Glaucon55

Punk Kids or Brent's Big Boner

Chapters 6-8

Chapter 6
Johnny's Memory

Johnny couldn't remember why his mother had asked Mrs. Warren to watch him, but he spent a whole Saturday at the Warren house by himself with Adam and his mother. Since it was the weekend, there were no other children, and this baby-sitting arrangement meant extra cash for Louise Warren.

In the early afternoon, Mrs. Warren asked Adam if he would watch Johnny, because she needed to go and do some last-minute shopping. Taking care of children from early morning to after dinner left precious little time to go to the market, do the laundry and take care of other errands. Adam hardly looked up when he said he would do it, and instead continued to watch television with Johnny as she left the house, saying she would be back in two or three hours. Johnny did not know that Adam had been hoping for something like this for some time, and it wasn't the first time that he'd been left with some punk kid while his mother took care of family business on the weekends when she was supposed to be baby-sitting.

While Johnny was absorbed in the video game Adam offered him when his mother walked out the door, Adam went upstairs for about fifteen minutes. When he returned, he called Johnny from the top of the stairs, and asked him to come up. Johnny did what he always did when he was with Adam, he followed his instructions. When he got up the stairs, Adam asked if he wanted to play a game that Adam had learned from his friends at school. Johnny said sure, but when he saw the blindfold that Adam had in his hands, he looked a bit skeptical. Adam was smart though, he said maybe this was a game for older guys, dudes who had confidence in themselves. Johnny did not want to seem like a little kid to the older teen he looked up to, so he said he wanted to learn, and stepped into Adam's room, following the bigger boy.

Adam was a solid fourteen year old. He was already 5' 9" [1.75 m] tall, and he was well proportioned and muscular. Like a young colt, he had long legs, strong ankles and big feet – size 10 [eur 42] already. His dark brown hair, tanned complexion and green eyes gave him a smouldering look that made Johnny's pre-teen peter go rigid at times, especially when he saw Adam without a shirt, or in shorts and bare feet.

When he walked into Adam's room, Johnny saw the older boy was only wearing loose, baggy seersucker shorts and his flip-flops. The fly of his shorts was bulging out dramatically. His muscled chest, flat stomach, and raspberry nipples and the obvious erection in Adams's shorts, made Johnny's pricklet stiffen. He didn't understand why that happened-what caused his pee tube to suddenly go hard at times, but it felt good in his briefs and shorts, rubbing against the material and hardening involuntarily. Adam told Johnny to stand still, and put his hands behind his head. The bigger boy then walked behind him, and before he could speak to ask what was going to happen, Adam wrapped a tight bandanna around Johnny's head, covering his eyes. Then Adam quickly pushed Johnny down onto his bed, and within a minute both of the younger boys arms were tied to the bedpost, slightly over his head and spread wide, exposing his armpits.

Johnny asked Adam what was happening, why was he tying his arms to the bed. But the older boy just told him that it was part of the game, and kept going. Suddenly Johnny felt Adam's hands on the fly of his shorts. He half-cried out, and tried to twist his body to prevent Adam from touching him, but the older boy got between his legs, and quickly unhooked the button and pulled down the zipper. Within moments, despite his protests, Johnny's shorts and briefs were down his legs and off. Then Adam quickly secured both of the lanky pre-teens legs to the corner posts at the foot of the bed, and Johnny was tethered-spread out, and completely vulnerable. His long, thin pricklet was fully erect, sticking straight up, narrow at the base but wider at the head, almost four inches [10 cm] and hard as wood.

Johnny heard Adam moving around the room, and picking up things from a table or the dresser. He pleaded with Adam to let him go, threatened to tell him mother, as he turned his head to follow the sounds. But he jumped a bit when Adam landed on the bed next to him. The older boy draped himself slightly over Johnny's slender torso, and without any warning, a soft-bristled hair brush began to glide over Johnny's torso, starting under his neck and working over his chest and down to his stomach.

Johnny jerked wildly in his bonds, laughing, coughing and gasping – and yelling for Adam to stop 3; he couldn't stand the tickling. But there wasn't a chance that Adam was going to stop. The brush slid effortlessly from one side to the other over the taut muscles of the young boy, and each time they crossed his pectorals, the bristles gave his stiff little nipples a good tweaking, making them tingle and sting at the same time. Each time Adam noticed how Johnny's boy bone throbbed from the action on his nipples, lifting off his stomach and going rigid, before slapping back down on his flat stomach. So he focused his attention on the pre-teen nips. Johnny squealed and cried, unable to breathe except in gasps, "Nnnnnooooooo 3; aaaaaaiiiiiiiieeeeee 3; ha, ha, ha, ha, pleaaaassssseeeeee 3; nnnnnnnooooo, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!"

Adam worked the hair brush from the top of Johnny's torso, down to the tops of his feet, carefully avoiding his navel, his armpits, and the bottoms of his feet. But it didn't matter 3; Johnny was howling from the irritating bristles, scratching and chaffing his sparse but firm musculature. He was helpless, and for some reason that made his squeals and yelling all the more acute, and his pricklet throb like a miniature vibrator.

But Adam was just beginning. He put down the hair brush, and picked up an old tooth brush. He had been boiling the bristles in hot water for days, making them soft and pliant. He leaned down, and in one stroke, thrust his teenage tongue into Johnny's exposed ear and at the same time, began to stroke the soft bristled tooth brush back and forth in Johnny's opposite exposed armpit. Johnny lifted his ass off the bed, and screamed, but the noise was muffled by the upstairs bedroom and the thick brick walls of the house.

For 30 minutes, Adam searched every nook and cranny of Johnny's body, reducing the pre-teen to a shuddering, gasping, sweating thing, with a hard boy cock sticking up the entire time. After Adam has used the toothbrush on the soles of Johnny's feet, watching as the boy wriggled them futilely and screamed and begged for mercy, he finally took a brief pause.

When Adam finally got to Johnny's penis, he rested between the boy's legs, and holding up the taut, slender shaft, he let the bristles dance from the root up to the flange. Then carefully, he gently scrubbed the bristles around the fat knob, and under the glans, stopping and allowing Johnny to moan, grunt, and beg him to stop 3; making sure that the boy was not in pain. After about five minutes of this excruciating masturbation, bringing the boy to the edge, and then abandoning the cock head and using the brush on his navel, reaching up to his nipples, or even probing under his boy nuts to tickle the entrance to his asspucker, Adam changed his strategy.

He slipped on a cotton garden glove, soaked in hand lotion from his mother's bathroom, and then grasping Johnny's boner in his one fist, he used the brush with his other hand. His fist slid tantalizing slowly up and down Johnny's boner, paying special attention to the fat knob, twirling and twisting his palm over and around the aroused prick cap. Johnny did not know what to do 3; he squealed, he cried, he laughed and he begged 3; but there also were grunts and groans of pleasure, especially when Adam's fist slid over and around his cock head 3; causing excrutiating sensations. He wanted more, but at the same time it was too sensitive, too much! Finally, Adams thumb and fist curled around the expanding pre-teen cock, and settled down to strumming back and forth over the bloated cock tip. That sent Johnny over the edge, his ass bouncing on the bed, his toes curling and his pre-teen pricklet throbbing with an orgasm though no ejaculation. Still, Adam did not give him respite, and as he writhed and pleaded for the older boy to stop, the wicked, malicious fist kept squeezing and rubbing the over-wrought pre-teen erection.

For the rest of the afternoon, Adam invented ways to render Johnny's ever hard boy bone through dry orgasm after dry orgasm. Adam loved that Johnny did not wear out like he would after shooting his cum two or three times. Adam did get Johnny to massage his own five inch [12½ cm] teen prick to three ejaculations, and Johnny secretly loved watching the older boys spunk spurt over his fist, and his body writhe as Johnny's fist roiled over the fat, bloated tip each time Adam came. Only one wrist was released, and Johnny was still captive and subject to Adam's tortures. But even when he protested, Johnny loved the velvet feel of Adam's fat, soft prick knob when he stroked the older boy's itchy glans.

When he finally was released, Adam ordered Johnny to wash up in the bathroom, pee, and get cleaned up before his mother returned. He also showed Johnny Polaroid snapshots he had taken, and swore him to secrecy if he did not want the pictures shown or discovered. That was enough to silence Johnny, and he endured one more afternoon of exquisite torture at the hands of the older boy, this time tied, gagged and on his lap, squealing through dry cums till he almost fainted. But secretly, Johnny had loved every throbbing sperm-less cum he had experienced. He masturbated every night to the memory 3; and the sensations. The idea of the bigger boy masturbating him, being held helpless and captive, made his boy boner rigid in his shorts. The lesson of the toothbrushes, the pictures, and the tickling were not lost on him. It took years, but now he was ready to return the favor, if not to Adam, then to the next best victim 3; in this case, Wes.

Wes Dissolves

Teenage boys are like overgrown colts, skitterish in the first instance. But when you add sensations which surprise them, or which are both unfamiliar and highly erotic, they become wild bucking broncos. At first Wes was disoriented, still recovering from the massive teen ejaculation over his torso and face, pretty copious for a kid his age. At the same time, Wes was not satisfied with his cum. His big boy penis had not been jacked to its whorish satisfaction, and the congealing ejaculate only made his flesh tingle and tickle more. Now the sudden sensation of the itching, soft tickle of the bristles, on his taut teenage body, made him jerk back to reality. He pulled ferociously and futilely at his bonds 3; grunting and yelling into his gag, but the delicious tickling quickly reduced him to a squealing, snorting, wild and helpless mass of boy hunk – his toes reflexively curling from the outlandish, wicked little bristles flying over every square inch of his body-turning his skin ruddy and inflamed.

Johnny used one hand to loosen the gag that restrained Wes from screaming his displeasure, and as he spit the wadded briefs from his mouth, he fairly gasped and squealed his pleas!

"NNNNNNOOOOO 3; STOP, STOP, YOU FUCKING PRICKS 3; AAAAAHH, NO 3; OH GOD 3; OH FUCK 3; AAAAAAGGGGHHHHHHHH 3; YYYYYYIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEE 3; AAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA 3; AAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA 3; NO 3; PLEASE. GOD 3;SHIT, FUCK 3; NO,AAAAAGGHGHHHHH!!!"

It was all music to Johnny, as the combination of revenge against Wes and the thought of having the bigger boy at their mercy, made his dick leak like a sieve, leaving sticky tracks across Wes' hairy legs as his boner rubbed against the bigger boy on the bed. As he looked over at Darren, he could tell that even his straight buddy was excited by the action 3; Darren's hands were moving rapidly over Wes' body, searching out areas, and making sure the bristles made just enough contact to drive the big boy crazy and his fat bone was also getting a good scrub from Wes' other hairy leg.

"AAAAAHHHHHH 3; AAAAGGGGGGHHHH 3; AAAAIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEE 3; NNNNNOOOOO, OH FUCK, OH CHRIST 3; OF JESUS 3; AAAAAAGGGGHHH, NO PLEASE STOP 3; PLEAS STOP 3; I'LL DO ANYTHING 3; OH GOD, PLEASE 3; 3;HELP, OH FUCK, HELP ME 3; AAAAA, AAAAARRRRGGGGHHHH!, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HAAAAAA!!! - help, HELP 3; HHHHHAAAAAALLLPPPP MMMEEEEEEEE! AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!"

But the bristles continued to dance over and around Wes' tethered torso and body, making him bounce on the bed, and begin to drip sexual heat from every pore. As Johnny instructed, Darren lifted himself up, and as he moved the brush with one hand, he lowered his lips to Wes' mounded pec, and began a serious suckle on one of the older teens paps, struggling to keep contact with the wriggling older boy's body, occasionally having to settle for his tongue lashing at the stiff, rubbery teat as Wes struggled to avoid the maddening bristles. But when Darren's lips were able to curl around one of the teats, the nipple fairly throbbed in his mouth, stiff, rigid, and rubbery, sending electric sensations directly to Wes' fevered cock shaft, now fully erect again and drooling his usual drool of teenage pre-jizz. But when Johnny's batting glove, neatly covered with fine horse hair bristles, glued in patches at the finger tips and in the palm from an old shoe brush, came in contact with Wes' huge, curved prick shaft, the big teenage jock almost lost his voice-croaking with lust and overwrought rage as his boner was tickled wickedly by the soft, scrubbing fingers searching for the expanding glans, wet and red from the evil masturbation it was enduring.

The sensations were hitting Wes from every corner, and he had no time to adjust. All he could do is scream, squeal, beg, gasp and tug at his bonds. His restraints only fed the frenzy, making him even more excited though he could not fully understand why. All he knew was that his nipple was being suckled relentlessly by the punk on one side, while his huge prick was being gently, expertly massaged with an awful glove by the other kid. Johnny added to the confusion by sticking his tongue into Wes' ear on his side, and with the random bristling that Darren was doing with his free hand, Wes was on overload 3;

"AAAAAAHHHHHGGGGGG 3;NNNNNNNNNOOOOOOO 3;AAAAAAH!"

Wes felt the build-up to another huge ejaculation, the combination of tickling and tingling sensations were making him feel like a million ants were nibbling every sexual nerve in his body, and he thrashed as much as his bonds would allow, trying to free his bloated prick tip from the relentless manipulation of Johnny's torquing fist. At the same time, the excruciating sensations made him wish the fucking punk kid would bring him over the edge and let him squirt his shit with complete abandon, and nurse his itching fuck tip till it made him faint.

But Johnny had other ideas. Just as Wes appeared to be making his last gasp before a giant cum, just as his glans got that glassy expanded look and could barely be contained in Johnny's cruel grip, Johnny withdrew his fist, and signaled Darren to release Wes' nipple. While their hands continued to glide softly over the writhing boy, this throbbing organ bounced helplessly on his taut stomach, drooling slippery pre-fuck as the itchy glans pulsed without effect, unable to achieve the sweet release that Wes' dick centered brain now demanded. The big boy began to whine and thrash as he sought relief for his throbbing teen prong.

"OH JESUS 3; oh fuck, come fucking on 3; gimme a break 3; you fuckers, Jesus 3; shit, please 3;ooooooooowwwwwww 3; lemme cum 3;oh fuck 3; lemme cum 3;" Wes' voice trailed off as his body slowly stopped wriggling around the damp sheets. As the clear goo bubbled from the wide lips of Wes' boner, Johnny used a gloved fingertip to tease the itchy flange of the tied boy's glans, and then leaned over and spoke calmly considering how his own heart was pounding:

"Wes, dude, does that big bone ache, need to shoot another wad, huh?" Johnny continued using his glove covered index finger to tickle across the still bloated glans of the tethered teenager. As Wes grimmaced and gasped-his eyes springing open from the unbelievable sensation of the bristle gliding softly over his knob, Johnny laid out the plan. "Wes, Darren and me wanna know when you started getting your dick off, when you got it sucked first by some other kid, and how many kids you've made into dick punks for your amusement. We want details dude. Less you make this story good, and it's sounds convincing and honest, we're gonna keep you boned up, but unable to cum, for the rest of the day. Oh, and just in case you think you can hold out 3; lookit this." Johnny pointed to what seemed like a 'Mexican' finger puzzle, one of those toys that you slipped onto two finger – one on each hand, and kept them trapped until you figured how to relax and slip out of the two ends. Only this straw weave was designed to slide down over a boy's flaccid penis, and once that cock is stimulated, it would take a special escape to get the device off. Wes would in essence be cock caged until Johnny would let him out. Wes' eyes widened when he saw the device, and he begged Johnny once again to let him go, promising to do anything he told him for the rest of the visit. But Johnny just smiled and waved the straw cock sleeve, and instructed Wes to begin his story.

Wes Tells His Story

Wes began boarding school when he was twelve. At that age he was already a strapping, athletic boy with a 4½ inch [11½ cm] boner that was none too thin. From the time he was eleven, he had learned frottage, the grinding of his morning piss-hardon, any hardon, into his bed-clothes or an old sock so that he could achieve the delicious sensations from working his fat prick tip into the soft materials. One can only imagine the sight of Wes' taut butt cheeks clenching as he ground his boner back and forth into the soft cotton, or into his bath towel, as he lay in bed in the morning, or before he went to bed at night. He often had to bury his face into his pillow to prevent the ticklish sensations sweeping over his boy glans from making him squeak and squeal with pleasure. By the time he was twelve, the little drops of clear pre-goo that dripped from his pricklet had become a regular leak, basting the sensitive cock knob, and making the rub against his sock or towel even more excrutiating 3; leading to explosive boy cums, without sperm. Wes had gotten to the point where between frottage, and the use of a spare gym sock in the toilet at school, he could wring five or six dry cums from his over-active pre-teen prick on any given day. His angelic face did not betray the sexual animal that was developing, one whose waking hours were focused on the relief of his constantly hard boy bone.

But arrival at boarding school changed everything. First there were the constant lectures about masturbation and its ills given by the coaches and doctor. When he reported for his physical after the first week, the young doctor had humiliated and excited him at the same time. He had to strip, and as the doctor's hands glided over his body along with his stethoscope, the cold steel and warm, blunt fingers made him throw a huge pre-teen boner. Wes did not see the doctor smirk, he did not know that the young physician, substituting from the city for his older colleague who had taken ill, was planning to have a good week of medical exams with the young, healthy boys of the Pennington Boys Preparatory School. Dr. Anders seeing Wes' almost five inch [12½ cm] pricklet with its fat helmet, ordered the boy onto the exam table and immediately brought down the stirrups generally reserved for girls' exams and special circumstances like enemas and constipation. The doctor carefully inserted Wes' big boy feet into the stirrups, watching as the long toes flexed and wriggled in anticipation. He used velcro straps to secure the feet, and basically kept Wes immobile on his back. Not that he expected any problems. His experience with teenage boys was that most were desperate to have someone make them ejaculate or have a dry cum, so while they feigned modestly and protested occasional 'medical' procedures, they virtually all surrendered. Doctor Anders would get no fight from Wes, mostly because the boy was about to be overcome with the sensations of sex.

Dr. Anders pulled a high stool up between the elevated and spread legs of the pre-teen. Not waiting for the Wes' reluctance to get in the way of his exam, Anders grasped the boy's erect pricklet in his medically gloved left hand, the palm and fingers already sticky with a vasaline lubricant, warmed and slippery. With his other free hand, also gloved, the doctor stuck his index finger into the warm lubricant and took a dollop of it which he immediately used to stroke the ragged cleft of Wes' exposed anus. The moment the doctor's finger touched the sensitive sphincter, the boy's legs jerked in the stirrups, and his ass cheeks bounced on the table. But at the same moment, the doctor, firmed his grip on the boy's rigid shaft and used his thumb to rub remorselessly on the sensitive nerve endings beneath the circumscicion scar.

"Doc!" Wes exclaimed, "ah jeeezzz, oh, aaaawwwwwww 3;Doc 3; what's happening, I mean, ah jeez Doc, aaaaahhhhhhhhh 3;"

But the smiling doctor just kept his thumb strumming, and occasionally dragging that thumb up and over the broad cap of the boy's sturdy pricklet. "Fuck yes," the doctor thought to himself, "this little piece of meat is going to satisfy boys and girls alike for years to come 3; but now he's mine, and I'm going to play him like a fine instrument." With that, the silent doctor, with the enigmatic smile, just kept his thumb moving, working the pre-teen prick knob, making the boy bounce his ass faster and faster on the soft vinyl exam table. Soon, Wes thrust his hand into his mouth, and squeezed his eyes shut, and let his body go, allowing the doctor to milk him through a long and uncontrollable dry cum. Even when he thought it should be over, and his pricklet was too sensitive, the doctor just drooled more warm lubricant onto his masturbating hand, and his palm now joined the work, sliding up and down, over the fevered and now too sensitive knob, yet the shaft and glans would not go soft. The young doctor worked like an artist, making the boy squeal and grunt, and after another ten minutes, shudder through another thundering dry orgasm. This time, Wes hand to grasp a towel and stick it into his mouth, and even then one of his soprano pre-teen yelps slipped out as the doctor's thumb zeroed in on the defenseless glans one more time, to torture the big pre-teen into submission.

The regular doctor returned the next week, and Doctor Anders had spent just about enough time at the school, milking and masturbating the young boys sent to him for exams. He had heard from at least two other boys of how the doctor had worked them over and over, making their pre-teen pricklets fairly strum with the play of his talented fist, drawing cum and after cum from them till they had to beg him to stop. One boy, tow-head Joey Spears said the doc had milked four dry cums from his oversized pre-teen whang, already six inches [15 cm] yet not spitting sperm. Joey said the doc had to put his hand over his mouth the last time, rolling his fist mercilessly over Joey's fat boy knob, making him squeal and whine helplessly from the delicious sensations. But Joey was a jerk-king anyway, loving to masturbate for the other boys who were fascinated by the size of his organ, and letting others do it for him in the bathroom, and when lights were out and they crawled over to his bed to reach under the sheets and anonymously service him while he feigned sleep.

"'kay, 'kay 3;I got one 3; Jesus, please, give me a sec 3; shit 3; fuck 3;" Wes gasped from the sudden stroking of his exposed glans, and then began to burble his next recollection as quickly as he could get out the words.

When he got into the routine of the school, Wes had precious little time for his masturbatory escapades. Even grinding into his sock at night was difficult since he slept in a shared room with four other boys, two to each bunk bed and unlike Joey he was embarrassed to admit he liked masturbating. The moment he began to rut, the frame of the bunk bed would shudder gently, alerting his bedmate what was going on. Wes' three to five dry cums per day dwindled to three to five cums per week. He was constantly horny, and was prone to springing boners in class. At least twice he had masturbated during a class, using his location in the room, and his sweater over his lap, to hide the frantic manipulation of his penis through a hole in his pant's pocket and the soft material of his cotton briefs. God Wes loved the feel of his strong fingers twisting the cotton material round and round the knob of his leaky, aching pricklet, making the knob throb for release, and eventually making him buck almost imperceptibly through his dry cum. He had to loosen his hold on his prick knob immediately, because the overwhelming sensation of the tickling on his glans, immediately after a cum, was too much to take with others potentially seeing him. What Wes did not know, was that on both occasions he jerked his boy boner in class, someone was watching him. Someone was delighted to watch as his eyes roled quietly back and his thighs squeezed together when the moment hit, almost helpless as the delicious tingling overcome him, and lasted through five to six shuddering pulses.

The voyeur was Wes' thirteen year old roommate, Miles Landers, another big boned, big pricked teen. Miles intended to try out his twelve year old roommate, who was apparently so horny that he was masturbating in class where someone could notice. Well someone had, and Miles intended to make the most of this opportunity. Miles had learned about sex at the age of ten when his wealthy parents, both professionals with little time for their perfect little boy, engaged a piano teacher to fill some of his lonely hours. Miles preferred to go down from their Manhattan apartment and meet kids from the neighborhood of much poorer backgrounds. But his parents were not about to indulge this desire. Instead, they hired a nineteen year old music major from NYU to teach their son how play as one step in preparing him for the cultured, college educated life they envisioned for him. Little did they know that Michael Chambers would teach Miles much, much more. By the time his lessons ended two years later and he was sent off to private school, Miles had learned how sweet it could feel to have his fat little pricklet, and its oversized knob, vibrated in the hot, wet sucking mouth and throat of another boy. Chambers sucked the boy from head to toe, and then would wring dry cum after dry cum from the spasming boy as his tongue lashed the bulbous prick knob, and slathered round and round the helplessly sensitive tip to make it surrender again and again. Miles grew into a handsome, athletic boy with a greedy dick, always ready to be sated by some hot sucking. Now, he wanted to see what it was like to make another boy surrender to the insatiable lust to ejaculate that Michael Chambers had trained him to crave.

That night, Wes recalled awaking from a deep sleep, on his stomach, with his hands strangely immobile. As he emerged from his slumber, he realized that his hands were secured by school ties to each of the corners of the bunk bed frame. He turned his head to see if anyone else was awake in the darkened room, and he gasped to see Miles' smiling face staring at him from the edge of the bed. Miles put his index finger up to his mouth to indicate to Wes to keep quiet, and he quickly slipped one hand under the blanket and sheet, and went straight to Wes' firm ass cheeks in their pajama bottoms. Wes frowned, making an angry expression, and shook his head at Miles to indicate to him to stop what he was doing. Not wanting to wake the other two boys, he was constrained to facial expressions and mouthing obscenities at the older boy. But Miles just smiled and slid his firm hand over the taut mounds of Wes' boy butt, letting his fingers trail deep into the crevice, making the younger boy squirm around the bed.

Miles leaned over and whispered softly, "Dude, you looked like you really enjoyed jerking off in Mr. Ralston's class 3; feel good to play with that prick of yours, and jerk it off?"

Wes closed his eyes, blushing in the darkness, and continuing to try to evade the bony fingers that were now probing his clenched ass pucker through his pajamas, shooting sensations down to his toes and making his pricklet instantly hard. Now Miles other hand joined the first under the sheet and blanket. But instead of helping to probe Wes' ass it slid effortlessly, during the younger boy's gyrations to evade the groping, under his body and lay palms up on the younger boy's abdomen. The skin was hot and firm, and the hand then slid up to the nearest molded pectoral muscle, seeking out the rubbery boy nubbin and gently pinching it. Wes gasped and squeezed his eyes shut, the combination of the probing fingers at his anus and the other plying his boy teat, making him reflexively grind his pricklet into the bed clothes.

Suddenly Miles slipped his hand down from Wes' nipple and into the opening of his pajama pants as he continued to turn his body trying to evade the searching digits. Wes gasped aloud this time as the cool fingers of the thirteen year old closed around his throbbing erection. He had not focused on his stiff penis, rubbing against the soft material of the pajama bottoms and the sheets. Butt the incessant fingers scrabbling into his sensitive crack and tickling his anus, had made his pricklet turn into a stiff cudgel, wet with pre-cum, and perfect for Miles to grip. Using his thumb to gather the bubbling pre-teen sap drooling from Wes' fuck tip, and burrowing the fingers of his other hand into the boy's ass crack, Miles was able to begin a steady masturbation of Wes' engorged pricklet. It wouldn't be the last time this happened during the first year, but it was certainly the most exciting for Miles as he made the big boy writhe over his bed, and grind his aching boy dick into the gripping and stroking palm of the sly thirteen year old. Wes bit into his pillow, trying as much as humanely possible to prevent his groans and squeals from getting into the room, and waking the other boys.

"Mmmmmpppppphhhhh 3;uugggh, aaaaggggghhhhhh 3;mmmmppphhhhh 3;" He forced his faced down, just as he involuntarily forced his hips into driving the throbbing member into Mile's masturbating fist. The rough thumb pad was exquisitely torturing Wes, making his pricklet's fat, sticky glans expand to the scrubbing touch, and driving him relentlessly to a massive dry cum.

Within minutes, Miles talented thumb was feeling each throb and pulse, as Wes reached his climax. The boy lifted his hips and ass, and drove them down one last time with as much control as he could exert, fearing he would wake the whole room. His twitching prong jerked and pulsed, and yet Miles wicked thumb refused to stop, tickling and roiling the tethered boy's prick knob till Wes almost betrayed the action in the room from the growing sound of his groans.

"So Wes, you seem like you were always having that fat prick played with 3; always getting someone to make you feel good, huh?"

Wes only responded by renewing his pleading 3; "Please Johnny, I did what you wanted, common dude, lemme cum dude, lemme get my nut."

As he spoke, Johnny continued to twirl his glove and bristled covered fingers around the sensitive glans of the bigger boy, recalling how Miles had tortured his cums from a younger Wes' bloated fuck tip years earlier. Wes gasped, and extended his legs and lifted his hips as the agonizing sensations trailed over and around his cock head.

"Aaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhh 3; nnnnnnnooooooooo, please, dude, oh fuck, shit, please 3; nnooooo more 3; aaaaaaggggghhhhh."

At a wink from Johnny, he and Darren returned to their original tact. Darren fastened his lips on the nearest, rubbery teat, suckling it into stiff erection, and Johnny picked up the pace and friction, basting the bloated prick knob with the drooling juices dripping from the wide piss lips. Wes, was getting what he wanted, but he would have to endure how he got it to achieve the cum he was begging for.

"NNNNNOOOOOOOOOO 3; AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH, FUCK, OH SHIT, CHRIST, AAAHHHHHHH 3;NO, NO, AAAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!"

Wes twisted as much as his tethers would allow, and bounced his ass like a post-hole drill, gasping and screaming as Johnny's wicked bristles scrubbed every inch of the 8" [20 cm] teen boner. Wes' long thick toes curled, and his fingers scrabbled uselessly, as he squealed and begged. But when Darren and Johnny began to lick and suck on the big boy, with Johnny's tongue deep in Wes' ear, the tightly secured teen was lost. He forced his hips as high as he could planting his feet at the bottom of the bed in spite of his bonds, as Johnny's fingers whirled around and around the knob. The overwrought erectile tissue expanded and the glans went smooth, the piss lips opened, and ropes of thick, white goop bolted from the tip.

Wes began to hyperventilate, gasping and gulping in air as he sperm shot out of his penis, and yet his cock head was mauled and massaged mercilessly in spite of his exhortations and shrill pleading.

"DUDE 3; DUDE 3; aaaaaaaahhhhhhh 3;stop, stop 3; No, oh fuck, stop 3; aaaaaaggggggghhhhhh, no please 3; aaaaaaaaggggggghhhhhh!"

Wes was bucking so much, Johnny grasped his spitting boner firmly and just used his thumb to flick the big boy's cock head.

The wailing and begging continued for five minutes, but finally Johnny stopped. But Wes' day was far from over. Darren and Johnny captured Wes in a variety of poses, including one where his legs were drawn over his head, and his mouth was gagged with a funnel. They then masturbated him again until his copious boy sperm shot into the funnel and drooled down Wes' throat. Wes came a total of six times that day, and he spent his last minutes before he was released sucking Johnny's and Darren's toes on video tape, and thanking them for taking control of his unruly body. It was just Saturday, and that night, after the adults were asleep from their day out, Johnny secured Wes to his bed, reminding him of the many jpegs and video confession he had stored and ready for internet access. Johnny gently massaged Wes' penis into an unwilling erection, then he left the big boy teen to get a much needed night's sleep. Sunday would be another long day, and the vibrators that Johnny had were going to get full and interesting use with more of Darren's assistance.

When Sunday night rolled around, and Wes and his parents said their good byes, no one noticed how quiet and polite Wes had become over the course of the weekend. He barely looked into Johnny's eyes as he made his farewell, "Dude, catch ya later 3;" And that was it 3; and Wes hoped it would be the extent of their contact for some time to come. But Johnny had already made his plans. He wrote Wes and indicated that the teen was to write him once per week with a three page description of a sexual act he engaged in, and he insisted that the reports not be redundant or boring. Wes was going to learn the cost of humiliating younger boys, for some time to come. Johnny's dry run had been a sticky success. He proved he could take an older boy and bend him to his will, and even more, he could make him reveal his most private self at Johnny's command. It was time to go for really big game.

Chapter 7
Trapping Brent

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

The boner problem was getting worse and worse. He had even spoke to the youth priest in confession last week about the problem. He figured he did not go to confession all that often, and hell, some old priest would not recognize his voice 3; it was a way to see if he could get some free tips on how to control his libido. Of course Brent did not know that the deep voice on the other side of the screen was Father John Richardson, just 33 years old, and full of surprises.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well, it's like this Father, I really like this girl at school 3; her name in Amy."

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

"Actually Father, it's not just that I like Amy, it's that I get feelings when I think about her 3; you know, guy feelings."

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

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

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

Brent squeezed his eyes shut, and his sweaty palm increased the speed of massaging his now rigid boner. 'Fuck' he thought, Father was going to make him go through his problem chapter and verse, and he wasn't going to be able to just skim over the details. Shit, he was lucky no one could see him, "aaaaagggggghhhhh 3;" he groaned under his breath as his fingers stroked the feverish prong, now beginning to leak in his cotton briefs.

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

"Okay my son, so you have had erections each day, how did you deal with them 3; tell me."

('Oh fuck,' Brent thought 3; 'here it comes.') "Well, I guess I do what most guys do Father, sometimes I take a shower and try to ignore 'em, and then sometimes I jerk 3; ah, I mean, I masturbate." Brent grasped his boner firmly, letting his thumb slide back and forth over the aching knob, squeezing his eyes shut and waiting for Father Richardson so respond. Sweat was gathering under his arms, and beads were beginning to appear on his forehead.

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

('Oh shit 3;') "Gosh Father, I guess the first time in the last seven days was last Saturday. I woke up on Saturday morning thinking about Amy, and with, you know, an erection. Everyone else was downstairs, so I just rolled over and began to grind my penis into the bed. Gosh father, that felt sooo good. I just kept screwing the bed, and grinding my penis into the sheets. But I was afraid I'd make a mess, I always seem, you know, to shoot a lot of cum 3; ah, I mean I ejaculate quite a bit of sperm, so I turn over and use one of my gym socks."

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

('Fuck!') Yes, Father, I was naked 3; I often sleep naked or just in my sleep shorts. I didn't just start stroking 3; I have the sock under my mattress, so I slipped it over my bon 3; I mean my erection, and cause I make a lot of natural lube, I just started to stroke the sock up and down." Brent could not help himself, he unzipped his pants and slid his hand into his briefs, grasping his thick penis, and sliding his rough finger pads over and round the bloated knob, now sopping in its own juices.

"So you produce a great deal of pre-ejaculate 3; and you used that pre-ejaculate to lubricate your penis inside the sock, and then allow the sock to provide an artificial sleeve into which to masturbate your penis and shoot your sperm."

('Oh Christ 3;') "Yeah, Father, that's how it happened." Brent's fingers danced over and tickled the aching tip of his fat prick.

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

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

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

('Mother fucker 3;') "Ah, yeah, father, sometimes."

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

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

Father Richardson was gratified by what he saw. His own 7½ inch [19 cm] boner was rigid in his pants, and was itself leaking into his briefs. He reached down and unzipped his slacks, and slid his hand inside and extracted his throbbing erection. With a sigh of satisfaction, and a stifled groan, he rolled his fist up his penis, over the tip and back down, picking up the drops of pre-cum, and smoothing them into the tingling flesh. Struggling to keep his voice normal, Father spoke to Brent, "Go on son, tell me what you did 3;"

"Aw 3; jeez Father, this is so hard (not realizing the play on words as he rubbed his stiff boy pecker), I lay on my back, and I plant my feet and bring my knees up so I have some leverage. Using one hand to play with my ah, nipples, I slide the sock up and down on my penis with the other. I kinda like to rub the head, but not too much cause its so sensitive (Father's erection burped more pre-cum as he listened to Brent's description), so I kinda stroke and then roll the sock over the knob real quickly, then go back to my shaft."

As he spoke, Brent looked furtively around the cubicle as if to see if anyone could see him, checked that the door was locked, and then using both hands, pushed his pants and briefs to his ankles. His freed, thick 8-inch [20 cm] cudgel curved hard toward his stomach. The moment his fist closed around the knob of his boner, his eyes closed again and his other hand went up reflexively to unbutton his dress shirt so he could slip his fingers inside and tweak his nipple directly. Now Brent was on auto-pilot, his thick fingers doing what boys' fingers across America and the world do when their sexual heat gets high, frigging their boners and playing with their big, hunky bodies. His legs were stretched tautly out in front of him, and his body jerked each time his rough palm slid over the sensitive tip of his raging prong. It took all his concentration not to betray what he was doing when he spoke to Father Richardson. Little did he know that he was giving the Father a fabulous show, of slutty teen masturbation, by an All-American jock hunk.

"Is this a full description of how you touch yourself my son, just your nipples and your penis? Or is there more 3; ?"

Brent gasped as his fist slid over his cock head, and he yielded one last detail that almost made the good Father ejaculate on the spot. "Well, I sometimes rub a finger against my anus Father, I know it's a dirty thing to do, and I know that men don't play with their asses, but it feels so strange, and good, I just can't help it. I don't do anything else, unless I'm in the shower, and then sometimes I slip my finger inside to maybe the first knuckle. But when I am in bed, I just tickle my pucker once in a while, then go back to my tits 3; I mean my nipples."

By now, Brent was furiously wanking his big boy bone, sliding his fist up and over, circling his palm around the bulging knob and twisting his fist around it to induce more lubricant to bubble up and out of the wide piss lips. The fat plum of his cock head was being chaffed by the rough skin of his palm, and the rigid stalk, curved and hard, shone with the slick juices of his boy sap, leaking from the knob and wetting the shaft as his fist slid up, over and down. Each time his palm raked over the apple of his oversized prick tip, his body jerked and he squeezed the rubbery stiffness of his teats to distract him from the sensation.

Now it was Father Richardson's turn to maintain his self-control as his fist slid up and round the turgid pole jutting from out of his slacks. He had been blessed with a thick penis, with a bulbous knob and deep piss lips which filled with his leakage. So with his feet were planted wide and his torso slightly slouched, his mature fist kneaded the tingling rock hard cock. He was so experienced masturbating in the confessional, he did not need too much adjustment to shoot a thick, juicy wad of priest cum. Making sure he did not gasp and almost biting his lip, he spoke again to Brent: "What were you thinking my son, let us rid you of these impure thoughts, reveal them so we can deal with them 3;" Father squeezed his eyes shut as his rough fist and palm tortured the fat plum of his wet glans, now fully slick with his own leaking pre-fuck.

Brent was in no better shape. He was not completely slouched, his feet turned outwards, his pants and briefs at his ankles, one hand twisting his nipples, sending shocks through his prick, and the other hand grinding the fat knob and stalking of his boner, milking it ruthlessly. "Father (he croaked, then whispered), I know I shouldn't think impure thoughts, but hell 3; I mean heck, I can't help it. Every time I see Amy I think how soft her skin is, and how perfect her mouth is, and how much I want to make love to her 3;we've made out and 3; you know, she's so wet and her tits 3; I mean her breasts, there so sensitive. I just can't keep her out of my thoughts, and when I was jerking I kept thinking how nice it would feel to slide my prick 3; I mean my penis, into her. I swear Father, I think we're gonna get married some day, so it's not like we're committing a sin. Cause someday we're gonna be husband and wife and it'll be okay 3; but I can't hold it Father, I need to cum, I mean to ejaculate sometimes, and it feels so good when that sock is working over my penis like it was Amy's pussy 3; I mean, oh jeez, you know what I mean Father 3;"

At that moment, Father Richardson watched as Brent balled one fist and stuck it in his mouth after tweaking his tit one last time, and then gripping his raging prong just under the head, rope after rope of sticky boy juice squirted from the bulging glans and piss lips. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven streams of cum bolted from the big teen prick, wetting his chest where his shirt had spread. This fourteen year old hunk was a sperm factory already, and his cock had basted his chest up to his nipples, only his own thumb preventing him from shooting scum up to his face. At the same time, Father Richardson's own twitching penis squirted five long streams of sticky man cum across the cubicle, his mouth open, taking his breath in pants as he watched the beautiful boy masturbate his boner into submission. Both both and priest shuddered and then fisted their overly sensitive prick knobs. Unlike Brent though, Richardson had years of experience in controlling his response to the overwhelming feelings that fisting a bloated prick head after an ejaculation could cause. As he wrung his hand of the starchy, sticky fluids, he spoke to Brent who was using a tissue from his pocket to wipe off his hands, and sop up as much of his cum as possible, while avoiding the achey, itchy knob of his penis.

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

Brent blushed deeply again, realizing how stupid he had been to masturbate while he was in the confessional, and hoping that he had cleaned up all the evidence in the darkened space. What if the Father had detected what he had done? But he was fortunate, he'd gotten away with it since no one could see him. Now he would try to follow the Father's instructions. He would struggle to control his urges to masturbate, even when his prick tip tingled and leaked. If he needed help, he would consider coming back to Father Richardson. "Father, thank you 3; I feel much better. I'll do what you asked, and if I have problems, I'll let you know. Thank you Father, thank you very much." With his clothes in order, and his prick beginning to shrink, Brent slipped out quietly as the priest smiled. He knew if Brent did what he was told, he would see him again soon. No fifteen year old boy with a body and cock like that could resist stroking himself. Father Richardson felt sure he had another conquest.

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

Johnny Sets up Brent

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

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

Brent was sitting in the back of the van on the way back from practice. The guys were goofing off, talking trash – but Brent was leaning against the window staring intently out the window, trying to will down the erection in his uniform. His big, hairy hand was kneading the aching prong trying to force its way to full erection in spite of his best efforts. Fuck, when he sprung a boner in his jock, his dick would get strangled first, but its size and strength would eventually lead to the damn thing protruding outside his pouch and now he was leaking onto his hairy leg, making the fat knob itch from the bristling contact. He could not get Amy out of his head 3; he wanted to get home, get showered, and take her out to the movies tonight. He needed to cum, and he did not care whether it was her soft fist or some hot action – maybe (he prayed, and his cock lurched) a blow job, but he needed to get off TONIGHT!

When he scampered out of the van and said a quick good-bye to the guys, he sprinted through the front door and up the stairs to his room. He vaguely heard his mother saying something about Johnny borrowing something from him 3; but he could have cared less. All he wanted to know was how long it was going to be until Amy's soft lips were on his, and her soft hand was tickling his fat prick knob until he squirted a gallon of boy jizz. He closed the door, and grabbed his cell phone from the dresser and made a call, and then as he breathlessly waited for Amy to answer, he began kicking off his sneakers, and peeling off his clothes.

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

"Am, jeez, for a second I didn't think you were gonna pick up 3; when are we meeting tonight?"

"Brent, I've got some bad news 3; I've come down with a low fever, but my mom won't let me out 3; she says I have to stay home and rest. I tried to tell her we would not be out late, and we would stay indoors, but she said no. I'm sooooooo sorry baby, I was looking forward to seeing you 3; but my mom won't budge."

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

"Even if I am, our family is driving out of town to visit friends, that's why my mom is so unwilling to let me go out tonight. She wants to make sure I'm feeling better for tomorrow." Amy bit her lip, and her other hand kept moving under her shorts and panties. If Brent only knew that Amy's beautifully manicured index fingernail with its red polish was rubbing lazily back and forth over her engorged clit before it dipped down to slip between her labia to gather some sticky juice to keep her finger-pad lubricated, he would have ejaculated immediately. The very place he needed to soak his fat prick knob, Amy was teasing while he masturbated in burning frustration. Two horny teens, talking so innocently to one another, and both were on the verge of a huge climax. "I gotta go baby, mom is calling to me and I can hear her coming upstairs. I'll talk to you on Monday. Maybe we can get together Monday night and go to the Library, after your practice and dinner. Call me Sunday night 3; miss you."

Brent made his good bye, professing his undying love, even as he nursed his unrelenting lust. The moment he ended the call, he groaned out loud as his fist continued to slide slowly over the sticky helmet of his raging boner. "I fucking need to cum 3;" he croaked loud enough for him to hear, but no one else in the house. What he did not know, was that Johnny was recording every movement and every sound.

Brent reached down under his bed, and out came a sock. "I can't fucking wait, I can't 3; sorry Father, I can't hold out 3;I need it bad, and my girl's not available to help my blue balls, I need to shoot my crud and I gotta do it now 3; " Every time Brent spoke, Johnny was carefully listening and recording. But Brent pulled a surprise that caught Johnny off guard, but would open an even more satisfying opportunity. "Aw Christ, why did I have to say 'Father', fuck, I better call him, Jesus Father, you better have a good idea, cause I'm not gonna wait till Sunday unless it's really good, and my balls stop aching."

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

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

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

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

"Ah, Father, it was kinda personal, something I'd rather not discuss on the phone, but maybe we could talk this afteroon before dinner 3; I could come down to the church and we could meet in the confessional. Would that work?"

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

There was a silence, and then Brent spoke slowly and reluctantly. "Yeah, Father, that was me 3; I'm having a real problem, and before I go astray, I'd really appreciate your guidance." In the meantime, Johnny had sprung a full boner of his own, listening to Brent and Father Richardson. The moment the priest began to speak about masturbation, Johnny began to knead his boy prick, and work the inflamed knob. The Father and Brent had been discussing Brent's masturbation! Holy Shit! And now, Brent was going down to see Father Richardson, to talk with him about it some more. He listened as the two agreed to meet in forty-five minutes, and in the confessional booths at the far end of the church. There was only one thing for Johnny to do, get there first.

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

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

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

Chapter 8

For his part, Father Richardson was ready. Earlier in the day he had 'counseled' one of the altar boys. Morgan Kenney was a twelve year old with an attitude. Mature physically for his age, he already had a sprout of hair above his penis, and that unruly member was only four inches [10 cm] when erect, but stood straight up and had a fat cap, often wet and sticky from the thoughts going through the boys head. Morgan's mother had approached Father Richardson about what could be done to bring her twelve year old son under control. Since his father had divorced Mrs. Morgan and married another woman, moving out of the area, the boy had become more rebellious and angry. It wasn't enough to have him serve as altar boy, Mrs. Morgan felt that her son needed a man in his life, one who could exert some authority over him. Father Richardson had been only to happy to assist. He could play the part of stern father confessor, and soon had Morgan in sessions where the boy's attitude was punished in unorthodox ways. It began with push-ups, escalated to humiliations like standing in the corner with his pants at his ankles, and ended up with good old fashioned spankings. Fortunately, for Father Richardson, whenever Morgan got a spanking, he developed a rigid erection. Each time the priests open palm connected with his taut buttocks covered by his white briefs, Morgan's pricklet would become like a four inch [10 cm] bar of steel, and on more than one occasion, Richardson had felt the tell-tale signs of shuddering and writhing on his lap as he gave Morgan his punishment.

Soon the fiction was removed by the good priest advising Morgan that his was a sin of sexual depravity at an early age, and that unless he cooperated, he would be sent to a special camp where boy's like him learned attitude adjustment and a disciplined work ethic. Fearing the influence that Father Richardson had with his mother, Morgan agreed to the priest's regimen which included the weekly spankings now on his bare ass with his briefs and pants at his ankles, and a ritual milking of his hard prick. Morgan was disgusted by the thought of another guy handling his dick, but he could not resist the sensations produced when Father Richardson's calloused palm closed around his short, thick pricklet and brought him to at least two and often three shuddering ejaculations at each visit.

Today, after his spanking had resulted in the expected erection, Morgan had been required to strip naked, and lean back on his haunches on the Father's desk, his hands resting at his ankles, bowing his firm torso up and out. The position accentuated his hard boy dick, it's ruddy knob, wet with anticipation. Father had prayed as always, and made Morgan do the same in that awkward, lewd position. Then the priest had taken some 'holy oil' anointed his hands and while one frigged the boy's willing boner, the other had snaked in between his muscled thighs and found under his bouncing testicles the ragged line of his anus. Working with a determined stroke, Father Richardson's index finger had wormed its way inside Morgan's resisting sphincter, and coupled with his relentless fist, he had brought the young boy to a shattering ejaculation, with pellets of his boy cum flying from the expanded cock head as the priest ruthlessly twisted it in his insatiable grip. Morgan was given brief interludes, filled with praying, and then two more times his helpless pricklet was thumbed, squeezed, and roiled to delicious ejaculations. The second time Father Richardson had tweaked his nipples, sending electric shocks to his penis as the fist slide up, over and down his stalk, and the third time he was required to suck two fingers while he was masturbated. Ricahrdson had told him that the insertion of the fingers was a symbol of his silence before God, but in fact it merely reduced the boy to a helpless, distracted punk as his fat cock knob was mauled into submission one final time by the greedy priest. Before he left, Morgan was admonished to keep his hands off of his penis, the priest reminding him that if their sessions did not produce strong ejaculations he would know that the boy had been engaging in proscribed behavior. So Morgan left, realizing that his desperate boy need to cum would only be satisfied at the hands of this young priest, and resigned himself to another week of difficult self-control and spontaneous erections as he waited for his appointment with the uncompromising cleric. Father Richardson had enjoyed his session, and masturbated furiously after the boy had left to relieve his own leaky prick.

But with Brent's call, his ardor was restored, and already his cock was stiff in anticipation of dealing with the most beautiful boy in the parrish.

When Brent entered the confessional booth, closed the door and sat down, he was immediately greeted by the Father's deep voice: "My son, I am grateful that you called me before you gave into the temptation of the flesh. Let us see if together we can find a way to keep your hands and heart pure, and to transfer your guilt and sin from your shoulders to mine." Little did both of them know, that as they spoke, a third party was monitoring the entire scene, Johnny was gently massaging his rock-hard dick, scratching his nail across the sensitive tip through his shorts, and watching the split screen that showed both booths as well as capturing the sound.

"Father, I did as you said, I kept my hands from my penis, and did not masturbate to ejaculation 3; but, Father, I can't go this way for days and days without gettting sorta backed up, you know, my testicles ache I gotta find a way to release the pressure. Can you suggest anything, please Father, otherwise I feel like I'm gonna explode."

Assuming again that no one could see him, Brent began to massage his big basket with his long, thick fingers, and his cock hardened and lengthened, snaking up from his loose briefs, beyond the waistband, towards his navel. The fat knob rested on his stomach against the depression where his hairy navel was located. He unbuttoned his shirt and he let his thumb tease the leaky, fat knob that was exposed. He closed his eyes, and pulled out the flaps of his shirt so that his cock drool would not stain it, and his thumb could have unfettered access. As he grazed his fat plum, his tits hardened, and made cones in the material of his shirt.

"Brent my son, there are times when youth is beyond understanding the ways of God and man, and we should turn our hearts, souls, and bodies over to those who are experienced in managing the burdens of sin. Do you understand my son?"

"Ah, I'm not sure Father 3;" Brent's furrowed his brow in an inquisitive manner, even though his eyes were closed and his fingers were toying with his fat mushroom cap.

"Recently my son (Father Richardson lied), I had a case where a young man who was about to be married was in your situation. I reminded him that in particular before his wedding, he could not spill his seed. That he should save for the wedding night, in the arms of his wife. He begged me to help him, because he did not feel he could resist the temptation of his strong calloused fist, sliding up and down his rigid penis."

Father carefully selected his words, growing more and more salacious as he spoke, making Brent get hotter and hotter, and leading the teen to the precipice he wanted him to fall over.

"Eventually, I had to take matters into my own hands, so to speak. The young man was going to slip into sin if I did not act, and so for the sake of his immortal soul, and to keep him pure for his wedding night, I volunteered to take on his pain. Then there was the college boy who came to see me to confess his sin of self-abuse. He said he kept a soft white cotton sock under his bed, and at night when his roommate was asleep, he would either slide his hand into the sock to glove its sinful intentions, or he would slide the sock over his long, thick penis and chaff the material over and over the sticky, prideful head. It got to the point that he would sneak into the room during the day when he should have been in classes to play with his always rampant penis, and even went into the bathrooms in the library to lower his pants and briefs and expose the snake to his calloused fist."

Smiling as he watched Brent lower his own pants and briefs again, and begin to slide his fist up and down his rigid shaft, Father continued his careful speech.

"I explained that the only way he could achieve salvation would be to turn the offending member over the God, and that I would help him cross over to the path of righteousness."

"What did you do for them Father, can you do that for me?" Brent spoke even as his palm glided over the bulging knob, and smoothed the copious drool it found around the sensitive, tingling prick tip.

"If there is no other way to counsel you into controlling your physical demands and unholy wants and needs, I will perform for you the same service I have for other young men who wish to live up to the gospels, to the virtues and to their own honor. Come forward to the screen."

By now, Johnny had a painful erection as he watched transfixed.

The gullible Brent McDermott stood and shuffled over to the screen, while Father Richardson on the other side was firmly stroking his own erection underneath his cassock. "I want you to rest against the wall, and close your eyes, and pray with me 3; and I will handle your problem. "Say with me 3; Father, help me to have strength to resist my unmanly lusts, my desire to touch my flesh and spill my seed; allow me to surrender to Father Richardson my wicked intentions so that he may lead me away from the path of sin."

Brent was pressed up against the screen, his crotch and throbbing member just under his unbuttoned shirt, drooling as it pressed against the opening. His face was pressed against the booth wall, his hands flattened against the wall to the sides at shoulder level, and his legs slightly spread. He murmured low, the words that Father Richardson told him to say, and he kept his eyes closed surrendering to whatever the Father was planning. The more he spoke the words, the more he seemed to drift away, feeling almost detached from his body, relaxing deeper and deeper into a state of mind that he hoped would make the throbbing between his legs subside, and the tickle from the dripping pre-sap stop.

Johnny watched with rapt attention and while stroking his own throbbing erection, and he listened to Brent's quiet incantations. Then he saw something that made his eyes good wide. He took control of the camera and zoomed in closer to the screen as he captured Father Richardson unhinging the confessional barrier and removing it. As he did so, Brent's long, slender curved prick gently lowered into the opening and stuck through the partition like some punk at a roadside glory hole. As he continued to urge Brent's repentance, the good father lifted his fingertips to gently stroke the bloated cock head. Brent gasped, but Father Richardson whispered firmly in unison with the lost fifteen year old to keep him focused (or distracted depending on your perspective), on asking for forgiveness and guidance. Brent hardly realized that his precious tool was being gently masturbated, and Father Richardsonson's practiced fingers were making more and more boy sap leak from the deep pisswell. The turgid boy pole was soft and yet rock hard, already reaching up beyond the elastic waist of the briefs. So Father's fingers danced up and down the wet stalk and circled and palmed the oversized cock knob, tenderly ministering and gripping the pole and allowing his own meaty thumb to slide around Brent's overly sensitive corona to tease the wide flange of the helmet. The lusty teenager spread his legs further, and forced his hips toward the sensations, the delicious feeling of someone's hand working his fuck-pole and milking him slowly up the ladder to ejaculation.

Brent grunted now as he repeated his lines, and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut. What was happening, what was Father Richardson doing, oh, but fuck 3; "aaaaaggggghhhhh" it felt so damn good, oh Jesus, my knob 3; my fucking knob 3; what's he doing 3;"oooooohh" shit it felt so sweet! Brent forced his crotch into the opening as far as he could, and the large opening, now allowed his entire crotch and half-way up his abs to be available. Father Richardson did not waste any time. He kept his chanting going along with Brent, and quickly used his free hand to unbutton the boys shirt all the way up to his neck.

Johnny almost ejaculated, his drooling boy prick aching from what he was seeing and recording. He couldn't touch his own cock because he was so close. There was the object of his dreams, Brent's big boy prick, sticky and wet, and rigid as a stick, its slender shaft widening as it went from root to helmet, and on top was a fat, mushroom cap with wide piss lips. Johnny was filled with lust and wonder as he watched Father Richardson take control of the penis, he so coveted. Brent had a sharp curve to his cock from root to knob, and now the top of the shaft was reaching up to caress the space just below his jutting pectoral muscles. Father's hand continued its slide up, till the hand reached the sticky cock head, and his fist closed just under the corona, the thumb rubbing softy back and forth over the jerking glans. At the same time, Father took the chance to see if he could get even more familiar with his big teenage prey. His free hand slid up inside the unbuttoned shirt, and moved gently up to the curvature of the mounded pectorals. This hand's thumb reached a pointed, rubbery tit thrusting out from the edge of the curved musculature, and each time Father's thumb grazed the ticklish tip, Brent hunched and moaned even has he steadfastly continued to repeat his mantra. As long as Brent just ignored what was happening, he was in Father Richardson's capable hands, literally, and the ache in his balls was being replaced by a tightening in his balls. Soon, his problem would go away.

Father Richardson's mouth was producing saliva as he stared at the huge plum of Brent's oversized fifteen year old cock knob. But he did not want to break the spell that was keeping the teenage hunk pressed against the confessional screen opening. He slowly rotated his strong fist around the boy's shaft, making him squirm and jerk, and used his thumb to tickle and distract him even more. And to make sure he got the most from Brent's thrusting body, he began to gently pinch and tug on each of the boy's sensitive teats. Each pinch would make Brent's cock go rigid and his cock knob expand, spitting out more and more teen pre-fuck, and causing him to squirm and grunt.

Brent gave in, who the fuck cared 3; Christ, he needed to cum and he needed it now. Father Richardson's padded palm and thick fingers might not be Amy's tight, gripping cunt, or her soft hands, but fuck, the delicious feeling of someone other than his own hands on his pulsing penis and stiff tits was a gift from heaven. And in a perfect example of teenage denial, Brent reasoned to himself, 'If Father Richardson can't help me, then who the hell can 3;?' Then he gasped and whined, thrusting himself into the priest's fist, turning over his most private act to another man who was milking him with wild abandon, as he fucked the fist that worked his cock like it was a cunt.

In the meantime, Johnny's cameras and microphones were doing there own magic, producing the materials that would allow him to finally capture Brent. But now, he had a bonus. He would be able to weave Father Richardson into his plans. As these thoughts went racing through his mind, his cock lurched and began to spit wads of boy cum into a rag he was holding over the spurting penis. Because at that same moment, Father Richardson's torquing fist squeezed and twisted around Brent's feverish prong and his thumb scrubbed back and forth, urging the teenage piss lips to split wide open and blast wad after wad of teenage cum up into the open booth. Father wanted desperately to engulf the spurting cock head into his mouth and suction the sweet boy cum down his greedy throat. But he was afraid that Brent would freak-out, and pull away, leaving the booth and perhaps not return. So he steeled himself, and with a smile of lustful satisfaction, he simply enjoyed the sight of Brent's teenage prick spunking ropes of teenage fuck sauce over the floor of his booth. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, and then smaller spurts and a long, drooling trail of boy spooge.

Brent saw stars, and then surrendered, stopping his recitation and replaced it with a long, stifled groan 3;"aaaaaaaaaggggggggghhhhhhhh 3; uuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhh, fucccckkk 3;aaaahhh, yes, yes, oh God 3;oh God 3; aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!" His hips thrust forward into the swirling fist of the relentless cleric, helpless to stop his body from wrenching every delicious sensation from his long ejaculation. His face and body were pressed tightly against the booth wall, and he was up on his toes, grinding his crotch into the milking hand that now was torturing his sensitive glans, thumbing it over and over.

"That's it my son," Father Richardson calmly intoned as his roiling fist mauled the fat fuck tip of the spewing penis, "let the sin drain from your body, release your temptation, and give up the stain that would separate you from innocence." As he spoke the good divine milked the remaining dregs from Brent's still turgid shaft, and again thumbing the sensitive tip, caused the young man to hunch wildly, trying to extract his penis from Father's grip, and to bite his own fist to keep from squealing from the agonizing sensations. Finally, Father Richardson released Brent's beautiful cock, and the teenager staggered from the opening, stumbling back to sit on the bench and gain his breath as he struggled to put his prick away and tuck his clothing back into place. Father Richardson had replaced the screen, and then licked his fingers and the palm of his other hand where he had captured as much of the spurting ejaculate as he could when Brent had cum. Jesus the kid's cum was tasty, starchy and with a hint of bleach, but not bitter or too salty. Father vowed he would drink straight from the spigot sometime in the future.

"My son, you are released from the tensions of sin and temptation. You are not to touch yourself again. If you need assistance controlling your urges, you contact me as you did this time, and we will arrange to exorcise your demons, and purge the excess seed from your body before it becomes the devil's brew. Do you understand."

"Ah, okay Father, I understand. Ah, thank you 3; I really appreciate your help. I'll be good, I promise." Brent knew this was wrong, but fuck did it feel good. Besides, he couldn't be good all the time if Amy wouldn't give him any, and if he had to sin, better with a priest than with one of the loose chicks at school. Brent was not counting on any regular action with Amy, but now that he had an alternative to his sock, one that was validated by the church, he would keep this to himself and take the opportunity to relieve himself on a regular basis. Who would guess that the All-American boy with the perfect teenage body and the dick to die for was going to get his crank milked by the local parish priest. Brent frowned earnestly as if he should reconsider his thoughts and actions, and then he realized that no one would know. It was perfect, and his cock would get relief without him having to hide his masturbation at home. Little did he know that his performance and the whole scene with Father Richardson had been captured in high resolution. The perfect solution would soon become the perfect trap.

Father Richardson zipped himself up, and though flushed, would savor both the taste and the experience of masturbating the big teenage jock hunk. This memory would fuel a nice long session with his fist and his prick tonight, before he went to sleep. But what neither the good Father nor the hunky Brent McDermott knew, was that they both had become film stars. Soon they would be receiving an anonymous package, and in the case of Brent, his would come with some specific instructions. There was more than enough time to get back to Father Richardson. In the meantime, he could stew in the knowledge that he would be hearing from someone who had a record of his illicit and dirty sexual conduct in the confessional. Johnny had set up Brent, but with the help of Father Richardson, the big dicked teen jock had fallen directly into a his snare.

Brent Loses Control of his Cock

Next door, late into the night, Johnny was working furiously on the recordings he had made earlier in the day. First he created a video focused on Brent, capturing his words and various angles of his masturbation at the hands of Father Richardson. Next he created a similar one focused on Father Richardson. Then he produced carefully selected individual jpegs of the action, many cropped for close-ups which included facial expressions along with lewd sexual conduct. He sent an e-mail to Brent with a copy of the video and several jpegs. The message read as follows:

Brent, this is Johnny from next door. Please look at the attached video and jpegs. These were sent to me anonymously, but I have them and I think we need to talk. I have them posted on a web site on the internet that will automatically send them after a specified period of time, unless I stop it. In order to do that, I need to speak with you and come to an agreement. I have told my mother that you have volunteered to help me with my schoolwork after dinner this evening. My parents will be out visiting until about 10 p.m., so I'll see you here at about 6:30 p.m. Please come in your uniform after practice and your dinner-don't bother to shower, I don't want to waste any time. If you fail to be here by 6:40 p.m., the video and pics will be sent to your teachers, the school's web site, and many of your friends including Amy. Do not share this message with anyone, tell anyone about this, or come with anyone, otherwise the video and pics will be posted.

The message was from Johnny Berkland, the punk kid next door. Brent read the message, and stopped dead in his tracks his eyes gazing at the screen with a frozen, expressionless stare. It was like he could not understand what he had read. So he read the message again and as he processed the words, the hair on his neck stood up and he felt flushed and warm. He opened the zip file to download the attachments. He checked the jpegs, and as he opened each, his eyes went wider and wider. "Oh Jesus, it couldn't be 3; how the fuck, oh my God, how 3;how 3; shit, fuck, motherfuck, bitch!" he murmured under his breath. The pictures showed Brent playing with his dick, moving to the screen in the confessional booth, his cock in Father Richardson's fist, another as his cock was spurting cum, and finally his prick exposed and him looking disheveled after he sat down on the booth's bench after he had ejaculated 3; his prick still drolling scum. The pics were so clear, his face and body were easily identifiable. Brent's hands were trembling, when he clicked on the video clip. As the image reader opened the file, Brent thought he would be sick, he had to turn down the computer speakers quickly 3; the sounds of his encounter with Father Richardson were clear and undistorted, and the film, the film, it was all there!

Brent did not watch the entire clip 3; he'd seen enough. He closed the image reader and file. Maybe he should trash the files, but Johnny's message said he had them 3; and unless he met with Johnny they would be sent to people. As if in a trance, Brent responded to Johnny's e-mail, saying he would see him tonight. They he paused and wondered if he should call Father Richardson. But Johnny had said not to speak to anyone 3; so he couldn't chance it Brent McDermott, teenage jock hunk was suddenly trapped, and the thirteen year old boy next door seemed to be his captor.

He walked out of his room with his clean baseball practice uniform in his athletic bag, books and other school stuff, then down and out of the house. The day seemed to go by minute by minute, an eternity. By the time practice had ended, Brent could hardly remember what had happened in classes and on the field. One thing for sure, he wasn't able to get the ball over the plate with any accuracy during the practice, and the pitching coach told him to shrug it off, and come back tomorrow – he'd be sharp the next day. But coach did not know what was on Brent's mind, what was distracting him. He even told Amy he couldn't meet her at the library that night. He was dreading every step as he walked into the house, told his mom about helping Johnny after dinner, and did not change from his practice uniform as instructed in Johnny's e-mail message. He couldn't eat much either, just picking at his food before getting up and walking out the kitchen door to go next door.

When Johnny answered the door, he nodded to acknowledge Brent and ushered the bigger boy into his house. Brent's practice uniform was dirty and still slightly damp. He was wearing his practice socks, leggings and pool slip-ons rather than his cleats. Brent betrayed no expression, and said nothing. He followed Johnny up the stairs to his room, but hesitated before he walked in. He spoke for the first time, his deep teenage voice having only recently changed and full of testosterone.

"Why are we going in there?" he asked flatly.

Johnny, surprised to hear Brent's voice, turned and responded evenly and calmly, knowing that he would have to sound confident if this was going to work. "Brent, from now on, I suggest you do everything I ask. Father Richardson and you are both in huge trouble, and you've got everything to lose dude. You're the big star of the baseball team, you're the guy that makes girls get hot 3; you're Mr. Perfect. But none of the people who fall all over themselves admiring you know that you're a fag who likes other dudes to stroke his dick."

Brent broke in, "What the fuck are you talking about, Father Richardson was supposed to be helping me 3; I just did what he said to do. How the hell did you get those pictures and tape shit 3; fuck, I was just doing what he told me, you saw, you heard."

"All I know is that you and that queer priest were playing around in the church confessional booth, and there are a lot of people who would be surprised and interested in seeing Mr. Jr. Jock getting his dick played with by another guy in a church. Ya think?" Johnny amazed himself with his cool sarcasm and deliberate speech.

Brent said nothing, but looked down to his feet, his jaws clenching in anger and frustration at his predicament with this punk kid, but helpless to do anything. He had made one big mistake, and somehow he had gotten caught, and worse yet, the consequences could ruin his young life. He wanted to grab Johnny and strangle him, but all he could do is grind his teeth and submit to whatever stupid dare this dumb kid was going to exact. At least then it would be over. So he kept quiet and waited to hear what Johnny's blackmail would be. Little did Brent realize just how sophisticated Johnny's plan was, and just how much Brent would be required to pay for the promise of keeping his secret secure.

"Okay dude, this is how its gonna work. From now on, your big boy wiener is under my supervision 3; you get it, your entire body is mine to do with whatever I want once every week. The rest of the time, I'll direct how you are allowed to use it 3; if you are allowed to use it, and when. You will follow every instruction I give you, and if you do, this secret will be between you, me, and Father Richardson. If you choose to say no, then you can walk out right now, but you'll get a copy of the message everyone else will be getting. Your decision 3;"

Brent was incredulous, and the expression on his face showed his surprise. He assumed that he was going to have to play along with this jerk kid for one night, not on an ongoing basis 3; what the fuck was he gonna do? He wasn't about to let some punk kid blackmail him 3; but how could he stop him? The dumb kid had the pictures of him and Father Richardson 3; and for the life of him, he couldn't think of how to get out of his situation. "Johnny, common dude, this is fucked up 3; this is crazy, you can't do this. I don't want any part of this queer stuff 3; I just let Father Richardson help me out cause I couldn't be with my girl, and anyway he said it was okay, and that God and the church gave him permission 3; common dude, don't do this shit 3; please. I've always been nice to you, never screwed with you 3; so how bout it dude, common, please!" Brent looked pleadingly at Johnny, hoping that he could move the kid to be reasonable.

"Brent, it's only because I like you so much, and cause you've always been a good guy that I'm even proposing a deal that's so easy on you. Otherwise, I'd just send it to everyone, and let'em have at it 3; so this is a good deal dude, one that will keep your secret, and only require you to follow simple instructions each week. But one thing – there's no saying no 3; there's no resistance, no lip, or trying to boss me, or intimidate me, or get anyone else involved. Any screw up with the rules, and it's over dude, and you're toast. And if anything happens to me, any bad shit like someone tries to beat me up, or hurt me 3; it's all over for you. Do you agree 3; remember, the clock on the auto e-mail message is ticking."

"Christ Johnny, fuck 3;oh fucking kay 3;Jesus 3; please don't do weird shit 3; please, just be cool dude, no weird or too queer stuff. If you want to jerk me off, or maybe suck me, okay 3; but no other stuff, kay?"

Johnny smiled a cynical smile behind his shades that he had been wearing the entire time just to act like he was cool. He wanted to keep Brent off guard, not to betray the boy behind the plan. Now he was in charge 3; Brent McDermott had lost control of his own cock, and Johnny Berkland had carefully executed the plan to take control of the best looking kid in the middle school, and his big prick.

NEXT PART