, many of whom relied heavily on the school by way of providing services and provisions for it.
Frankly, I look back fondly on my two years at Harde-Knox. I was going-on 13 when my folks decided to get me out of their hair. I was a "difficult" child: I'd rebelled early-on against my parents' stultifying life-style, best described as "obsessive money-making", which left no time or "lebensraum" for a precocious adolescent. I had a reputation as a hellion, and I'd been a terror to my teachers in the 6th grade, particularly; I was beset by the usual "raging hormones" syndrome, had a filthy mind, played with myself constantly, and was not above trying to get other guys to play with me. For some reason, girls - for all practical purposes - did not exist. But in the confines of a mixed-gender public school, my obsession with boys did not sit well, and I was the butt of many a joke. After winning a few fist-fights, though, most of my classmates were content to taunt me verbally, which bothered me not at all.
All this was to change, that fateful September, when Dad's chauffeur drove me into the verdant countryside and delivered me to H-K MA. Approaching the spiky-roofed old building, I was reminded of vampires and Frankenstein. The place was decidedly Addams-esque. James (yes, the one of "Home, James!" fame) parked the limo under the Porte-Cochere, and I was greeted by the Headmaster, Charles Perkins ("Mister Perkins, son..."). Perkins wore a severe suit of military cut. I thought he was older than shit (though now I know he was about 40) but fairly well preserved. Behind him stood an array of boys about my own age, all unimpressed by the huge car, but showing some evidence of interest in me. My interest in them, however knew no bounds: not only was the group undiluted by - ugh! - girls, but these guys were all, to my mind, quite good-looking. Not the run-of-the-mill variety I knew from school, they were all quite clearly "upper-crust" like myself, and I sensed a kinship with them at once. Perkins gruffly "assigned" me to Rob, who would show me around and help me settle in. It was with a sigh of relief that I watched the limo disappear into the trees that surrounded the Academy.
Carrying my little bag of "stuff", I followed Rob through the massive entry-way into the great hall. Accustomed to wealth and pomp, I was not overly impressed, even though the place was huge! Rob pointed out the paintings of the "old farts that started this god-forsaken place", gave me a quick tour of the main floor, then took me over to a small door that opened into a tiny elevator. It was scarcely big enough for two, and it creaked and groaned as it slowly ground its way upwards. Rob had put his hand on my shoulder, and I suddenly realized he was fondling the back of my neck, where the short stiff hairs of my freshly tapered haircut ended. Not even my father had ever done that, and my hormone system immediately went into over-drive. By the time the elevator lurched to a halt, I had a hard-on that I could not hide, but as Rob slid back the grill and swung open the outer door, I noticed a distinct enlargement in his pants. "Think I'm going to like it here," I thought to myself...
We emerged into the cavernous attic, and Rob led me to my assigned bed. "You won't need the clothes here," he said: "we'll go get your uniform and shit right now. Just throw that suitcase under the bed." I did as I was told, and followed Rob along the long row of beds to a large closet built under one of the garrets of the roof. This room was lined with shelves, neatly stacked with all the accouterments of military attire, from skivvies on out. Rob locked the door, and without even asking, faced me and undid by belt, opened my pants and pushed them down. I kicked off my shoes and stepped out of my pants, expecting Rob to take down some replacements from the shelves: instead, he shucked his own pants, peeled off his shirt, and revealed his almost-nude body to me. Immediately awash in hormones again, I moved back to admire his form, which I found most agreeable. Everything about him was well proportioned, and his musculature was well defined (something I erroneously attributed to the Academy, but which I was to learn was simply good breeding and natural adolescence). His penis was already protruding from the opening in his boxers: I could not recall ever having seen anyone in boxer shorts before, but I liked the notion of "quick access" that was manifest. My own pecker was constrained still by my Y-fronts, but Rob undertook to correct that situation immediately. Here, within twenty minutes' of my arrival at Harde-Knox, one of my oldest fantasies was playing itself out: the notion of having attention paid to my body, and to having another guy undress me had enriched many a solo jack-off session!
Rob removed my shirt, and I cooperated willingly as he slid my singlet up over my head. Then he began feeling my body all over, starting again with the nape of my neck, running his hands sensuously down along my arms, across my chest, down my tummy. When he gripped my shorts and slid them down I was delirious: it felt so good! When he knelt before me and plunged my raging hard-on into his throat, I was unable to control myself and within seconds shot a steamy load of semen into his hungry throat.
Rob swallowed and once again stood before me: "A bit quick on the trigger, eh?" he said. I was mesmerized, my cock was dribbling, and I noticed his was also. As he had just done, I knelt before him and brought to reality yet another fantasy: I took him into my mouth without bothering to remove his boxers, and found the feeling of his hot, throbbing teen-prick so exciting that I almost shot another load. Rob grabbed my head and moved me in and out on his dick in a slow rhythm, but so inexperienced was I at this time that I failed to heed the signs of his impending orgasm, and when I moved back to get some air, I was rewarded by voluminous spurts of hot cum, the first of which splashed on my face, and others of which landed all over my chest. Without realizing it, I had gripped his manhood and was masturbating another guy for the first time, a sensation astoundingly different from jerking-off myself. By the time Rob's eruption ended, I was hard again, and would have willingly jerked off on the spot, had Rob not put a stop to it. "Save it for later," was all he said, as he bent over and licked up the streaks of jism that adorned my face, chest and tummy.
After further cleanup with my singlet, Rob proceeded to outfit me with a new uniform. My prick, still erect, poked through the front of the new boxers, and the feeling of my balls falling free within them posed a problem. I figured I'd probably get used to this, but for now it kept me perpetually erect. The "uniform" was dark grey, with a pale blue shirt underneath the matching light jacket. I tried on several trousers, Rob examining the result each time, until he seemed satisfied with a pair that were moderately tight on my thighs, and which could not adequately conceal my still-hard cock. After finding a decent shirt, Rob showed me how to button the long-ish coat so that it covered my crotch. "You'll see more coats here buttoned than otherwise, and now you know why," Rob said. Already I liked Rob - he seemed the closest thing to a brother that I'd ever known, eager to show me the ropes. His cavalier approach to sex was exactly what I would have liked in a brother, too!
When we emerged from the outfitting room, it was growing dark, and some dim lights had been turned on in the attic. As my eyes adjusted, I realized that nearly every bed contained at least one boy - some of the beds, several - and there was a general hub-bub of chit-chat. Rob propelled me along, introducing me to most of the guys who were in every state of un-dress, most of them down to their skivvies. Some were getting dressed again, and Rob explained that we would be gathering in the dining room soon for evening meal. His bed was next to mine, which I found comforting, and we whiled away the next half-hour putting my few things away in the dresser and getting ready for dinner. I had met at least twenty guys in the past few minutes, and had managed to memorize none of their names, but I noticed as the guys got dressed that their coats had names embroidered on them. Rob explained that we'd get my coat done the next day. Suddenly, there was a gawd-awful ringing of a loud bell, the signal to descend the two flights of stairs at one end of the great hall and assemble in the dining room. Such a clatter of shoes, eager shouts and taunts in a variety of voices ranging from almost soprano to adolescent bass, all echoing in the cavernous hall! What delighted my ears most was that these were all male voices; not a "girlish" giggle in the lot.
At dinner, I was to discover there were some women around. The kitchen staff and servers were female, but uniformly older, uglier, and dumpier than I'd ever seen collected in one place. They reminded me more of Clydesdale horses than of women! But they could cook, and seemed to know well enough what sort of fare went well with a gaggle of adolescent boys. There was plenty of food, lots of good, lean red meat and other proteinaceous goodies. Since I was but one of many "new" boys present, the whole lot of guys were pretty well-behaved, and there was a lot of good-natured "getting to know you" stuff. Alert to the nuances of my surroundings, though, I noticed a fair amount of friendly groping under the tables, and a few of the boys were a trifle morose - no doubt away from home for the first time, and feeling a bit lost.
Since classes would not begin for a few days, after the meal we were pretty much on our own. Rob showed me around the new addition, where a basket-ball game was already under way. Now, basketball was (and still is) my favorite spectator sport, as I am a "leg" man. Watching this game got my hormones flowing yet again, with all the flailing arms and legs, and many a deliberate "foul", usually consisting of a delicious grope of the scanty shorts the players wore. Rob took me through the shower and locker rooms, and it was there that I spied Bart: I hastily buttoned my coat! Bart (like myself) was 13, but far more advanced physically than I. I just got a quick glimpse of his pubic area as he drew on his trousers, but the thicket of hair there excited me, and I got to admire his chest, already sprouting a carpet of very black hair in a most attractive pattern. When he saw me buttoning my coat, he flashed a bright smile, and took quite a while fastening his pants. He fished a comb from his back pocket and began combing his hair, which gave me a terrific view under his arms, where there was more of that silky hair. I melted under his gaze, but he said nothing, and languidly pulled on his shirt, buttoned it slowly, then wiggled into his coat. By the time he buttoned it, there was an unmistakable bulge to be covered, and it was with the greatest reluctance that I re-joined Rob in my tour of the building. I would not see the dorm there for many months, off-limits as it was to newcomers, but I saw the rest of the place, including the pool, occupied by a dozen or more guys all swimming in the buff. Talk about "horsing around"! There was more grab-ass going on than I could have imagined in my wettest dreams. I knew at once that the one sport at which I excelled would come in handy: I was a good swimmer...
We saw the game room, with some nice billiards tables, a few guys playing cards, and someone playing records on a machine off by itself. Rob then showed me around each of the class-room levels, though there wasn't all that much to see there. Eventually we found ourselves back in the attic. It had been a long day: the large dinner had made me drowsy, so I was content to stretch out on my bed, as Rob did on his, and we occupied ourselves with typical guy-talk. The bed on the other side of mine was empty, so when that damned bell signaled bed-time, and other boys began arriving, I wondered who might be its occupant. I removed my shirt, and as my singlet popped over my head I caught a glimpse of Bart again, standing not four feet away! The bed was his; I froze, stunned by his beauty. His uniform could have been tailored, so perfectly it fit him - and in all the right places. He flashed that smile again, and knowing he had my full attention, he began to undress.
Bart unbuttoned his coat: as the cloth fell away from his crotch, I could not be sure if he was just well endowed, or if he was excited. Either way, there was much for a horny youngster like me to revel in. Bart hung up his coat, then pulled his pale shirt out from the pants and began to unbutton it. His eyes never left mine as he slowly and deliberately unbuttoned the shirt from the top down, each release exposing a bit more of his gorgeous chest, and a bit more of that downy black hair I found so fascinating. There was no doubt he was doing a strip-tease for my benefit, and if I had not been so enthralled, I'd have noticed that the attic had become utterly silent as all the guys took in the show. His shirt unbuttoned, Bart stretched one arm back, reached 'round with his other and pulled off one sleeve. These acts exercised every sculpted muscle of his torso, and his silky axillary hairs gleamed, even in the subdued light of the attic. How I longed to run my hands through that fuzz, to lay my head on that thicket...
Bart shifted from one foot to another as he pushed off each sneaker. As he raised each shapely leg and bent to remove each stocking, the sinews in his powerful arms were splendid to behold; I imagined those arms around me, and almost swooned. As it was, with a quick flick, I loosened the clasp of my pants in a welcoming gesture, hoping that my bulging crotch might interest him. It was then that I saw in the dim light the slightest suggestion of a nod, accompanied by a lowering of eyelids that together spoke "come hither"; in a trance, hypnotized by his beauty, I moved around my bed to stand before this enchanting youth. His flashing black eyes spoke to me of sex. With his left hand he gripped the tab of the zipper on his pants, and with his right gripped mine: wordlessly, he moved both zippers down, his eyes engaging mine in a wordless song of lust. I suppose he might have been attracted to my pearly white chest, now clad only in the faint peach-fuzz of my budding pubescence, and so starkly different from his own. Certainly I was fascinated by his carpeted torso, and I ached to feel it beneath my fingers, but feared for some reason to do so. When Bart pushed his loosened trousers and boxers down below his balls, my eyes feasted on that hairy thicket between his thighs, from which sprang a perfectly proportioned pecker. Had I not already lost one load with Rob earlier, when Bart's warm hands pressed my pants down as he had done his own I would surely have creamed, so exciting was the sensation. I quickly pushed my pants on down and off, along with my sneakers; suddenly I found my legs weak, and sank onto my bed, which put my mouth in the direct path of Bart's tool: without further foreplay I took him into my mouth and felt the thick black hair tickle my face and nose. He smelled very faintly of pool chlorine, though it might have been of cum, the two being so similar. My fear gone, I extended my arms up and buried my hands in the hair on his chest and felt powerful muscles working beneath his skin. I sucked Bart's tool avariciously, absorbed by the warmth and shape of it.
Presently, Bart pulled me to my feet, then sat down and laid back on his bed and pulled me into position kneeling over him. I returned my attention to his cock, forgetting that I was in a room full of other guys until I felt a hand on my own turgid member. This proved to be Rob, who timed his masturbation of me perfectly, so that when Bart's body tensed, his muscles became a rigid mass, and the rhythmic pulsations of his cock propelled his sticky load into my throat, I, too, shot a copious wad which landed wetly on Bart's tense thighs, on his pubic thicket and on my chin. Utterly spent, I fell against his trembling body and (at last!) placed my cheek on his furry chest; with my free hand I massaged my exudate into his hirsute thighs and pubes. The sweet relaxation of the moment found us both soon fast asleep.
Had we remained awake, we would have witnessed the orgy that followed, the first of many we would eventually see and enjoy. But on this first night at the academy we slept together blissfully as the rest of the crowd spent themselves in a frenzy of masturbation and fellatio. Rob told me later that watching me and Bart had turned everyone on to such a degree that two or three orgasms apiece was the norm...
That goddamned bell went off early the next morning, as it would do every morning except Sunday for the next two years. Bart and I were still entwined, and there were peculiar patches in his body hair plastered to his skin or standing at weird angles where my cum had dried. We awoke with our accustomed piss-hards, and a quick glance around showed that all the boys shared our condition. What a glorious sight! A few guys had apparently slept in their boxers, but most were nude, stretching, wiping the grit from their eyes, and trying to wake up.
Since the dining area was limited, there were two sittings. Our group, funky and smelly, arose earlier and ate first: then we went to the gym for showers. While we were eating, the guys from Vincent had been showering, and they ate while we showered. We all trooped to yet another garret where the wash-stands, urinals and toilets were. The usual morning ablutions were underway, but in addition some guys were jerking off as they sat on a throne or stood at a urinal. Above the general hub-bub one heard the occasional moans and groans associated with firing a wad against a toilet-stall wall or into the gleaming white porcelain. I was delighted by the casualness of it all: there were no adults around to tell us not to do what all adolescent boys do anyway, and it seemed perfectly natural. I knew I would fit into this scene perfectly, and felt I had already acquitted myself well the previous night.
Down in the dining room, the Clydesdales had done their thing, and we feasted on stacks of pancakes, crisp bacon, and immense piles of scrambled eggs, washed down with gallons of fresh milk. Then it was off to the new building for calisthenics and showers. Still dank from use shortly before by the Vincent boys, the tiled room stank of sweat, and soap. Bart and I joined a noisy group frolicking in the clouds of steam. Some of the fellows were relieving their bladders directly onto the tile floor; not a few aimed their piss-streams at others, and there was a lot of fairly good-natured horse-play, towel-snapping, and groping. Despite the steam, it was possible to view most of the guys as they soaped themselves, taking pride in their glistening bodies. Whoever was in charge of admissions to the academy had good taste (I remember thinking), for all the youngsters were well set up specimens. The variety of bodies was remarkable, of course, since boys our age were at different stages of development. Bart took the prize for hairiness, while more like myself were almost devoid of it. But noticeably absent were the fat ones, ugly ones or nerdy ones that I remembered from public school. And of erections, there were enough to satisfy the greediest cocksucker! Short ones, long ones, thin ones, fat ones; hairy pubes, glabrous pubes; lean, sinewy muscles or less defined ones on some of the younger boys, a veritable feast of young masculinity was spread before me!
The heat, steam, and - above all - glistening bodies set my hormones raging once again, and it was clear the effect was universal. With time on our hands, our hands soon found something to do. Clots of boys, by two's, three's and four's were soon formed; roaming hands and flying fists were soon in evidence, and before long the unmistakable smell of cum met our nostrils along with the steam. For a few minutes I was content to observe this scene, while enjoying the hot water splashing on my back, but presently I noticed the shortest boy in the crowd, not far away, who had no partner. He looked lonely and a trifle lost, though he was as sexually excited as the rest. And, he was, well, cute! Even at 13, I had always rather liked smally boys, so I moved through the fog towards him with soap in hand. "Hi, uh...", I said.
"Rickie," he replied in a voice just beginning to crack.
"Mind if I soap you up," I asked?
I did not even wait for a reply. Now that I was close, I realized how pretty he was, and the fact that he was a full head shorter than I turned me on. When I touched his flawless skin with the soap, I felt the sap begin to rise in my loins. He could have been "my little brother" (though I learned later we were almost the same age). But Rickie seemed to welcome attention, and as I slowly worked the soapiness down towards his crotch it was clear he was getting very excited. I deliberately bypassed his cock, though, and thoroughly felt his legs, 'cause they were so neat! Rickie had even less hair than I did, just a little patch right above his pecker, and the skin of his thighs was so smooth - even without soap - that I could not resist kissing and licking them. Rickie spread his legs to give me access, and ran his hands through my soggy hair as I licked in long wet strokes from the insides of his knees right up to his balls, first one leg then the other. Rickie was electrified: pretty soon he was up on his toes, and he began to tremble. He was moaning, almost crying, in fact, and for a moment I thought he was hurting: but when I stopped licking his legs, he sobbed, "No, please, don't stop", so I resumed by sloppy ministrations. I myself was so turned on by this time that my saliva was getting ropey, and long streaks of it glistened on his vibrating thighs. When I thought he could stand no more of it, I grasped his warm buns and thrust his iron-like poker into my mouth: he in turn grabbed fistfuls of my hair, pulled my face tight against his groin, and feverishly fucked my face for, oh, maybe ten strokes, then froze. A high-pitched wail escaped his lips as he shot his young wad with such vigor that I could feel each spurt hit my tonsils. He came, and came, and came! The sensation pushed me over the edge, and without so much as touching myself, I loosed a torrent of jizz, much of which landed on his shapely calves and ankles.
When our "joint exercise" was finally over and Rickie relaxed enough to plant his feet back on the floor, I stood up. We were both still trembling a bit, and I hugged him to me and moved us back under the shower. That's when Rickie pulled my ear down to his face and whispered, "Did something come out?" I assured him "something" had. "Wow", he said, "that's my first time! I've read the books, and knew one day it would, but the book didn't say how awesome it feels! Can we do it again?"
"Not right away," I said. "Give yourself time to recover!"
SCHOOL OF HARDE-KNOX - CHAPTER 2
Towards the end of the week we began seeing teachers around the place. The older guys over in Vincent hall already knew most of them, but we new boys in Howard knew none of them. A few were new hires, unknown to anyone. They were all men. We thought them ancient, though the youngest was less than thirty. When one is only 13, thirty seems "over the hill".
Classes began and routine was established. Despite the "Military" in Harde-Knox's name, the curriculum was really just "Liberal Arts", the usual Lit, Math, Science and Languages stuff. Music and Arts were electives, but Phys Ed was required. In fact, if there was anything "military" about Harde-Knox, it was the P E program, which took up more time than at a public school. Besides the morning calisthenics, there were mid-day work-outs and another round just before dinner as well, all this in addition to two full periods each day of whatever sport we chose. I, of course, went for swimming, and soon found I was better than most of the kids my age. I had good lungs, and could stay under water past a minute, so it was from this vantage point that I checked out my mates, and chose those I wanted to play with later in the showers or after "lights out" at night. Long familiar with the "shrunken pecker" phenomenon of swimming, I was a good judge of what a water-logged willie might "get up" to!
But the question on our dirty minds was, how long before the staff will get horny enough to fool around with us? The pillow-talk made it clear that most of us had a crush on one teacher or another, but the most popular of the staff, a new-hire named Schwartz, seemed aloof and unapproachable. He taught first-year General Science, and was very good at it. He was also very handsome: tall and lean, with long but sparse blond hair, he cut a good figure in his uniform. He had a sexy sort of walk: not "swishy" or anything, but unhurried, purposeful and "liquid". I was not alone in idolizing Mr. Schwartz, and did my best to please him with extra projects, but nothing seemed to work.
I was, therefore, startled one day when he told me to remain after class: ordinarily I'd have rushed off to swim, but being a "good little boy", I waited. When we were alone, Mr. Schwartz took from his desk a recent paper of mine. He leafed through it briefly, then left it open on his desk. Gripping my shoulders, he bent me down and told me to look at the open page at a severe angle and tell him what I saw. What I saw, was the impression of a drawing I'd done on another sheet of paper (the cheap ball-point pens we had took a lot of pressure to make them write). Despite having later done a light pencil drawing of an oil well on this sheet, there was NO mistaking the outline of a big cock dribbling jizm down its exaggerated length and over a big pair of balls!
"Uhh, sorry, Sir, Mr. Schwartz, uh, I, uh - I guess I fucked up, didn't I?" I said. "Oh, oh, shit, I shouldn't have said 'fucked up', should I? Awwww..., I mean heck ... I'm sorry, Sir - uh - Mr. Schwartz, Sir!"
Schwartz was stern. "Have you nothing better to do on study time than to draw dirty pictures?" he asked.
"Well, usually I prefer jerking them off to drawing them," I blurted out, immediately aware this might be the wrong thing to confess. "Uh, that is, well, you see, Sir, my pecker isn't all that big, and I guess I fantasize about having a big dong like the other guys, so when I have the time, I draw these pictures, and..."
Schwartz still had his hands on my shoulders; he moved me back upright. My face was only a few inches away from the fly of his pants, and I thought I saw the outline of his cock there. "It's tough to tell whether your drawing was much good," Schwartz said. Do you still have the original?"
"Oh, no, Sir, I throw that shit - uh - I mean stuff - away!"
"Young man, you have a filthy mouth!" Schwartz said emphatically. "However, I suspect you also have some artistic talent, and I should like to see it improved. You will come to my quarters tonight and we will discuss this further. And you will tell no one about it: do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, SIR!" I replied, snapping to attention. "At what time, Sir?"
"Eight o'clock, sharp! Dismissed!"
Truth was, the only thing I'd ever drawn in my life was endless repetitions of cocks and balls: I had no real interest in art, so Schwartz's "invitation" held no promise. Nevertheless, I knew better than to disobey, and I tapped on his door at exactly eight o'clock. He ushered me into his cozy suite which was done up nicely with antique furniture original to the house. Schwartz was not in uniform: in fact, he was not in much of anything, as far as I could tell, except a silk smoking jacket and soft slippers. His legs, bare from about his knees down, were lightly adorned with very blond hair. My heart sank when I spied a large drawing tablet on his ornate desk, with an array of pencils and chalks.
Schwartz led me to the desk and pushed me into the chair. Then he drew up a sort of love-seat thing, and arranged himself on it. I nearly jumped out of my seat when he untied the belt of his jacket and let it fall away; he had nothing on under it, and his dick was already rising to the occasion.
"Draw that!" he ordered, running his hands along his thighs and up to his balls.
Well, sheeeit! I had no clew how to draw: scribbling a cock & balls on a scrap of paper or toilet-stall wall is as natural to a horny teenager as jerking off, but to take pencil in hand and try to actually draw something takes a whole different talent. Erect before me was the first truly adult male phallus I'd ever seen: the last thing I wanted to do was draw a picture of it! My pants were getting tight in the crotch.
"Aw, shucks, Mr. Schwartz," I said, "I don't know nuthin' about art! But if you need help with that toad-stabber of yours, I think I could make it feel pretty good." It was a cheeky thing to say, but I had my reputation as a hellion to uphold! "Besides, if you want a picture of it, a camera would do a better job."
"Over here, then, on your knees - NOW!" Schwartz ordered. Happy to comply, I shed my coat, dropped to the floor in front of the sofa, and boldly gripped his rigid tool. Its comparative hugeness amazed me, and it felt hot to my palm. I caressed it with one hand, and ran my other hand over his firm thighs, then rose up slightly, intent on sucking him. This put my bulging crotch within his reach, and within seconds he'd expertly opened my pants and had a firm grip on my little member. My mouth could not accommodate all of him, but I did my best, and slobbered enough to wet my palm below my mouth. Schwartz groaned and thrust himself up towards me; I found it very exciting to get him "worked up". There seemed to be a qualitative difference between this older man and the many teen- age dudes I'd sucked off: the youngsters all seemed able to shoot off in a manner of minutes, whereas it was clearly going to take Schwartz a bit longer: this gave me more time to revel in the workings of his powerful leg muscles, and to fondle his large, heavy balls. The feeling of his big hand massaging my prick was not unpleasant, either, but I was getting near to popping my cork, so I stopped sucking, intending to remove the rest of my uniform. But Schwartz had other ideas!
He arose, gripped my arm, propelled me into his bedroom and pushed me roughly onto his bed. Within seconds he had pulled my pants and shoes from my body, and all but ripped my tee shirt off; he cast aside his silk jacket and began a frenzied licking of me all over. I was still a tad ticklish in a few spots, so I was soon giggling and writhing as his tongue found a whole collection of erogenous zones: I'd not yet learned how sensitive nipples are, nor had I experienced the joy of a wet tongue slathering under my arms, but these new feelings exploded into my consciousness. When I tried to return Schwartz's favors, he pushed me back flat on the bed, apparently desiring no reciprocation. But I could not relax, because his hands, his tongue, and his long hair seemed to be all over me at once. Crouched over me, he ran his massive tool along the insides of my thighs, then poked it at my nipples, wiping the head of it across them repeatedly. My tits got hard, imitating my pecker, now aching for release of the juices gathered in my loins.
Schwartz sat back on his haunches, grasped my ankles, and raised them up and back over my head: he bent down and tongued all around the backs of my legs, slowly working his way towards my bum: when his tongue found the opening in my backside, I thought I would explode! Never, among my adolescent friends, had anyone thought to explore this part of my anatomy, so the feeling of a wet tongue on my pucker - even penetrating it slightly - was totally new, and totally wonderful! Lost in wave after wave of new sensations, I did not immediately recognize the touch of his penis to my bung, and when I did, the image of his prong going into me was too much! "No, NO!", I screamed. "Please, Mr. Schwartz, Sir, please don't, Sir..." Fear washed over me: I knew guys fucked, but I was so small, and Schwartz was so big: "Jezus, Mr. Schwartz, you'll tear me up with that wang of yours: just let me suck it off for you," I pleaded. I was on the verge of crying; "Oh, please, no, Mr. Schwartz, Sir, not there!"
But Schwartz was beyond reason: fortunately for me, he was also beyond control. I eventually learned that what got him off was the element of fear he could instill with that monster between his legs, so my entreaties were just the ticket: he let go of my legs, which dropped along side him, squeezed his dick viciously, began babbling in German, and loosed an immense spray of stringy cream out over my stomach, chest and face. My gawd, what a hosing! I expect he hadn't dropped a load in weeks, and it just kept on coming, spurt after ropey spurt; it pooled around my navel and between my pecs; it ran down the sides of my face. I gathered up what I could of it and sucked it from my fingers. When at last his orgasm was over, he fell heavily beside me, buried his face under my arm, licked furiously, gripped my little thingy and pumped it vigorously: within seconds my long-pent boy-juice arched up and over us, almost matching his quantity. I thought my mezzo-soprano moans would raise the dead, but of course the old house absorbed sounds like a sponge.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Schwartz, Sir," I said softly. Actually, I began to cry, so relieved was I that my virgin ass was intact. "I'm sorry, I know how much you wanted to fuck me, but I don't think you could fit in there, and..."
"Ach, halts maul!" Schwartz muttered. I didn't know what that meant, but figured silence might be best. Slowly, our breathing returned to normal. Schwartz might have been asleep, but abruptly he arose and headed for the bathroom. "Get dressed, go: say nothing," he said as he disappeared. I did my best to put myself back together, feeling a bit weak in the knees, and beat a hasty retreat to the attic and comfort of my bed. Once there, I replayed the experience with Schwartz, and decided I had not really enjoyed nearly being raped. I was shaking, feeling lonely, when my bed moved and Bart slid in beside me, all warm and fuzzy. All he said was, "Go to sleep, little man," as he pulled me against himself and wrapped his arms around me. I was asleep in an instant.
Schwartz never took me again, and I didn't "rat" on him. But my experience brought to light an unwritten rule at H-K: Howard boys didn't get fucked. Vincent boys did, as I would learn the following year. Short of anal penetration by boy-dicks, though, "anything went": I can't remember any variety of "vanilla" sex that someone in our dorm didn't try at one time or another. As the year progressed, I had so many sessions with just about every guy there that I lost count. Many encounters were unremarkable, but some remain in my mind as if they'd happened yesterday.
One such was with Frankie, whose bed was on the other side of the light- well from mine, and of whom I saw little as a result. In fact, Frankie was a "loner", a real book-worm, and known to be very smart. We all envied his straight-A report cards. None of my friends could recall seeing Frankie get it on with anyone else, and my perverse mind decided he might be missing out. One Saturday I found time on my hands, and was sitting in a patch of sun on the massive porch. Frankie came around the side of the building, looked around furtively, and struck out across the lawn towards the trees; there was about an acre of thick forest between the school and the road. On impulse, I decided to see what Frankie was up to, so as soon as he disappeared from view I ran around from another angle and went in among the trees myself, calculating a path I figured would cross his. A real game of hide-and-seek! Presently I glimpsed him; he seemed to be searching for some special place. He chose a spot where a small tree had fallen over and lay horizontal a couple of feet above the ground. He looked all around again, and seemed satisfied that he was alone. Then, his back to me, he dropped his pants and sat upon the fallen tree, his butt hanging over. I crept forward until just a few feet behind him: it was evident that he was going to take a dump, an event I had never witnessed directly. I had a perfect view, and as I watched, Frankie expressed a long brown log of surprising proportions: watching this turd emerge from his backside was very arousing, and I pawed at myself through my pants pocket. Frankie reached around and pulled his cheeks apart, and his lump fell free: I heard it hit the ground. He produced some paper and wiped his ass, then stood and peered over the fallen tree to see what he'd produced. That's when he saw me: forgetting his pants were still at half-mast, he tried to turn and run, but tripped and fell instead. Before he could get up, I was at his side.
"Hey, Frankie, that was neat watching you shit," I said, "don't be scared". I offered my hand to help him up, and that's when I saw him! He wasn't hung like Schwartz, but on his small frame what he had between his legs loomed large; it was only half hard.
"You won't tell on me will you?" Frankie said faintly.
"Heck, no," I said. "Fact is, I think I could prolly add to that pile there myself, if ya wanna watch me do it - and if you have some more bum-wipes with ya."
"Jeez, I thought I'm the only person in the world that gets a kick outa takin' a shit," Frankie replied: "yeah, I got more paper..."
"You don't know me!" I said: "there ain't nuthin' I don't like - well, except maybe getting fucked in the ass."
So, saying, I dropped my pants and put my ass over the tree just as he had done. Frankie hobbled around behind to get a good look. Squeezing one out "on demand" proved more difficult than I'd expected, but before long I had about half a loaf pushed out; the tree began to shake rhythmically as Frankie wanked excitedly. I spread my cheeks as he had done, and finally, with one last push, my offering fell from my butt with a dull thud.
"Where's that paper?" I asked.
"Stay put," Frankie replied. Suddenly I felt my bum being wiped for me, something I suppose I hadn't felt since I was a baby. It was startlingly different from doing it myself. Then I felt something else, which proved to be a finger, fondling my puckerhole.
"Stay put," Frankie said again. I turned to see that he was squatted behind me, his pants still down, his dick much harder than I'd seen it before. Something wet - spit, I found - was now being spread around my hole, and without warning, Frankie pushed a finger into my backside. "Push!" he said. I pushed, and his finger slid in and found a spot inside that had never been touched before.
"Aaaooouu, wow! Jeez, Frankie, whatcha hit in there?" I asked as I felt unfamiliar sensations moving along from my backside up to the head of my cock.
"Your prostrate", Frankie replied. It's where yer spunk is stored." His finger moved inside of me, exquisite feelings emanating along the path to my peckerhead yet again.
"Gawd, it feels terrific when you do that," I said. By this time I had a grip on myself, and it seemed like I might cum at any moment. Frankie's wicked finger found it's mark again... and again... and again...
That's when I stopped jacking myself, and watched as my spunk flowed from the head of my dick, almost like I was peeing. It wasn't the usual spurts, just a long, drawn out dribble that increased slightly every time Frankie stroked that magic spot he'd found. My cum ran down my cock, along my balls, and dripped; Frankie caught it in his hand, and when he had a nice puddle there, he gulped it down as if it were manna from heaven. Then he pulled his finger out of me slowly, wiped me again in back, then hobbled around in front of me to mop my still weeping hard-on.
"Where in hell did you learn to do that?" I asked, still somewhat breathless.
"I found it in an old medical book in the library," he replied. I guess it felt pretty good, eh?"
"Yeah, really, well, neat!" I said.
"Would you do it to me?" Frankie asked. I've never felt it myself. I've tried smooth sticks and a zucchini squash, but I can't do it to myself quite right."
Frankie's handsome prong stood proud. Ordinarily, I'd have preferred to suck on it, as it looked very suckable. Frankie was a little shorter than me in stature, but his dick was bigger than mine. His skin was darker than mine, but smooth and essentially hairless like my own.
"Sure, buddy, I'll try, but I'm not sure I'll get it right."
Frankie shucked his pants entirely, bent over away from me and pulled his shirt up over his back. "Use lots of spit on your finger," he said.
Frankie had a cute butt. The muscles in the back of his thighs stretched tight were nice to behold. He spread his cheeks for me, and if I'd still had a hard-on I'd have been tempted to stick my dick in there. But, I wet my finger generously and shoved it slowly in between the hairless crack. I put my free hand on his shoulder to keep from pushing him off balance. I pushed more.
"Ahhhh, that's right," Frankie's strained voice floated back to me. "When you're all the way in, turn your palm up, and move your finger in the 'come here' sign - ohhhhhhh, yes, that's the way."
The tip of my index finger sensed a bit of a bulge about where the base of his pecker should have been: that seemed to be the spot, so I stroked it very slowly. I reached under and felt the end of his cock: sure enough, it was damp and slippery.
"Ohhhh, ohhhh, ahhhhh!" Frankie moaned with each stroke of my finger. "Ooooh... unnngh... unnngh..." I was getting hard again, and my palm was slowly filling with Frankie's juice. "Unnngh... unnngh... oh, that feels so wonderful! Unnnngh... unnnnnnnnnnnngh... Oh, jeeezus...
I glanced around to see that his dribbling had slowed, so I carefully withdrew my finger. Frankie straightened up; his face was ruddy, his breathing rapid. His hard-on still dripped, so I quickly lapped up the pool of jism in my palm, then squatted down and plunged his dick into my mouth. I grasped his buns and savagely fucked my face with his delicious tool, and was rewarded by an immediate eruption of boy-cum from his delayed orgasm. When he calmed down at last, I stood, turned and backed up against him, grabbed his right hand and wrapped it 'round my prod: he took the hint immediately and pulled my pud, bringing me to a rapid and violent climax.
As we tried to make ourselves presentable, I asked Frankie if he'd show me those books in the library; "There's no tellin' what other neat things we might find in there," I said as we headed out of the trees.
SCHOOL OF HARDE-KNOX CHAPTER 3
The librarian was stunned by my sudden interest in reading, but it devolved that Frankie had found the only really interesting thing there. I did, however, learn to spell "prostate", and found it was not "where my jizm was stored". Frankie and I continued to meet secretively to enjoy our mutual ass-play until we were discovered at it one day by some other boys; we were briefly the "butt" of some jokes, it was not long before most of the guys had fingered each others' bums. And the discovery that even the bookish Frankie could be coaxed into "getting down and dirty" like the rest of us enhanced our spirit of comraderie. Still, no one broke the rule about butt-fucking (fingers and vegetables excepted).
As christmas holiday approached, I hoped to hear from my folks; most of the boys were going home. But my wonderful parents took a vacation to Hawaii (I discovered later), so I and a few other boys stayed at school. There was nothing to do, so we had to make up something. We soon tired of writing our names in the snow with piss, ("NEVER eat yellow snow!") but in the course of amusing ourselves with this mindless exercise I discovered by accident that Todd, an older lad from Vincent hall, was really "into" watersports. He had a huge bladder, it seemed, and he could maintain a steady piss stream for as long as three minutes if he put his mind to it: for some reason, he was proud of this ability.
On a dare one day, we stole a whole case of cokes from the pantry, and took it up to the attic. Todd quaffed six of the little bottles in quick succession. After about an hour of playing cards, Todd refilled one of the empty bottles with piss, and drank a seventh cola. In a remarkably short time, he had consumed and re-filled all twenty-four bottles, spilling almost none in the process. To our astonishment (and a few "eeeew, gross!" comments), he then drank the first bottle, and by evening had recycled the entire case of twenty-four! When we discovered Todd was all by himself in Vincent hall, we invited him to stay with us in Howard for the duration, giving us time to find he had a few other kinks. He was totally into piss: he would willingly drink "from the tap", and he loved to have us all "store it up" and then go all over him in the shower room. Lying on the tiles, drenched in warm urine, he'd jerk himself off to a frenzied climax, which generally got us all worked up and wanking happily away.
I asked Todd how he came to enjoy this odd sport; he said he'd had tutors all his life, and one of them had used pissing on him as form of discipline. But, as kids will, Todd had turned something supposed to be onerous into something fun, and deliberately "mis-behaved" frequently in order to get his "punishment". But he asked us not to reveal his secret to his mates in Vincent, because he felt sure the older guys there might not be so "accepting" as we were. In retrospect, I think he was right.
Winter gave way to Spring, at last; among the fond memories I have of that long period of cold, short days and long warm nights are some of the usual pranks known to all boys: "short-sheeting", farting contests - that sort of thing. The cleaning staff were not amused when we re-discovered the old "pan of warm water" trick. Someone passed this on to a chap in Vincent, who tried it (we heard through the "grapevine") on Todd, who scarcely needed the inducement of a hand dangling in a pan of warm water to "let go": so voluminous was his effusion that his mattress had to be replaced!
Separation of the "V"s and the "H"s meant that in team sports it was always V's vs. H's: this meant the V's almost always won, since the Vincent boys were older and more experienced. But as that first year advanced, I led the Howard swimming team to victory, which enhanced my "status" considerably. With my reputation as a hellion firmly established, it was generally to me that my classmates turned in search of new adventures. When a chance discovery of the word "bestiality" in the dictionary got me to thinking, I decided a nearby farm might offer some prospect of amusement. The trouble was, I (like all the boys at H-K MA) was a "city-slicker" with no experience around farm animals. But a few week-end forays to the grounds of the Donnybrook Farm soon revealed that animals get horny, too, and plans to capitalize on this began to take shape. It was not long before the more adventurous of us had discovered that calves will suck on anything!
This led to another experience. One warm lazy Saturday afternoon, Owen and I were casually getting sucked off through a fence behind the barn by two calves. Without warning, each of us was gripped by our shirts and jerked backwards, and I upwards off my feet. Owen was 14 or so and larger than me. I wiggled around, and looked into the stubbled face of what seemed to me a giant of a man.
"Waal, looky here," he drawled. " 'Coupla da boyz from the skool over yonder, likin' to git their lil' dicks sucked by a itty-bitty calf!"
He put me down, but did not let go. He was craggy and lean, dressed in dirty overalls. With our hands free, Owen and I tried to stuff ourselves back in our pants. Owen looked panicky.
The farm-hand spun us around and looked us over. "Y'all's too runty-like", he said to me: "GIT!" - and he thrust me away from him. But without a word, he marched Owen towards an open door in the barn. I ran, looking back frequently, and when they had disappeared into the barn, ran back as quickly and quietly as I could: I felt a responsibility to Owen. By the time I found a knot-hole in the rough boards that gave me a view, the farm-hand had lashed Owen by his wrists, extended over his head, to a post that held up part of the roof. The guy stepped back, lit up a ciggie, and examined his prisoner. Owen was shaking visibly. The man puffed his cig slowly, apparently pondering what to do next. When the smoke was done, he ground out the butt on the floor, then removed his shirt. He was hairy, lean, and mean looking.
He stood in front of Owen, whipped out a pocket-knife, and in a trice had sliced Owen's tee-shirt right up its front. He cut it through to each arm, and roughly jerked it from Owen's frame. Sweat glistened on Owen's chest, and he began to moan, just on the edge of crying.
"Please, Mister..." was all he could think of to say.
"Hmmmm: right purty, that," the man said. "Wanna see the rest."
The knife-blade glinted in a beam of sunlight. The man unbuckled Owen's belt, pulled it out and flung it aside. Then he took his knife and in a single pass sliced the pants from the waist to the end of one leg; he repeated this on the other side, and Owen's pants fell away. That knife was sharp, no doubt about it, and I was beginning to shake with fear. Owen was sobbing now, and sweating even more. Rivulets of liquid poured down his chest, re-appearing below his boxers to mingle with the few hairs he had on his legs. The man lit another smoke, and again stepped back to admire Owen, who, despite his fear, was certainly worthy of admiration. Like all the boys, he was nicely developed. Hanging there from his bound wrists, his almost-hairless armpits were exposed and his chest muscles were stretched alarmingly.
Still smoking, the man stuck a finger into Owen's boxers and flipped his soft prick out through the opening. Then he stood back again, fingering the sharp blade of the knife, seemingly giving thought to slicing off Owen's dangling dong. This was too much for me; I had to do something to save my friend! I rushed to the still-open door and burst in on Owen and his captor.
"Hey, Mister!" I shouted, hoping there was someone around to hear me, "leave my buddy alone, for gosh sakes! Let him GO! Let us go!"
The man grabbed me by my shirt once again and effortlessly lifted me off my feet.
"Ah ain' gonna hurt yer buddy," he said sarcastically. "But since y'all done come back ta try an mess me up, y'all's gonna git to watch."
In a trice, he had me tied to another post, with my arms behind my back and a light lash around my ankles and neck. I was powerless against this guy, twice my height and weight, and clearly strong as an ox.
"Jist keep you little mouf shut now," an don' make no trubble: they's no'n roundabout thishere barn 'cept us three. I don' like runty 'n's like y'all, but thishere" - he turned to Owen - "young'n's jist ma kinda meat."
The knife flashed again, and Owen was utterly bare, his boxers added to the heap of shredded clothes. The man stood back in admiration; he unclasped the straps of his baggy overalls and dropped them, revealing a fully engorged dick of ample dimensions. Then he knelt before my trembling friend and slurped his soft pecker into his mouth.
Owen's adolescent body responded: "Mister, could you let me loose? I promise, I won't run away, but the blood's run out of my arms, and it hurts," he said.
The man stood effortlessly, and a twinge of appreciation swept through me as his lean, muscular legs propelled him. He fetched the knife from his overalls, and cut the rope suspending Owen, leaving him with his wrists tied, but free to drop his arms. Owen nearly collapsed, but managed to remain standing in front of the post: he did not try to run. After a moment's thought, the man cut the rope from Owen's wrists as well: Owen rubbed his arms briskly, trying to get circulation going in them.
"Guess'n y'all won' run an leeve yer boyfriend's behind," the man said, "but don' y'all be making any trubble fer me, neether! Ain' agonna hurtcha if'n ah can hep it..." With that he savagely jammed the point of the knife into the post just above Owen's head, where it would be handy...
He knelt again and resumed sucking on Owen's dick. I was beginning to relax just a little, getting the feeling that we might get out of this alive and in one piece. The man was feeling Owen all over with his huge hands, and sucking noisily. I got a hard-on just from watching. When Owen began to thrust as if to come, the man stopped sucking. He grasped Owen's ankles and spread them far apart, then spun around on his heels and buried his face in Owen's backside. He seemed intent on eating Owen as he alternately bit on the fleshy cheeks before him and licked Owen's shit-crack with his long tongue. I was pretty sure this was new to Owen: I had a momentary flash-back to Mr. Schwartz, and knew if Owen could relax, he might like it. Owen's hard-on did not soften, so I guessed he was enjoying the man's efforts. Nor had the man's dick softened, either: he stroked it now and then, and it became very wet and glossy.
"Don'cha'all move!" the man ordered. He stood up, picked up a large wooden barrel, and placed it in front of Owen. He grabbed a thick horse- blanket from a peg and threw it over the barrel, then threw Owen over the blanket. Then he got down behind Owen, spread his cheeks with his hands, and resumed his attentions to Owen's shapely bum. Sweat poured from their bodies, and I found myself pretty wet as well. I'd have played with myself, but with my hands tied, it was impossible. Watching this man shove his slimy tongue in and out of Owen's bung was making me horny. Owen's moans now seemed to be those of pleasure instead of fear.
"Don'cha'all move!" the man ordered again. He stood for another cigarette, his erection never flagging for an instant: Owen's lithe body remained rolled over the barrel, his creamy white legs spread-eagled behind him. The man paid no mind to me at all. But when he moved again, I knew at once that I was going to see my friend fucked. My erection drooped, and fear gnawed at my heart. The man leaned far over the barrel, grasped Owen's arms, and moved them alongside his body. Holding Owen's wrists and balancing himself on the barrel, he lowered his throbbing wet cock towards Owen's butt: with perfect aim, the engorged head of his dick found Owen's anus, and began to slowly, very slowly, disappear. I expected Owen to cry out, but there was silence. In just a few minutes the man's body covered Owen's completely. Despite a feeling in my own backside of what Owen might be experiencing, the scene was incredibly erotic, and my prick rose back up.
They lay coupled for several minutes, then the man withdrew slowly until almost all of his cock was exposed; then reversed, and plunged it home again. He repeated this over and over, gathering speed. His muscular legs, long arms and powerful back were synchronized perfectly, and my hard-on throbbed in my pants as I watched. What I could see of Owen appeared completely relaxed as this lanky farm-hand fucked him, faster now, faster and faster, until, with a last potent lunge, he collapsed on top of the hapless boy. I watched as the muscles of the man's ass contracted and dimpled, relaxed, contracted again, the only outward evidence that his seed was flooding Owen's colon. My dick throbbed in synchrony, and my balls were beginning to ache, because I could not join the copulating pair before my eyes.
Eventually, his orgasm completed, the man pushed himself up from the barrel and withdrew from Owen. His rapidly softening cock glistened, and some cum dripped from the tip. I half expected it to be covered in blood or shit, but neither was in evidence. "Don'cha'all move!" the man ordered again, less forcefully, "cummin' rat back". He went out of the barn and effortlessly loosed his water against the door standing open there. He returned, stepped into his overalls, flipped the straps over his shapely shoulders and hooked them in front. Then, almost tenderly, he bent and helped my buddy off the barrel. Though Owen's face was flushed with blood, I thought there was a "satisfied" look on his face! Standing naked, he said, "Ooops!" and a wet, rattly fart escaped; jism ran down his buns, along the back of one leg, and fell away just above his knee. His dick remained hard, standing straight out from his slightly hairy pubes. He definitely needed relief of his own.
Reading my thought, the man pulled the knife from the post and sliced the ropes from me. Scarcely thinking of what I was doing, I opened my pants to let my dick "breathe".
The man lit up again. Blowing smoke through his nose, he said, "That wuz a rat naise pieca boy-ass! Grows 'em good over at th' skool, they do! But I sees y'all needin' sumthin' more, so ah'l jist watchya take care o'each other, seein' hows I's a bit tuckered out 'n'all."
I was on Owen's dick in an instant, anxious to get things over with; I swept my hand up the back of his leg to gather the cum still seeping from his ass, slathered it over his nipples, and sucked like a mad-man: Owen shot his load almost instantly, and I thought I might drown before he was finished. "Tuckered out" himself, he then sat on the barrel, and I jerked off and shot my wad all over his chest and stomach.
"Purty." was all the man said.
Now our problem was, how to get Owen back to the school, seeing that his clothes lay in shreds.
"They's a coupla una-forms over yonder," the man said. Vincent boys leave 'em behind some nights. Hep yersef.
"They'll prolly be too big for him: we're Howards," I replied.
"Ah don' giva sheeit what y'are, I evah catch y'all feeding my calves again, ah'll fuck the both of ya! Now, GIT!"
Well, there were enough clothes to get Owen passably dressed, and as soon as we could skedaddle, we were out of that barn! As we tramped across the field, I was quick to ask Owen if he was alright, and if getting fucked had hurt.
"Naw, 'taint the first time: guess you could tell that. But you've got to promise that's our secret!"
"Sure!" I said, "but it looks to me like the Vincents have been spending some time in that barn."
"That, too, will be our secret - for now, at least", Owen replied.
SCHOOL OF HARDE-KNOX CHAPTER 4
Owen's confession that he'd been fucked before remained my secret. He later told me his brother had taken him three years earlier - that would have been when Owen was eleven; the brother was fifteen. Owen admitted the first time had come about as a result of his spying on his brother in the shower. His brother had evidently been a precocious child, typically horny at 15, and unpopular with girls for some reason. His discovery of Owen peering through the glass doors of the shower had sent his hormones raging; he'd jacked off for Owen's benefit, without letting on he knew he was being watched. But late that night he'd crept stealthily into Owen's bedroom, snatched his little brother from deep slumber, and plugged his boy-hole enthusiastically. The scene was to be repeated practically every night until Owen was sent to H-K MA.
Meanwhile, my hirsute hero, Bart, was growing up rapidly. He turned out to have a mean streak, though, and in many little ways he ticked off just about every boy in Howard. It seems as though everyone had some little grudge against him. Even I grew tired of his vicious towel-snaps in the gym, and I think he was a trifle jealous of my swimming prowess, for he was fond of holding me under water longer than was healthy. Gradually over time, Bart got "left out" of nearly all our crazy pranks (though I admit I never tired of watching him spray his load out over his hairy chest and stomach when he jacked off, which he did almost every night).
When the word went 'round that Bart's parents would be visiting in a few weeks, several of us hatched a plan to embarrass him. Eventually, just about all the Howard boys got involved, and it was a good thing, because Bart was, by this time, getting quite large and powerful. We sprang our little caper one warm, lazy afternoon near the beginning of summer...
I lured Bart into the gym on the pretext of swimming: but when he emerged nude from the locker-room, he was set upon by a dozen of his buddies and dragged, kicking and bellowing, into the showers. There, he was unceremoniously knocked off his feet and spread-eagled on the tile floor directly under the most powerful showerhead in the room. At first we just soaped him up and washed him, which got him hot in the crotch and put him off his guard. I guess he thought we were just going to play sexy games. But after several washings and rinses, Johnny (a lad who had been the brunt of Bart's meanness even more often than I) ran into the shower with a bucket of tools: a pair of scissors, Bart's own Gillette razor, a fresh packet of blades, and several cans of shaving-cream stolen somewhere. Before Bart quite knew what was up, the scissors had snipped off some gobs of his pubic hair, and someone was going to town with the scissors on his chest. Poor Bart! He was pinned on his back with a boy or two at each foot and hand; a few minutes later he was lathered from his neck to his toes, the fragrant white cream showing black streaks of his soon-to- be shorn body hair. When it became apparent we meant to finish what we'd started, Bart was persuaded to remain quiet so we could do our deed without much fear of slicing his flesh in the process.
And a slow process it was! The razor had to be dismantled after every second swipe or so, to free it of the long, silky black hair which simply would not rinse out. All of us took turns, making long blank strips from his neckline down to his pubes, carrying away the surface evidence of his manliness. Bart swore at us endlessly, promising to "get even". We had all agreed to leave his pubes for last: when my turn with the razor came round, I attacked his legs, which his captors obligingly held up and spread for easy access. It was then I discovered how sensitive Bart's thighs were: as I pushed the head of the razor up beside his balls and drew it down the flesh of his inside leg, his pecker began to rise, and with each of my strokes it engorged a bit more. Before very long, his thighs were as glabrous as my own, and I moved down to work on his shins. The hair there was wiry and tough. When the bulk of it was gone, I put a fresh blade in the razor, lathered his legs again, and began my strokes from his ankles, up against the grain. His muscular shins emerged from their hairy stockings, smooth as a girl's. Then I went about treating his thighs the same way. I noticed Bart had stopped his growling: as I drew the razor ever closer to his balls (which I was careful to hold out of harm's way) his leg muscles tightened involuntarily and his cock stood proud, still with most of its pubic bush. I was nothing if not methodical, stroking each leg , starting at the far outside where the hair was sparse, and working my way inward. Feeling his leg muscles tightening with each stroke had the expected effect on me: like Bart, I had a raging hard-on, and a glance around showed most of the boys did as well.
Suddenly, without warning, a load of teen-cum erupted from Bart's throbbing dick! It rose majestically into the air a foot or more, followed in quick succession by several more spurts, accompanied by a howl of release. Another boy quickly scooped up his seed and spread it around Bart's now-smooth chest, taking care to massage it deeply into his nipples. Seeing this was too much for me; I was finished with his legs anyway, so I motioned to the captors to put them down. I stood up between them and jacked myself to a quick climax, spraying my spunk over Bart's hapless form. One large gob landed on his face, and I was gratified to see his tongue reaching out to try to scrape it into his mouth. This sight sent several other spectators over the edge, and pretty soon Bart was awash in cum, much as he'd shortly before been awash in shaving cream.
Nevertheless, we were NOT finished! After a brief respite, Bart was turned on his belly, where another chap relieved him of the straggly hairs on the back of his legs. A few minutes later, with eager hands spreading his buns, the hair from his ass-crack disappeared down the drain. With Bart returned to his back, another boy made short work of the long strands under Bart's arms, and soon he looked a great deal more like any of us than like his old self. Only his bushy snatch remained. With another fresh blade and more gobs of shaving creme, little Frankie administered the , Bart's boyishness slowly coming into view once again as the razor freed his cock and balls of their fur. Frankie was ever so careful; a few tiny droplets of blood oozed from Bart's scrotum but it was clear there was no permanent damage.
At least an hour after it had begun, Bart's de-fleecing was complete. Exhausted by his struggles and ejaculation, he remained prone when after one last hot-water rinse, his captors stood up and admired our handiwork. The heat and effort had the blood up in his skin, so much of him was a brilliant pink: and but for his five-o'clock shadow and that on his head, Bart was utterly devoid of hair. He looked 5 years younger, and absolutely delicious! He remained where he was while several more boys shot their wads on him, and this time he himself rubbed their effluvia over his new-found smoothness. He was feeling himself as he had once been when much younger, and he appeared to find it agreeable.
It was not until the following week-end that Bart realized he was scheduled for an "exhibition" game of touch foot-ball for the benefit of his parents and a few other visitors. Ordinarily (and especially this time of year) we played in loose shorts; we had planned all of this carefully! But Bart turned the tables on us quite unexpectedly. He showed up for the game, as we expected, in a sweat-shirt and sweat-pants. He must have known one of us would yank those off "accidently" during play. So when this happy event occurred, we were shocked to discover he had nothing at all under his pants! His mother swooned; the teachers descended and hustled all of us into the gym amid general pandemonium among the guests. I doubt any of them really noticed Bart had been shorn, but the teachers noticed, and you can bet we caught holy hell for our shenanigan!
But Bart was a changed boy! Someone explained to him why we had tried to humiliate him, and he admitted he'd been a trifle ugly to most of us. More remarkable, however, Bart thereafter eschewed his natural coat, and for the remainder of our stay at H-K MA, he shaved himself all over once a week, usually enlisting the aid of one or more of us in a "kinder and gentler" replay of our prank. He was often to be found admiring himself and pumping his muscles in front of a full-length mirror in the toilet; and he was admirable, indeed! His musculature was taking on the shape and definition of late adolescence, and without all that "damned" hair (as he put it), his body was very nice to behold. It was nice to hold, for that matter, and Bart once again became the object of urgent desires amongst us. He especially liked to have several guys jack off and shoot on him, then he'd select a lucky kid and they'd slither and slide to a wet and gooey climax.
And (to my chagrin) Bart quickly moved into first place in swimming! We had inadvertently discovered for him what professional swimmers have known for years: copious body hair impedes progress through water.
Too soon, my first year at Harde-Knox ended. I was remanded to the custody of my parents, who had become well accustomed to my absence, which they clearly preferred. Anticipating this state of affairs, I begged my folks to let me spend the summer with Frankie, of whom I had grown quite fond. He'd suggested it, without giving me any specifics of where he lived, but the arrangements were soon made after I'd become a nuisance back in Illinois. Thus, I quickly found myself ensconced in a huge mansion somewhere near Boston. Frankie's parents were "old money", living out their lives in stuffy opulence, wanting as little to do with their diminutive "oops" (who had come along years after his brothers and sisters) as my folks wanted with me. Frankie and I were as peas in a pod; we could not be mistaken for brothers, as we were very different in appearance: but our minds were in synchrony, mainly I suppose because we both thought of sex and little else. Despite our separate bedrooms, we slept together always, something which the "help" must surely have known, but of which his parents were blissfully ignorant. Indeed, we often spent nights away from the place, and no one ever seemed to notice. It was a situation ripe for mischief, and it was not long before we got into it.
We found it enjoyable to swim in the ocean from beaches on the northern shore of Cape Cod. For a while we were content to have the chauffeur take us out there, but we soon discovered few other boys would play with us, as the hulking Rolls marked us as "spoiled (rich) brats". One day we decided to hitch-hike out to the beach: we knew no one would miss us. It never occurred to us this might be in the least bit dangerous; our goal was simple anonymity among the gaggle of swimmers at our favorite beach. It worked splendidly! Two scantily-clad teenagers with beach towels under our arms, it seemed to us remarkable how rapidly we got picked up and how friendly the lone men were, most of them even happy to go out of their way to get us to our destination or back home again.
At the beach, we soon got on with a group of boys about our own age, and it wasn't long before we were exploring them intimately under water or among the bushes back from the beach a ways. There were all sorts of pathways beaten down among those bushes, and neat little trysting- places, all seemingly put there for our very own exploration and use. It was among them that Frankie and I discovered there were other sorts of people in the world; young, boisterous and horny like ourselves, but of different hues, different ethnicities (as we put it nowadays). They were niggers and whops and chinks then, but these were only convenient labels, code-words for "others" but without the pejorative connotations they carry today. Most of these were "city boys" - street-wise, rough-and- tumble, but not yet jaded and as yet unaware of other things which differentiated us.
It was Frankie who first evinced an interest in the sexual possibilities of these "others", and despite the fact he was smaller than I, it was he who made bold to chat up a stringy black boy one afternoon. We swam over to where Jeb's head broke the water's surface; he smiled as we approached, but burst out laughing as Frankie lost his footing when the water turned out to be deeper than expected. Jeb, it devolved, was a good foot-and-a-half taller than Frankie. I made as if I was "rescuing" my buddy, and held him up in the water; Frankie clung to me in fake alarm, and I kissed away his fears. Jeb moved near us, grinning, and introduced himself. "Mebbe we shou' take the li'l tyke ashore 'n let 'im dry ou'," Jeb said in mock concern. "Yeah, my Frankie's gettin' waterlogged: maybe we'll have to pump him out," I replied. "Know a good place; follow me!" Jeb rejoined.
As we walked ashore, more and more of Jeb emerged, his ebony skin shiny with rivulets of water. He was tall, lithe, and muscular; as his ass appeared, it was covered only by jockey shorts several sizes too big. The wet cloth clung to his buns, two glabrous black globes, the fabric wedged alluringly in the crack between. When his thighs became visible, we could see strong muscles there, a symphony of motion as he pushed along in the water. We followed him, admiring his purposeful stride and watching his skin dry before our eyes as its oiliness rejected the salty water. Frankie was mesmerized, and already showing a bulge in his trunks. We scooped up our towels as we followed Jeb into the bushes; he quickly found a pleasant little clearing, and turned to face us.
I heard a faint "Jeez!" from Frankie: Jeb's sagging wet shorts did little to conceal a packet of teen-meat ripe for the plucking. Jeb's long sinewy arms hung loosely at his sides, and he assumed a perfect "David" pose as he rested his weight on one foot: he looked like a bronze statue! "Looks like you really need some pumping", he said, giving Frankie a "come hither" look. Frankie, entranced, moved toward Jeb: the top of my buddy's head was about even with Jeb's prominent nipples. Frankie hooked his thumbs in his swimsuit and slid it down, exposing his raging hard-on. Seeing Jeb's huge black hand wrap itself around Frankie's erection turned me on; my pecker, until now shriveled in my pouch, suddenly came to life. I moved in and nuzzled one of Jeb's nipples, which grew stone-hard in my mouth. I watched, fascinated, as Frankie grasped Jeb's damp jockey's and pushed them down, exposing the thin black snake they had only partially concealed. He was rising fast. He thrust his free hand inside my suit and groped me deliciously, still sensuously jacking Frankie off. Within minutes, we'd spread our towels on the sand and the three of us were writhing around, a tangle of arms and legs, hard-ons and mouths, a study in contrasts in the dappled sunlight. I was beginning to tan, but Frankie was many shades ahead of me from the start, and Jeb - well, his "tan" was god-given! Jeb turned out to be not much longer hard than he was soft, but when it got hard it was like iron; he had very loose skin on his pole, and balls far larger than ours. Sucking his tits sent him into orbit, and fondling his big balls riled him up even more. Frankie tried valiantly to suck Jeb's prong, but it was longer than mine (to which he was accustomed) and he had to use his fist as well as his mouth to do it justice.
Frankie got off first, just humping against Jed's shapely leg; I picked up his load of boy-cum and lubricated Jed's pecker, stroking him while gently biting his left nipple. He shot his wad all over himself and my neck and shoulder; I'd never seen so much jizz come out of one cock in my life! With a handful of it, and my dick pressed against his muscular thigh, I soon flooded his groin with a juicy eruption. I rubbed my effusion into the tight, curly hairs on Jed's pubes as Frankie, already hard again, frantically jacked himself off to a second climax, adding his snow-white cream to what was left on Jed's rippling stomach.
Together, and in various other combinations, Frankie and I expanded our sexual horizons throughout that lazy summer. We experienced the joy of sex with several lithe chinese boys, a clutch of stocky cubans, a rather larger number of blacks (ranging in color from to jet), and an amazing array of "white boyz". In a few cases we experimented with finger-fucking; piss fights were not uncommon, and we found one or two fellows willing to let us watch them shit (coprophilia still being Frankie's "dark secret").
Late one afternoon, we headed home, and were picked up by the first car to approach. It was a rather beat-up old heap, with all sorts of junk in the back seat, so we slid into the front. Too late, I discovered the rather corpulent driver was pretty well sloshed. Fortunately, after a few near-misses with various obstacles and other cars, the wail of a siren brought us to a halt. Our driver told the officer we were his sons, but we quickly explained our presence, and the cop put us in the back seat of his cruiser while he attended to writing up another DUI. It took quite a while, and in the gathering twilight Frankie fell asleep curled up on the seat beside me with his head in my lap. Without thinking, I stroked him intimately, admiring his deep tan and glossy black hair, now grown quite long and wild. Suddenly, I realized the policeman was standing beside the patrol car watching us. He opened the door and peered in: I got the first look at his face, and realized he was quite young and ruggedly handsome. He had a winning smile: "Where you boys from?" he enquired.
"Pretty posh place," he remarked when I told him. "Think I'd better give you a ride up there - it's getting dark now," he said. Our first ride in a police car seemed pretty neat, but I wanted to ride up front where we could explore the radio and other gadgets. So, as a tow-truck trundled off with the drunk's car (he in another cruiser), we set forth, riding "tall" in the front seat with this snazzy cop. He got our names, and we got his: Manny. He cut a nice figure in his deep blue uniform, such a contrast to Frankie and me still in our swimsuits, our tan teen legs sticking slightly to the plastic seat. As we sat waiting for a stop-light to change, Manny gave my leg an affectionate squeeze as he gently lectured us to the general effect that hitch-hiking was not such a good idea for youngsters as good-looking as we. I quickly connected his characterization of us as "good-looking" with his hand gently massaging my leg and with a perceptible enlargement of the folds of cloth in his lap. It was my turn to be bold, so I moved myself closer to his warm, handsome body and pressed my leg against his, a move he returned, bringing about that familiar feeling in my crotch which signaled the onset of an erection.
Unexpectedly, Manny swung the cruiser onto a side road, then pulled off into a convenient clump of trees. He quickly reversed the car and parked, then turned his attention to me. I needed no persuasion to rise far enough from the seat to allow him to pull my suit down to my ankles, exposing what little of me had remained covered; without further ceremony, he bent down and engulfed my rigid pecker in his mouth. He was an excellent cocksucker, and I was soon writhing under his ministrations; his left hand plunged up between my legs, fondling my wrinkled nut-sack. Not wishing to be left out, Frankie frenched my ear then moved his darting tongue down to my right nipple, with predictable results: I shot a sticky load of teen-cum into Manny's slick throat, my leg muscles trembling with the familiar bliss of ejaculation. Manny drank my jizz to the last drop, and as if intoxicated like his recent conquest, he lunged across me to lap thirstily at Frankie's tented swim-suit. Frankie quickly peeled this down, giving Manny access to his juicy joy-stick, while I reached over Manny's back and groped his crotch through his uniform. Frankie, his voice cracking as he moaned in ecstasy, soon erupted in Manny's golden throat, and a warm wetness exuding from our benefactor's pants signaled that he had found my hand rewarding.
As we put ourselves back together, I was sorry I had not witnessed Manny's orgasm: the dark spot in his trousers grew to amazing proportions as we drove on. I snuggled up to him, and Frankie to me. Manny drove with one hand while his right arm gathered us comfortably unto himself. Too soon, he pulled up at the drive to our mansion, ruffled our hair to bring us out of our near slumber, and pushed us out of the car with a breezy, "Thanks guys!"
I hugged Frankie as we watched the cruiser disappear into the night. "Jeeeez," Frankie hissed: "Sucked off by a cop! Neat-o!"
"Yep, that was a swell finish," I replied. "Race ya to the shower!"
SCHOOL OF HARDE-KNOX - CHAPTER V
Too soon, summer was over and Frankie and I returned to Harde-Knox, our skins tanned, our ears soggy with seawater, our bellies full of cum, our heads filled with memories. After our summer's experimentation with dozens of cute guys of all descriptions, we found the unrelieved "whiteness" of our mates at H-K rather dull. Still, there was the excitement attendant upon "moving up" to Vincent Hall. It was our turn to look down on the younger guys in Howard. Looking over the new crop of kids, we both noticed - how could we help it? - there was only one gangly black kid. By the time we had a chance to meet him, he'd already gotten the cruel nick-name of "Token", a bit of a play on his last name, which was Loken.
His name got shortened to "Toke" soon enough, but since this was years before the advent of the drug "culture", there was no significance in it. Frankie and I were pleased to discover Toke was a very nice fellow; we were about the only older guys willing to befriend him. Within a few days of school's opening, he was required to prove his fighting ability when Melvin, a typical "georgia cracker" hurled the usual "goddam nigger gonna fuck my sistah" string at him. Toke and Melvin wrestled sensuously, egged on by quickly-chosen "sides"; but it was a bad match, and Melvin was soon vanquished by Toke's superior strength. He was definitely not someone to be dealt with lightly! We soon found he excelled at basketball, which earned him a measure of respect on the courts at least. He cut a nice figure in his dark green jersey and snow-white shorts.
Scarcely had the semester really gotten under way, however, when Toke took a nasty tumble on the gym floor; he broke a leg and dislocated his right arm in the process. He was taken away to a hospital nearby, but after a couple of weeks returned to H-K, to spend a while in our small infirmary, with his leg in traction and his arm firmly immobilized across his stomach. Frankie and I took pity on the poor guy, lying there all day with only a cheap radio for company, so we dropped by as often as our schedules would permit.
As I approached his room late one sweltering evening, I heard moans that suggested he might be in pain, so I entered the room quietly. I had not expected the scene that greeted me as I peeked around the curtain: there was Melvin, standing beside the bed with one hand up under Toke's flimsy gown, his pants at his ankles, and his other hand groping himself lasciviously.
"Gosh, Toke," Melvin said, "how long since you jacked off?"
"Not since the tumble: I'm no good with my left hand, and I can't even see Mr. Happy down there with this damned thing on my arm jammed across my stomach," he replied.
Melvin continued to fiddle with Toke's rigid dong. "Don't 'spose you'd really mind if I, uh, took care of this for you, wouldja?" he asked.
"You'd do that for this lil' ol' pickaninny?"
"Heck yeah, Toke! black guys need to get off just like anybody else," Melvin replied, still stroking his own pole, and Toke's, under the gown.
"Well, I'd be eternally grateful..."
Encouraged, Mel slowly drew up Toke's gown to expose his groin; the mahogany-hued leg this action revealed had nice muscle structure and tone, but Toke's outstanding feature was a magnificent un-cut penis standing proud, foreskin partially obscuring a purplish head already oozing pre-cum. Without further ceremony, Melvin bent over and lapped up that juice, then sucked that prong into his mouth. The effect was instantaneous! With rending throbs, Toke rapidly filled Mel's throat with a huge load of sweet, tasty jism. Toke moaned through clenched teeth, his abdominal muscles tight beneath his bound arm, and the muscles in his thigh knotted under Mel's palm resting just below his balls.
"Oh, man; oh, man," Toke whispered hoarsely, "you've no idea how much I needed that!"
Swallowing the delicious expulsion, Mel said, "Oh, I think I know how you feel; but we can' letcha get in this condition again! I promise to see that you're taken care of as often as I can manage it. Wantcha ta know I don' carry a grudge..."
"You're a real buddy!" Toke said appreciatively; "but what about you? That thing I's feelin' there needs some attention, too, and I can't do anything about it, lying here like this..."
"Hold on," Mel said, dragging over a small stool from a corner of the room. He stood on it, which put his groin a few inches above the side of the bed, and flogged his dick feverishly as Toke rather clumsily clutched at his balls: within just a few minutes Mel shot a soggy wad, most of which landed on Toke's face. Toke shut his eyes tightly and wrinkled up his nose; Mel's white cum shone wetly on his dark features.
"Sorry about that!" Melvin said as he mopped Toke's handsome face with a towel.
"No problem," Toke replied; "next time, I wanna scrunch roun' so I can taste it!"
"So Melvin's into darkies after all!" I thought to myself as I beat a hasty retreat down the corridor; my own pecker stood packed against my pubes, aching for release.
I arrived back at Vincent still horny; Frankie listened rapturously to my tale of catching Toke and Melvin getting it on: "Jeez," he said, "I'd never have guessed Melvin would do such a thing. How was he hung?"
"Oh, Toke's got a real nice un-cut prick," I enthused.
"No, no! How's Melvin hung?"
"Gosh, I can't really say: I was admiring Toke!"
"Well, it's Mel I wanna get with," Frankie replied. "He's got a cute ass I'd like to eat."
"I'll leave it to you, then," I replied: "I don't cotton to Melvin all that much, myself." ... "Gawd, I'm horny! Watching those two get it on has my balls in an uproar."
"Aw, shucks! I couldn't find you anywhere, so I jerked off by myself half an hour ago: don't feel like doing it again just yet," Frankie complained.
Disappointed and still horny, my mind wandered naturally back to poor Toke, lying there by himself. What had he said to Melvin? "... so I can taste it?" I returned quickly to the infirmary.
I wasted no time when I got there: "Hey, Toke, ya want a nice warm load o'sperms?" I asked.
"If it's yours yer talkin' of, sure! But I can't do much, lying here this way," he said, waving his free arm to indicate his trussed position.
"Can you get your head over to this side of the bed?" I asked. "Here, let me help..."
By throwing his available arm around my neck, Toke managed to "scrunch" over, close to the side of the bed, and was able to turn his head enough; I pulled over the same stool used such a short while ago by Melvin, and stood upon it. Feverishly, I unbuttoned my pants and whipped out my tumescent prod, which found a willing chasm near the bottom of Toke's face. The position was far from perfect, but as horny as I was it scarcely mattered: Toke did his very best. I made a mental note to have him again after he recovered! Watching my light-colored prick move in and out of his handsome black face was all I really needed, and in a few minutes I was breathing hard, ready to spill. But Toke pulled away.
"Jack me off!" he commanded: "Melvin di'n't get it all..."
As he resumed his awkward sucking, I threw back the sheet and quickly wrapped my hand around his rigid pole. The heat of it felt wonderful, and I was momentarily sorry that Melvin had gotten there first. His un-cut condition left a lot of skin to rub up and down. It was not long before we reached Nirvana together; another flood of stringy white cum spurted briskly from the engorged head of his dick as I pumped my wad into Toke's eager mouth.
When I was well spent, I stepped off the stool and bent over Toke's sexy tummy, where I licked up every bit of his tasty load, and sucked the last drops from his slowly drooping rod. His cum had a particularly nice flavor. He, meanwhile, had swallowed all that I had given him, and was licking his lips appreciatively.
"Man, you just about drowned this darkie," Toke said. "You been saving up?"
"Naw. I just happened to be watching you and Melvin earlier," I confessed, "and it got me going."
"Knew you were watching," Toke replied: "saw your shadow through the curtain. Hoped you'd come back for more..."
Well, I sure feel better now, myself: how about you?"
"Yep! Ready for a good night's sleep now," Toke said dreamily.
"Good! And good-night, handsome," I said as I helped him back to the center of the bed and drew the sheet up. "I'll be back again." I wiped his sweaty forehead, then kissed it tenderly.
"Sure hopin' so," he said, as he quickly drifted off to sleep.
Our little infirmary was ruled by Sonja, a massive bull-dyke who brooked no nonsense from us. She was occasionally assisted by an old doctor who came out from town. We all knew "Dr. Hal" ("for halitosis") got his kicks feeling up our pubescent bods when it was time for physical exams, but we all agreed it was a good thing he stayed dressed! None of us was disappointed when we heard the lecherous old fart had retired, to be replaced by a lecherous young doctor, "Dr. Wayne" (doctors didn't seem to have last names). Tall, lithe and blond, Dr. Wayne soon had Toke out of his bed and into regular physical therapy, and he updated everyone's physical exam as rapidly as he could, becoming intimately familiar with each of us in that "special way" doctors have.
On the day for my own exam, I recall that Sonja did the preliminaries, taking my temperature, blood-pressure and so forth in her usual gruff way. I thought it odd that she did not have me undress, until I was ushered into the examination cubicle where Dr. Wayne sat perched on a tiny stool, his stethoscope dangling around his neck. Setting my folder aside, he immediately un-buttoned my shirt, removed it, and pulled my tee over my head. He listened to my heart briefly, then began a general feel-up of my neck and upper body which, despite myself, I found very sensuous. He soon had my belt un-done, and by the time he pushed my pants down over my hips I had a hard-on: he seemed pleased, but continued in a business-like way to poke his fingers up under my nut-sack ("turn your head and cough"). He left me standing in front of him to jot some notes in the folder, and I noticed him glancing rather longingly at my throbbing boner, so I grabbed myself and gave it a few strokes. That's when I noticed he had a raging hard-on, which his tight whites did little to conceal. Nevertheless, he set the folder aside again, turned me around, bent me over forwards, and gracefully slipped a digit into my bung. This was, of course, not a new feeling for me; nor was it new when he found my prostate. But his finger was more - um - "experienced" than those which had previously worked this magic, and within a few seconds my boy-seed rushed to the head of my cock and flooded out. It spilled into Dr. Wayne's left hand, which he had moved into position without my noticing it. I moaned with pleasure: there is something about the act of cumming in this way which is distinctly different from the usual jack-off.
As the doc withdrew his finger, I turned round, still dripping, to find Dr. Wayne with his white trousers around his ankles and a very prominent erection pointing at the ceiling. He slathered that lovely thing with my load, and would - I'm sure - have jacked himself off immediately, but for the fact that I knelt down, pushed his hand away, and swallowed his erection. Lacking the gag-impulse that many of my friends seemed to have, I was able to get most of him into my throat, where a series of swallowing motions soon resulted in a tremendous orgasm as the doctor's shapely legs shot out straight and his muscles tightened up to help expel his copious load into my waiting throat. He seemed to cum forever: I guessed that none of my buddies had been quite so "forward" with him, but as I now had a reputation at H-K as an expert cock-sucker, I did not want to disappoint him.
No disappointment was evident, either, as Dr. Wayne slowly returned to reality and relaxed. When he stood up, I assisted him to pull up his white pants and helped stuff his softening tool back into his briefs.
"Thank you, Son", he said: "it's been a while..."
"My pleasure, Dr. Wayne: any time...", I replied sincerely. He really was a handsome fellow, in his 30's I suppose, very trim and fit. "That was a physical exam I won't soon forget!"
"Nor will I", he replied fervently. "I may need to call you back when I get your lab results", he said, with a wide smile and a lascivious wink.
This was an experience I did not share with Frankie. Truth was, I suspected Dr. Wayne had his way with many of the boys, but as time went on, and I heard some of my buddies remarking about how they wished Dr. Wayne had "done it" with them, I began to wonder. A few weeks later, I got a note requesting my presence for further consultation.
This began much as before, with Dr. Wayne undressing me, which he seemed to like, and to which I was never averse. He then stretched me out on the examination table, on my back, and listened intently to my heart from many positions. After a while, he told me I had a heart murmur, and explained what that was - and that it was nothing of consequence or anything I should worry about, as many people have them. During this discourse my ever-erect penis had softened slightly, which had not escaped his notice. The doc then said he wanted to "examine" me some more, and he began to run his hands over many parts of me. Years later I realized he was giving me a massage: a very sensual massage, at that! But at the time it was another new experience to have this tall, lanky, handsome blond working my body over, his large hands skillfully squeezing my young flesh. He was (like myself, actually) apparently a "leg man", and he spent a lot of time gently kneading my thighs, something (then as now) guaranteed to get me "up and ready". Those busy hands occasionally brushed over my balls or up along my dick, sending wild signals to my brain, and I luxuriated in the attention. This man knew exactly how to work with a horny youth like me!
Of course, he had no cause for complaint! At 15, I was lean, sinewy and constantly horny. My body was that of the typical good swimmer that I was; some silky hair had appeared below my knees, but the rest of me was still glabrous, except for a small black bush above my pecker and the faintest suggestion of a treasure-trail above that. At attention, my boyhood was a pleasing 6 inches of pulsating gristle and my balls were a nice mouthful for anyone so inclined. Those balls were productive, too, generally requiring a good emptying at least twice a day, or more often if there was appropriate stimulation.
And Dr. Wayne's stimulation was very appropriate! As he massaged my thighs he tantalized me with the occasional swipe up my cock, or down low beneath my balls. Working me over thus, he slowly bent down towards me: his tongue's first contact was with my nipples, two points of fire atop my smooth pecs. Keeping his hands busy the while, the doc worked his way down the expanse of my flat tummy, sending shock-waves of happy signals to my head. After twirling his tongue among my curly bush for a while, he moved down and slathered my thighs, lubricating them with his spittle until they shone as if oiled. His technique was heavenly, and I feared my moans of pleasure might alert Sonja, but we were not interrupted. When at last Dr. Wayne thrust his mouth down over my prick, and began to apply heavy suction (why do they call it a "BLOW-job"?) my juices were roiling in my loins, and in short order my frenzied orgasm filled his throat with a flood of boy cream.
This was not to be the end of our "exam", however. Scarcely had I calmed a trifle when the doctor flipped me onto my stomach and pulled me down so that only my torso remained on the table; he spread my cheeks and quietly spat my load directly on my bung. A finger followed, to spread nature's best lube around. A few moments later, I felt the head of his cock force its way past my sphincter. I was still so relaxed from my orgasm that taking him this way proved easier than I thought possible, and in just a short time I felt all of him gliding in and out of my backside, without the slightest pain or discomfort. He was not plowing a fallow field, of course, but up to this point I had not had the pleasure of being really fucked by a man-sized cock. The sensation soon had my dick hard again, constrained between the paper cover of the exam table and my belly, where with each thrust from the doctor it got rubbed most pleasantly.
Despite my evident willingness to receive him, the doctor chose for his finale. Somehow, I knew just when it was going to happen, so when he suddenly withdrew I did a quick turn, slid down at the end of the table, and got a face full of his jism as he shot wad after wad of it: I got it in my hair, my eyes, alongside my nose, and some in my mouth, which I licked off as quickly as I could with my tongue. By this time I had another load of my own ready; wiping as much of his cum into my hand as I could, I gripped myself and whipped furiously, and blew another load all over the floor while the doctor was still squeezing out the last of his pungent man-seed and shaking it into my hair.
Sated, the doctor sank down on his stool; I remained with my back against the table, cum streaking my face and dripping down on to my chest. In time, we recovered enough to converse. "Gawd, what a mess you are!" exclaimed the doctor.
"Don't worry, Doc: I've had cum-baths before now. But yours was one of the best," I added.
"You're a hot number, alright," Dr. Wayne opined, "with a nice tight asshole."
"Yours any time," I replied emphatically.
"No; no. This shouldn't be a regular thing with us," the doctor said wistfully. "Once in a while, maybe, but not every day..."
"But, now we must make you presentable again", he said, seemingly ignoring the fact that his own pants were still at half-mast, and his flaccid cock, now aimed at the floor, still drooled a string of cum.
He stood, and opened a small door into a tiny shower. Alas, it was in no way big enough for two. I kicked off my shoes and stepped into the little tile cubicle, and soon had warm jets of water rinsing my weary bod. I left the door open so Dr. Wayne could watch, which he did. He made no move to pull up his pants, and as I enjoyed the flowing water and soaped myself all over, he soon was up again and whipping his lovely tool. As another orgasm neared, he stood up as close as he could to the shower and shot another wad all over my soapy thigh which I pushed up under his balls at the right moment.
While I toweled off, he took a quick shower himself, and when we emerged from the examination room, we were each as presentable as when we'd gone in, despite both of us having just had the wildest sex...
SCHOOL OF HARDE-KNOX - CHAPTER VI
The good doctor followed my heart murmur closely over the remainder of the year, with an "examination" every six weeks or so. It devolved that Toke and I were the only boys Dr. Wayne enjoyed that year, but he used each of us quite differently. Toke and I compared notes one afternoon, as we had become good buddies, able to confide in each other knowing our secrets were safe. The several sessions I had with Dr. Wayne followed much the same pattern as the first encounter: he didn't always fuck me, and only on one occasion did he come inside my ass. But he never left me unsatisfied!
His affair with Toke had begun during Toke's physical therapy, which naturally involved a lot of "hands on" treatment and exercises with weights. Toke related that at the third of these treatments the doctor had joined in, doing many reps of a bench press while Toke swung his weighted leg up and down. Toke paid little attention to the many swigs Dr. Wayne took from a bottle of cold water. Then, he had Toke put his game leg into the small Jacuzzi machine, with its very hot water and wildly churning bubbles. Toke's mind wandered, and the swirling water lapping at his balls turned him on. He thought better of shooting off into the hot water, though, and just quietly occupied himself dribbling hot water over his pecker, enjoying the sensation, when the timer suddenly shut off the Jacuzzi machine.
Dr. Wayne helped Toke out of the water, and immediately wiped down his soggy leg with a snowy white towel, ignoring (it seemed) Toke's erection. "Shower time," he said, aiming Toke towards the larger shower off the P-T room. There, to Toke's surprise, Dr. Wayne shed his white coat, dropped his pants and got into the shower with him; he did not immediately turn on the water. The shower water, that is: seconds after closing the door, the doctor loosed a stream of piss, with a volume and force unlike anything Toke had ever seen. He played this warm and pungent stream all over Toke's sweaty body until his erection choked off the flow. Then he bent over and grasped his ankles: "Fuck me, hard!" he commanded.
"I's amazed!" Toke said. "He ain't so much as looked at my pecker up to this point, and now he wanted me to plug his backside. And he couldn't wait, either: he reached around and grabbed my prong, aimed it you-know-where, backed me up against the wall, and buried Mr. Happy jes' like corkin' a jug a hootch!"
"Then what?" I asked, my crotch filling at the (imagined) sight of the doctor impaled on Toke's big stick.
"Well, he said to fuck him, so I fucked him: he stayed bent over, and I grabbed his hips and pulled him onto me, then pushed him away, and then pulled him back again. He tol' me to do it harder, so I kinda walked him over against the other wall where he could brace himself, and I just started fuckin' like I never fucked anything before. The harder I fucked, the better he liked it! Pretty soon we was down on the floor, he was pushin' his butt up against me, and I was jes' humpin' that ass for all I was worth. But you know I can't keep that up for long without blowin' a load, which I did soon enough. He wouldn't let me pull out, though: said, 'let it get soft inside me', which took a while, 'cause it was all warm and slippery. An then he says, 'piss in me'! Guess I musta 'sorbed a lotta water in that Jacuzzi thing, 'cause I really did have to go; so seein' as he asked me to, I cut loose. Thought surely he would burst: I jes peed and peed and PEED! An' when I couldn't pee any more, he let me slip out and didn't spill a drop!"
"Jeez! I wonder what that feels like?" I said.
"Dunno!"
"So then what?"
"So then he got up off the floor an' I did to, an' he cut loose again with that firehose of his! All over me, almost like what I'd pissed in his behind was comin' outa his dick! He musta been drinkin' water all morning! Never saw so much piss come outa one person!"
"You never met Todd!" I said. "He and Dr. Wayne woulda got along famously! So, then what?"
"Well, when he finally quit hosin' me down, by which time I was gettin' hard again, he backed up on my pole again - still didn't spill a drop outa his ass - and had me jack him off. My right arm was still kinda weak and sore, but it didn't take much effort and he shot a wad right across to the opposite wall! Got a lotta spunk, that guy! Then he turned on the shower water and washed me all over, jacked me off, jacked himself off, and sent me back to class!"
"And he kept your butt-full of piss the whole time?"
"Yep! He mighta shat it all out after I left, but while I was there he didn't lose a drop of it."
"Like to try that sometime, Toke. Can't quite imagine what it would feel like."
"Reckon it'd be lots like the soapy enemas my Mom used to give me when I was just a tyke. Seems like it would be tough to hold it in, though."
"Never had a enema myself. We'll have to try it sometime!"
But, we never did. More conventional kinds of sex we had regularly, but the piss-enema routine Toke reserved for Dr. Wayne.
It was, of course, my anally-inclined buddy Frankie, who did the deed. I never told him about Toke and Dr. Wayne, of course, but one afternoon steered our conversation around to enemas, and set Frankie off on a long reminiscence about his boyhood.
From the age of 6, Frankie had an of sorts, with the odd twist that it was a man, apparently a friend of the family, who doubled as Frankie's tutor. Mr. Carlson was a devote' of regular enemas for young boys, so for close to five years Frankie had a hose up his ass every Saturday night. No wonder he was into ass-play! Carlson's technique, though, was a trifle unorthodox: none of the ass-up or fetal-position stuff for him. With both of them nude in the bathtub, Carlson would have Frankie bend over and touch his toes while the well-greased black nozzle was inserted. He would hold the red bag high over his head, forcing the warm sudsy water deep into Frankie's colon. When the bag was empty, Frankie could stand up, and when he could no longer restrain himself, water and shit would cascade down his legs, to be rinsed off and down the drain by Carlson using another hose.
This process would be repeated until Frankie's evacuation ran clear; the last bag full of water would be without soap, and when Frankie let this go, Carlson would be right there to gulp down huge mouthfuls of tepid water as it flowed past Frankie's ring-piece! Talk about "kink"! At my age and level of experience I thought I'd "heard it all", but of course I still had a long education ahead of me.
But the idea of pissing in my backside did intrigue Frankie, and we agreed that he would force himself to drink a lot of water the next day, and we'd give it a go the next afternoon at our special place out in the forest. Unfortunately, a spell of rain interrupted our plans, but a couple of weeks later found us traipsing out to the woods: I thought I could hear Frankie "sloshing" as we walked, so much water had he drunk in preparation.
Frankie's preoccupation, of course, had always been with what came OUT of assholes and we hadn't fucked all that many times. But he was anxious to get himself into me, because, he said, "I've really got to 'go', or I'm gonna burst!"
"I don't know how this is gonna be, so I better get my pants out of the way entirely," I said, casting them atop a nearby stone. Unexpectedly, I had a sudden urge to take a dump: I suppose it was because this was the spot to which we usually repaired to indulge ourselves in that sport.
"No, don't," Frankie said: "the whole purpose of a enema is to make you shit. Anyway, I can't hold off much longer."
Frankie had his pants off by this time, and his member stood engorged, whether with piss or with blood I couldn't be sure. A year older now than when I'd met him, Frankie was filling out, and a lot of manipulation had seemingly enlarged his pecker, now close to my own in size, if a trifle less wide. His pubes were still only fuzzy, though, so his prick looked longer than it probably was. Seeing him naked with a hard-on stirred me up, of course, and I jacked myself languorously, enjoying the view and the warm sunshine.
"Hurry UP!" exclaimed Frankie.
So I bent over and grabbed a fallen log, planted my feet wide apart, and awaited his assault. It was not long in coming, and with the aid of a handful of spit, Frankie was quickly buried in my backside. No sooner than I felt the warmth of his groin against my buns, I felt the strangest sensation in my bowel.
"Oh, jeezus, I'm pissing like I never pissed before!" Frankie said (quite truthfully). He threw his arms around me and pulled me upright while this peculiar sensation of warmth invaded me. Perhaps it felt just like an enema: I'd never had one, so had nothing for comparison. Whereas I'd had the notion to take a shit before, now the urge to evacuate built up mightily.
"Clamp down", Frankie said, "I'm almost empty."
"And I'M about to explode," I replied, as the sensation of fullness approached being uncomfortable. But I "clamped down" as best as I could, and felt Frankie's cock pumping the last of his copious supply of water into my ass.
"Now, you gotta hold it in when I pull out, or you'll crap all over me," Frankie said, and he hurriedly pulled his dick out of my behind and stepped aside. This momentarily relieved my fullness, and I figured if I relaxed at all I would flood our little clearing. Then, unexpectedly, the feeling of being about to burst went away entirely! I no longer felt like I had to shit, though the warm feeling was still there.
"There's a valve thingy up there a ways," Frankie said: "when it opens, the fluid goes further in. Carlson always made sure he gave me enough to get that valve working. You can hold it in for quite a while, now. But you know me: I wanna watch it come back out.
That's when I noticed that he'd gone soft, but I had a raging hard-on, with a powerful urge to jerk off.
"That's the pressure on your prostrate" (he never did learn to pronounce it right!), Frankie explained. He sat down on a log with his legs spread wide. "Sit on me, here, and let me take care of you".
I sat on Frankie's leg, and put my arm around his back; he took my rigid tool in hand. For someone so obsessed with shitting as he was, he had an unusually good technique which I'd experienced many times. But there was something about knowing I had a quart of his piss in my innards that added to my pleasure of holding him as he sensuously manipulated my rigid gear-shift.
As my pulse and breathing increased in response to his ministrations, I thought back momentarily to Toke's experience with Dr. Wayne, and realized it was not so strange that the doctor had been able to hold Toke's piss in his ass: here I was, with plenty of water inside of me, and I still had no urge to let it out.
To let my jism out, however, was fast becoming a necessity, as Frankie's young fist worked its magic. Fully attune to me and my ways by now, Frankie knew when to slow down and prolong the "feeling", and when to pick up the tempo to bring me near the edge, or when to lightly stroke my inner thighs and balls. But this time he failed to sense my urgency.
"Faster!"
He picked up the pace...
"Faster!"
I felt my load working its way up through my innards.
"FASTER!"
Breathing hard, now...
"Ready..." ... "Aim..." ... "FIRE!"
I held my breath, closed my eyes, dug my nails into Frankie's ribs, and erupted. The first shot got my left shoulder-blade, the second my left nipple, and the third landed squarely in my navel. I almost blacked out, so powerful was the sensation.
"Jeez, you needed that!" Frankie exclaimed.
"There's more, Frankie: whip that thing!"
"Wow!" Frankie went to work. He knew as well as I a "second coming" didn't happen every day, and it would take a bit of work. His fist flew, and the cum which had dribbled over his hand turned to froth. I held on to him for dear life, dug my heels into the ground, pushed, and...
Came again! Frankie's flailing fist flung my seed far and wide, blobs landing on both of us and on the ground nearby. But he continued to flog my dick without slowing down.
"Try for three," Frankie commanded, gritting his teeth against the fatigue he was feeling in his arm. Since I was still hard in his hand, I decided to go for it.
This was going to be a little tougher, but I was determined. I stood up, sideways to Frankie, and pushed my pelvis out as far as I could.
The "feeling" gradually returned. My heart raced...
"Yeah, BEAT that dick!"
Frankie's left hand swept up the face of my thighs from behind: he knew what I liked, and he tickled me just below my balls, which had drawn up so tight as to almost disappear. With this added stimulation, I knew I was going to make it, and I could almost feel my hard-on get stiffer as my third orgasm approached. I concentrated on the feelings deep inside; I was on my toes, my leg muscles taught, trembling...
"Almost there, don't stop..."
This time it bordered on pain: exquisite pain, to be sure, as once again what little was left of my seed flew in all directions as Frankie frantically pumped my prick. I sank back on his leg, exhausted.
"Man, what got into you?" Frankie asked - followed by, "oh, well, I guess I know," with a giggle.
In the heat of a "triple play", I'd forgotten about my bowel full of his piss. But it was my turn now: my erection gone, I had a major urge to take a whiz. Scarcely thinking of it, I cut loose and pissed all over Frankie's leg, aiming my golden stream up and down from his knee to his crotch.
"Aw, man, you know I ain't into that! Look what a mess you made!"
"Sorry, Frankie, I just had to let it go; I've scarcely the strength left to stand up after that fantastic jerk-off you gave me. Besides, I brought a towel..."
Frankie's bladder had refilled: "So, there!" he said, as a pale yellow stream emerged from his half-hard cock out into the sunshine, arcing gracefully to splash down on my smooth thigh, commingling with a large blob of cum which had landed there previously, and causing my skin to glisten as wetly as his. The warm effluent ran down my leg past the few hairs there and dripped away; ordinarily the effect of that liquid warmth on my thigh would have gotten a rise out of me, but as I had just shot my wad three times in a row, I was content with the tingling sensation of the moisture alone. Our wet legs intertwined, and we hugged and kissed, a long, wet, tongue-exchanging "French", two horny boys alone in the woods.
"You need to dump yet?" Frankie asked.
"Yeah, think I can, now."
I hung my butt over the log, and Frankie got down on his hands and knees to watch. Expecting a flood, I was surprised when I expressed a large, lumpy brown stalactite instead. I know now that my active bowel had rapidly absorbed Frankie's piss, but lacking that knowledge of my inner workings at the time, the fact that I gave birth to a solid turd amazed me. As usual, watching me force it out got him hard instantly.
"Big one!" he said breathlessly, wildly jacking himself off.
"Let me do that," I said, swinging myself around on the log to face him, now standing in his youthful splendor. I pulled his throbbing pecker into my mouth, sucked him furiously and was soon rewarded with a vigorous expulsion of his sweet cum, his boyish fragrance and that of my urine flooding my nostrils along with the not altogether unpleasant aroma of my steaming fecal pile.
"You're the very best cock-sucker in the school!" Frankie said, coming down from his ejaculatory high, as he planted another sloppy wet kiss directly on my lips, savoring the trace of his own flavor there. "I love the way you work on my dick!"
"And you have one of the most suckable pricks in the school," I replied truthfully. Frankie had been one of the first kids I'd met at H-K, and we had done just about everything there was to do, together, as close buddies and sexual soul-mates. I never found Frankie reticent about trying anything: his precociousness matched my own.
By this time our bodies were nearly dry; only a few whitish splotches and hairs plastered to our skin in spots bespoke our juvenile amusements. We were both tired out, so we stretched out in a patch of sunshine, entwined our arms and legs, and fell soundly asleep.
SCHOOL OF HARDE-KNOX - CHAPTER VII
Out in the sticks, we weren't involved in intramural sports much. Besides, we didn't have any extra space for competing teams to stay over. But once in a while Coach Rammer set us up against an out-of-town team, and towards the end of my second - and last - year at Harde-Knox we hosted swimmers from a Wisconsin school similar to ours.
We had a good team that year, led by Bart and myself. He and I were evenly matched: in short sprints I could usually beat him, but on the longer laps he had the better "staying power". He continued to shave himself all over at least once a week, and always just before competition. Others on the team were Harry, Brian, Joe and Mort, all second year fellows like myself, and all sex-crazed teenagers (like all of us). Brian was tallest and Captain, lean and long of limb. But he wasn't as buoyant as Brian, who still had traces of baby-fat that reduced his specific-gravity and helped him stay afloat. Joe was the team clown, quite ready to grope a team-mate under water, even if he knew it would lose a race. Morgan (a mortician's son, hence the nick-name) was shy and retiring out of water, and a veritable fish in it. Swimming was his passion: even sex took a (close) second place. Harry was the youngest, and "prettiest" among us: he wore his hair long, and looked like a girl when he was dressed. But there was no mistaking his gender when he was in his swim-suit: he was no slouch in filling out his pouch.
The team from Green Bay arrived on a sunny Monday afternoon, and wasted no time in checking out our pool. We, of course, checked out them. When they trotted out of the showers, we instantly dubbed them the "Green Bay Peckers". They wore the briefest swimsuits we'd ever seen, which left nothing to our imagination. Young, virile and handsome, they knew full well it "pays to advertise". The most precocious of them looked like he could use his basket as a rudder! We had only a few moments to make our observations: they were instantly in the water, we right behind them. An impromptu water-polo game erupted, which promoted a lot of "accidental" body contact, and we all managed to grope that huge basket I mentioned several times, eliciting appreciative smiles from its owner.
Rammer's whistle got us out of the water an hour or so later. The Peckers shucked their suits as they ran to the showers: nothing "prissy" about these guys! Everyone showed shriveled dicks, a consequence of exertion and water. But we knew better than to be disappointed, being fully familiar with the phenomenon. Copious hot water brought us all back to life quickly. Bill turned out to be the guy with the big basket, and all eyes were on him as he soaped himself. No longer constrained by his suit, his dick began to swell, and it grew, and grew, and GREW! Flaccid, he had more than I had hard! It was magnificent! The other guys weren't at all bad, just more "normally" endowed like the rest of us. Two were clean-shaven, which emphasized the apparent length of their dicks.
We soon enough found that Bill's prong didn't get much larger when hard: it was just hard or soft, the same size either way. He, the star of this show and their Captain, soon had that thing standing at full attention, with the not-unexpected result that the rest of us were sporting boners as well. What a sight! A dozen lusty teens, bodies shiny with soap and water, all erect and ready for action! I could hardly wait for night to fall, knowing these six guys would be sleeping on cots in our dorm.
During dinner we all got to know each other a bit, and there was the natural sort of "pairing up" that takes place with young guys. While I was certainly "drawn" to Bill - at least to that monstrous meat between his legs - I actually found better rapport with Tony, who was as dark-skinned as I was light. His mediterranean good looks and supple dark skin, coupled with an infectious smile and curly black hair were a delight to my eyes, and he was fun to talk with, too. I learned that this team had traveled to many places, all ones I hoped one day to see. He described one visit to Detroit, where they were up against an all-black team, and where, he said, "Bill was the smallest of the bunch!" It was clear he wasn't talking about Bill's stature.
"Wow! Tell me more," I said breathlessly.
That's where we got the idea for our skimpy suits," Tony explained. "Those guys all trained only in G-strings, and they shriveled up to, like, tiny when they were in the water. But jeezus, you wouldn't believe what they had swinging when they were out of it! Terrific swimmers, too: our match was a draw, but they won hands-down that night in the dorm. He licked his lips, remembering...
"Hands-down where?" I said, with a lascivious wink.
Tony chuckled: "You know where!", as he gripped my thigh affectionately.
"One of our guys couldn't sit down for two weeks after we left Detroit. He loves to get fucked, and those guys really knew how. One of 'em had an honest-to-gosh ten-inch dick: he proved it with a ruler. It took him half the night to get his orgasm, but when he shot his wad, I thought he would drown us all. I never saw anyone shoot so much sperm as that dude!"
By this time I was hard as a rock in my pants. I couldn't resist, and reached over under the table and found Tony in the same condition. "Can't promise you anything quite so grand," I said, but I sure hope you'll spend a while with me tonight."
"Can' hardly wait," Tony replied enthusiastically. "That donkey- dick was wild alright, but I like what I feel here, too." He returned my grope under the table.
I glanced around the room. The two team Captains seemed to be getting along well. I had a fleeting mental image of Bill's "donkey-dick" assaulting Brian's bum, and winced. The possibility that Brian might not be able to sit for a week or two crossed my mind. Mort seemed taken with Hal, one of their team I remembered who was shaved. Hal had a sensuous baby-face, with cupid-like lips that I felt sure Mort wanted to part with his tongue - or something. Joe was talking with a gleam in his eye to the other shaved kid from Green Bay, a studious-looking guy with dark- rimmed glasses that seemed to enlarge his flashing brown eyes. This was Edward, I learned later, and it seemed to me those eyes were wandering often towards Toke, who sat chatting with a couple of friends. "Looks to me like Detroit had a permanent effect on him", I thought. Harry was off by himself (as usual) reading, and Bart was nowhere to be seen.
Only one of the "Peckers" had not yet found a "mate". He was all alone, and looked a trifle sad. "What's up with your buddy over there," I asked Tony: "he looks a little lost."
"Don't worry about Patrick," Tony replied. "He's not comfortable in a crowd, but he's wild in bed! Edward, there, he's the one that likes to get fucked, but Patrick can do things with his mouth you wouldn't believe."
"Does he give lessons?" I asked, giggling, "not that I need any, you understand."
"Patty is the boy with the golden throat," Tony said. "Actually, he and I are sort-of lovers, and I don't think he really likes it when I go with someone else. But I just can't help myself: variety is the spice of life, you know. He knows it, too, deep down: he'll pounce on one of your guys tonight and give him a blow-job he won't soon forget."
"Well, he better not do too good a job: I'm supposed to be the best cock-sucker here," I said, with mock indignation.
"Hey! Maybe we should have a competition! Is it a "regulation" sport?" Tony chuckled. "Ya think that hunky Coach of yours would like to referee?"
"Dunno, but I doubt it", I mused.
Coach Rammer was an enigma to us. He lived off campus; we saw him every day during his six-hour duty, but he was aloof and mysterious. He was good, and knew his stuff, but never laid a hand on any of us. Not that we'd have minded: he was a nice hunk of a man with an appropriate bulge in his shorts where it should be. He referred to himself as "married", but we never saw a wife or kids, even on "parents' days", when those few staff members who really were married trotted out their families for everyone's review.
Only one guy ever said he'd figured out our Coach, and we tended to discount his tale. Garth was our only power lifter, managing to reach the limit of our pitiful supply of weights in his first year. He claimed he'd often been taken to Rammer's home, which had a much better gym set-up than the school, ostensibly for further training; but there Rammer had many times given him a long sexual massage after working out. Since, despite his bulk, Garth had the puniest dick at Hard-Knox, we imagined his tale to be self-serving and largely untrue. What Rammer really fancied we never learned. There were guys at H-K who admired and worshipped Garth's phenomenal musculature and development, but fascination with his private parts never figured in their obsession.
Obsession, however, characterized the next few nights in our dorm. The six boys from Green Bay were really called the "Sharks", but when we didn't call them "Peckers", we called them "shucks", because they were ready to shuck their shorts and get "down and dirty" at the very instant of lights out. The temporary infusion of "new blood" (not to mention other body fluids) was a welcome one, and we exploited it in grand style.
That first night found Tony on my bed even before the lights were off, and we had a grand romp, putting on something of a show for a bunch of other guys who preferred darkness for their various activities. Tony's forte' was sixty-nine; when he had a cock in his mouth, his own prod would achieve the rigidity of iron; it curved slightly upward, making it very comfortable to engulf him as we lay in the proper position. With his scratchy black bush tickling my chin, I had a free hand to stroke the backs of his powerful swimmer's thighs, where as nearly everywhere else, he had not so much as peach-fuzz. His dusky skin was so smooth! But where he lacked hair, he seemed to have a plethora of nerve endings, so my stroking and squeezing and pinching really turned him on. He, in turn, found that my legs were my most sensitive erogenous "zone", so he would switch from sucking me off to slathering my calves, thighs - even my feet now and then, sending me into a frenzy. More than once he sucked my balls into the depths of his moist mouth, and massaged them with his tongue most deliciously.
The lights went out while we were thus engaged, and shortly I felt a second pair of hands working on my legs as Tony tongued my pudenda. I was on the verge of cumming, but presently the owner of the hands interposed himself. When my cock disappeared entirely in a single swift gulp, I figured our partner was Tony's lover, Patrick. Tony was right: Patrick could suck a cock like I'd never had it done before. His specialty was "deep- throating", something I thought I was good at, but I suddenly realized I had much to learn. Apparently, Patrick's mouth and throat were so arranged as to accommodate a hard dick of any length, right down to the root, where he could retain it indefinitely. He breathed through his nose; every snort stirred the hair of my little thicket and sent a warm wave cascading across my pubes. He too, obviously, had no gag reflex to bother him. I put my hands down to his throat, where below silky skin I could feel his Adam's-apple rhythmically moving up and down in perfect concert with the sensations my cock was feeling. I exploded in seconds, and that day's accumulation of nut-juice blasted its way out my throbbing member. I felt Patrick's teeth at the base of my cock through the duration of my ejaculation: he kept me planted firmly, speeding up his swallowing in response to what I felt was a flood of warm semen well on its way to his gut. Simultaneously, Patrick himself shot his wad, responding to his lover's shapely hand, and moments later Tony let fly all over us both as he whipped his iron rod to a climax.
When we recovered somewhat, a glance around the moon-lit dorm revealed an assortment of pairings, three-somes and tight clutches of warm bodies. The bed nearest ours held Edward and Toke, legs entwined, groping each other and kissing passionately. We sat down to watch unabashedly as Ed took his pleasure in Toke's lithe black body. It was clear from the frenetic nature of their coupling that both were on the edge, ready to express their delight in each other in the best of nature's ways.
"How do you want it?" Ed whispered huskily.
"Like it in my face, man," Toke replied. "Want to smell and taste yer spunk!"
Edward struggled to his knees, straddling Toke's heaving chest; he used the "two-finger" technique on his prick, instead of the full fist most of us used. It certainly had its effect, though, and as Toke fondled his balls, Ed's seed spewed forth, well-aimed in the general direction of Toke's open mouth, which received some of the creamy drops. Others landed nearby, to glisten wetly in the dim light. Ed's body lurched and heaved as he cut loose, and he moaned that familiar song of ecstacy, "Ohhhh, yeahhhhh..."
Ed collapsed on top of Toke, who mopped the cum from his face and licked his fingers. His cock was tight between Ed's thighs, rigid with that unmistakable urgency that says "I gotta cum, Baby."
"Gimme a minute, Toke." Ed savored the blast of warmth rising from Toke's supine form. Presently, he struggled a bit, as if to sit up, but with the smoothest of motions moved backward over Toke's prick and buried it in his ass in one swift, skillful motion. Toke groaned with anticipation, then, with a mighty effort, rolled the both of them over, so that Ed was stretched out underneath him. They lay, torso to back, Toke gripping Ed's head in his hands and burying his nose in curly hair. Toke's back was so flexible that he could pull himself nearly out of Ed's anus, and plunge right back in, while scarcely moving his trunk. We all watched, fascinated, as Toke's slender, black dick plunged repeatedly and relentlessly into the depths of Ed's butt. For his part, Ed pressed himself up from the bed with all his might, his mid-drift clearing the bed entirely, his half-flaccid dick hanging down, still drooling. Toke's thrusts increased in speed and intensity.
"Wait!"
Ed pushed Toke away long enough to do a quick flip onto his back, and did a near-somersault, throwing his legs up in the air. Wasting no time, Toke moved up on his knees and rammed his tool home. His arms gripped Ed's shoulders, and the sinews glistened with sweat as his pelvis made its vicious thrusts. He was withdrawing nearly all the way and plunging back to crash against Ed's butt. Two nude bodies appeared in the dim light, one on each side of the bed. Each grabbed an ankle, pulling Ed's legs widely aside and up over his head, bending Ed nearly double. "Fuck me!" he whispered hoarsely.
Hal and Gordon knew what their team-mate liked! Holding him by his ankles, they ran their hands down along the taught muscles of his legs, smearing the rivulets of sweat around. "Harder!" Ed moaned.
With a mighty effort, Toke pushed himself up violently, gripped a slightly hairy leg in each hand, pulled his glistening black rod out of Ed's behind and shot a long string of pearly white cum far past the end of the bed. His magnificent tool whipped up (no one was touching it!) and a second blast emerged to splash down on Ed's chest. A third landed amid Ed's pubic hair. Only then did Toke release one leg, grab his dick, and pump it furiously, bringing forth several more spurts that landed wetly all over the place. "Maaaaaaan, oh maaaan!" Toke cried out in the frenzy of orgasm: "hoooooly christ......"
The attendants released their grips, and Ed's legs landed back on the bed; Toke collapsed on top of Ed and buried his face in a soggy arm-pit, his body still heaving from his exertions. Ed hugged Toke as if he would never let go, and we, silent witnesses, turned our attention elsewhere.
Nearby, we found a tangle of bodies that proved to be our pretty- boy Harry, their Bill with his giant prong being worshipped by Mort, and Bart. Someone had slathered so much spit on Bart that his body gleamed as if polished. We gathered around, soon joined by Toke with Edward holding him tightly, and several others. Tony had one arm around me and his other around Patrick, and all of us were soon aroused by the performance in front of us. The four boys on the bed were entirely lost in lust: who was sucking whom, or fingering whom, or jacking whom at any given moment was hard to follow. Gordon and Hal, standing on the other side of the bed from us, were quickly moved to jack themselves off, shooting stringy loads out over the clutch of writhing boys. The room reeked of cum and sweat, an aphrodisiac of the best sort. Despite my exertions such a short time ago, I soon had Tony jacking me off as Patrick buried his lover's divining rod in his "golden" throat. It wasn't long before another accumulation of my teen spunk joined that already anointing the flesh of our compatriots. Not long thereafter, Edward added his effusion, our Brian having plugged his behind and reached 'round to pound his pud.
The scene was too much for Toke: as if from the water's edge, he suddenly dove into the pile of legs, arms, flying hands and throbbing cocks on the bed, and within minutes his brown body was fused with the rest. Of the group, pretty Harry came first as the other four smeared cum all over him, and someone's fist flew on his precious dick. His eruption was followed closely by Bart's, whose cum rose majestically in great arcing spurts, landing on some part or another of his mates. Mort then stood up on the bed, and while Bill sucked his balls into his mouth, and Toke tried valiantly to suck Bill's huge prong, he squeezed his dick with exquisite slowness and suddenly poured forth a torrent of pent-up jism. This landed in great white pools on Toke's sweaty tummy, where Toke gathered it in his hand: with a half dozen strokes, he too, exploded again with great heavings and lungings of his glistening black body. This left only Bill unsatisfied, and everyone's attention turned to his mammoth meat. He stood, his wang hanging about half-hard. Patrick was there in an instant, and that sausage disappeared entirely from view. That's when my Frankie appeared out of nowhere, wet a finger in his mouth, and quickly plunged it into Bill's backside. I knew what he was after! - and he quickly found Bill's tender "prostrate". The effect was immediate and intense: Bill groaned loudly and pushed Patrick's head down below the end of his nearly flaccid (but still huge) cock. He clamped down on Frankie's finger, groaned again, and a flood of sperm flowed from his dick into Patrick's open mouth. He wasn't pissing, but it looked as though he was, as Frankie's experienced finger stroked his p-spot. That huge frankfurter just oozed and oozed and oozed, no one touching it, and it not even lurching. Patrick didn't miss a drop!
I don't remember which team won what in the competition that followed over the next few days. I do recall that Rammer was not happy with our performance, but their coach didn't seem pleased by theirs, either. Truth was, we were all so tired out by our incredible nocturnal exploits that the swim meet didn't seem all that important. All too soon, the Green Bay "Peckers" packed their things and disappeared from our lives - never to be forgotten.
Too soon, as well, the semester ended, and I returned to the dull surroundings of "home". My two years at Harde-Knox were some of my best, never to be forgotten, either.
fin
(c) Bruce Bramson, 1996