This is a work of fiction. That means it is not true. Didn’t happen. It’s a figment. No boys were involved or harmed in the writing of this story and no trees were sacrificed. The author does not condone sex with boys; he just writes fantasies about it. Further, sex in reality requires caution and protection, but my characters won’t catch any bad bugs unless I write them in. Be safe and legal in the real world, and enjoy the story only if you are of age and location to legally do so.

Note: When I narrate a story in the first person, I tend to write Ashley in as the narrator. The stories are fiction, however, and do not generally interconnect. I hope that does not cause my readers any confusion!

**This story is the property of the author and may not be reproduced in any form whatsoever without his permission.**

Part I: Ash’s story.

”Hey hairy-boy, you got a dick under that hair, or you got a pussy?” Tyrrell the junior high jock was heating up his verbal assault he had begun during after-gym showers, zeroing in yet again on my premature hairiness which mostly hid my still boy-size penis.

“At least I got hair, baldy. Don’t forget to put some baby powder on your baby butt before you get dressed.” “Listen, you faggot,” Tyrell began, placing his muscular brown body directly in front of my scrawny but hirsute frame and stepping up the confrontation. But he did not get the chance to get physical.

I felt the back of my neck seized in a vise like grip, and saw him encounter a similar fate. Mr. Hardric, our seventh grade gym teacher, more or less picked us up by the scruff of our necks, and our belligerent bickering quickly changed to abject fear. Mr. Hardric, a former Olympic wrestler, did not allow any conflict in his classes outside the actual gym, and we both knew we were toast.

“Listen you two,” he started, his voice low, tightly controlled, and very angry. “This bullshit is not acceptable. It is going to stop.” He punctuated each statement by tightening his grip on our necks a little, and giving us a shake as well. “In fact,” he continued, “it just has. And it is not going to begin again. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” we both stammered.

“But I’m not sure you totally understand that yet. So you’re going to learn.” He began propelling our naked forms from the drying area through the locker room, our feet barely on the floor, our towels abandoned along the way. “Your job for the next two hours is to find out how to get along with each other. No blood, no bruises. Do I make myself clear? I’ll call your parents and tell them you’ll be late.” And with that he thrust us into a tiny office, pulled the door shut, and locked us in.

We were alone in a little room hardly bigger than a closet, stark naked, and apparently together for the next two hours. There was a small desk that held a box of Kleenex, a straight chair, a mirror on the wall, and nothing else. Tyrell turned away from me, his head down.

“You asshole,” I started angrily, “why’d you have to start with me? I never did anything to you. I’m gonna get killed being two hours late and it’s all your fault.” I was going to continue, but when I paused for breath, I realized that Tyrell’s shoulders were shaking. I realized, to my amazement that he was crying, so I relented.

“Aw, c’mon, dude,” I said, “it’s not really that bad. It’s just a detention.” I put a hand on his muscular arm. Suddenly, he turned to face me, tears streaming down his distorted face as he began full blown bawling. We were so close to each other, I instinctively reached my other hand out to him, and before I knew it, Ty-the-Guy, Ty the strongest, coolest dude in the seventh grade, had draped himself on me, crying his eyes out on my shoulder, his arms around me in a desperate hug. Although I was about half his weight, I was a few inches taller, and as he rested his head against my bony white shoulder, I hugged him back and tried to comfort him, stroking his black woolly hair as he sobbed.

“Come on, dude, it’ll be OK. It’s just a couple of hours. It’s not that bad.” I was holding him and trying to calm him down like he was a little kid or something. His bawling diminished a bit to ragged sobs. I spied the Kleenex on the small desk next to us, and plucked one out. I held it to his nose and ordered him to blow, like I did for my little brother when he had a boo-boo. He did, and then wiped his eyes as well. And continued holding on to me.

He produced a weak smile. “Guess you didn’t expect to see me cryin’ like a baby,” he managed between remaining sobs. “But my ass is gonna get a major wuppin’ for this.”

“Yeah, me too, I guess. I’ll probably be grounded for the next several years.”

“I wish. Just being grounded would be heaven. I mean ‘wuppin’ ” --like with a leather belt. Serious!” he added in response to my surprised expression. We continued standing, holding each other naturally, and some part of my brain registered that I quite liked it that way. In fact, another part of my body was registering my pleasure in a purely physical way. My diminutive dick, about two inches soft, and nearly totally hidden by the copious pubic hair that had suddenly sprouted in sixth grade, was more than doubling to its hard size, more than four inches. And Ty’s right hand seemed to have moved from my shoulder to my chest, and was kind of touching me all over, stroking the hairs that were already starting to grow from the middle of my chest down toward my stomach, going lower and lower. I felt something softly touching my thigh, too, and suddenly it just seemed natural to move my hand down Ty’s muscular brown chest like he was doing to me. I got down to his smooth crotch, and discovered that he had gotten hard too, only his hardon looked about three times the size of mine.

We stood in silence for some moments, just processing our physical situation without words, holding, touching, and erecting.

Presently he began to speak in a quiet, tentative voice. “Ash, if I tell you something, you promise not to tell anyone?” he said, his hand holding my stiff dick.

“I guess,” I said.

“I’m serious. You absolutely can’t never tell anyone. Not about this. Not about what I’m gonna tell you. Never ever, cross your heart. Promise.”

“OK, I promise. What’s the deal?” Like I was actually going to tell anyone about holding Tyrell’s stiff dick in the locker room after school.

“I gotta tell you about what’s gonna happen to me at home. I gotta tell somebody.” Tears welled up in his eyes, and he started to cry again. I handed him another Kleenex.

“Geez, dude, calm down. It’ll be OK,” I said, genuinely alarmed by now.

He took a shaky breath, and sort of leaned more closely to me. “I’m gay, Ash. I’m queer, a faggot, homo-fucking-sexual, to quote my daddy. There. Are you shocked, dude? Ty-the-Guy’s gay. I should be Tay-the-gay instead.” He laughed bitterly. “And I’m sorry about saying all that stuff to you. I just did that to keep myself distracted. Best defense is a good offense, an’ all that. Seein’ that I think you’re really hot, if I didn’t pick a fight, I’d have had a hardon ten seconds after I looked at you in the shower for sure.”

I didn’t know what to say. All I knew was that I liked the current situation: alone with Ty, naked, hard, held, trusted, and very, very excited. So I hugged him harder, wrapping both my arms around his shoulders again and pulling him close to me and pressing my hips against his. We stood so for some moments more, his breathing returning to normal, my heart continuing to pound. He reached his hand around his back and found mine, which he then guided downward to his butt.

“Feel those lines across my butt, Ash? They’re from the last wuppin’ which I got for coming home five minutes late from football practice Tuesday.” Gently, I traced the ridges that ran across his butt cheeks. I did not know what to say. “Feel these?” he continued, guiding my hand lower yet over more ridges near the junction of leg and butt. “They’re from not hanging my towel neat enough in the bathroom.” I ran my hand over his ass in wonder.

He loosened his grip, and suggested we sit down on the small desk for awhile. We settled down in some improved comfort, arms around each other, dicks pointing up in each other’s hands, and he started telling me what would happen to him at home this weekend. But I promised I would never tell, so I’ll let Ty tell you himself now.

Part II: Ty’s story.

I live with my daddy--my mama passed on about two years ago, and I don’t have any brothers or sisters. My daddy’s real strict, and I daren’t disobey. I have to go out for every sport, and I have to make first string. I don’t enjoy the total jock experience, but my dad says being in music or plays is for fairies and wusses, even though I’d give anything to be in the school play. And when he caught me sucking off my friend in sixth grade, it was like I had to prove to the world that I wasn’t gay--that his son was the all-American boy, not a limp wristed faggot. So I do. But it isn’t enough.

Every weekend on Saturday afternoon, I get my weekly punishment. It’s always the same. We have this separate workshop shed in our back yard, and I have to report there at 5:00 PM exactly. I have to wear a white button-up shirt, and white drawstring gym shorts, nothing else. I knock on the door and wait for him to let me in. I tell him that I am ready for my punishments, and he tells me to tell him what I have done wrong the past week.

I have to tell him everything I did wrong during the week. For each of my mistakes, he asks me what my punishment should be. I can only choose from strap or paddle, so there’s not much choice there, only how many hits. But if I suggest too many, he’ll give me all I suggest plus half again as many, since if I suggest high, I must have done worse than he realized. But if I suggest low, I get the number doubled for trying to get away with a lighter punishment. So I really can’t win, but I have to play the game.

So once we get the number of swats decided, then it’s time to get me prepared. We go through the same drill: he asks me if I have washed myself, and I tell him yes. He asks if I am sure, and I tell him I am. Then he says it’s time to check, and he unbuttons my shirt and takes it off me. He drops it on the floor, and he unties the drawstring of my shorts and they drop too. He makes me turn all around for him, and then takes my dick in his hand and squeezes it. I’m usually hard by this time, and he asks me what I’m thinking about. I tell him I’m thinking about screwing a tight hot pussy. Then he inspects me for new hair. That’s why I don’t have any pubic hair. If he sees any new long hairs, he plucks them out. If they’re too short to pluck, he shaves me smooth. He says I have to earn my hair by being good for an entire week, but that will never happen.

You want to know what else I get punished for? Last week he told me I had placed the trash cans too close to the drive when I put them out for the trash. The week before he told me I had put them too far away. But I put them the same spot every time! Any problems at school count. Any mistakes in games or sports meets count. If we lose, I get the winning score added to my punishment. If I make an A in a subject, he tells me only sissy fags get As, and I get hit. If I make a B, he tells me only stupid homos get Bs. It just goes on and on.

Finally we get to the punishment. I bend over this wooden saw horse that’s about belly high, and he ties my wrists to some ropes that hang from the ceiling, and he commences beating me. He usually wallops me about five times, and then he rests a spell, and while he rests, he rubs my dick and my balls and the insides of my legs. But I’m not allowed to cum, so when I get close to shooting, he goes back to the wuppin. After twenty or thirty times, my backside is just about on fire, and it really don’t matter much how many more times he hits me. When he’s done, he puts a tight ring around the bottom of my dick and my balls. As long as that’s on, I don’t cum, but I stay hard. And I can’t reach my dick because of the ropes.

So when we get to that point, he asks me if I’ve been a faggot this week. I tell him, “No, Daddy, I haven’t,” and he says that’s good, because no son of his is going to a homo-fucking-sexual. Then he asks me if I know what it’s like to be be a queer black boy, and I tell him no. So he says, “I think we’ll just give you a little lesson about homo-fucking-sexu-faggot-ality.” He goes to the door and turns on a flashing light, like the kind they use for blue-light specials at K-Mart. There are two, one yellow, one blue. The blue one means boys can come, the yellow one means men, and both means both. So he turns on the lights, and in about ten seconds the workshop starts to fill up with with horny guys. Daddy makes them give money--he says it’s for my college fund. Yeah, right. He charges five bucks for my butt and five for my mouth, or both for seven-fifty. When they’ve all gathered and paid, he tells them to get ready for action, which means they should take off their shirts and britches. By now, there’s likely 25 or 30 buck naked boys and men with hardons, all waiting for a chance at me. Then he says “Gentlemen, show this black boy the wages of sinful faggotry.” If he remembers, he squirts some grease on my butt, and if he forgets, the first one hurts really bad. But after that, there’s so much cum in me, I don’t need no more grease. And then for the next hour or so I’ve got a dick up my butt, and at least one in my mouth, until all have shot at least one load in me or on me. Some of the younger boys go twice. My daddy don’t even notice, but I do.

Some of ‘em hold my balls or my dick while they’re fucking my ass, and sometimes someone will suck on me, but with that damn ring around me, no matter how hard I get, I can’t cum. My balls hurt so bad, you can’t imagine. I imagine I swallow about a quart of cum, and about that much must be up my ass and a lot gets squirted all over me. So when they’re all done and gone, my daddy unties my hands and lets me stand up. My butt is so sore I can’t even even describe it, and I have cum all over: it dribbles out my ass, down my face, in my hair. But the thing is, the whole time, Daddy has been watching, and he’s got the biggest hardon you’ve ever seen. He’s hung like a stallion. He’s about two inches wide and at least a foot long hard. I stand before Daddy, and he says, “Look at you boy. You’re a disgrace. You’re a faggot fuck-boy. That’s all you’ll ever be. You ain’t good for nothing but fuckin’. Now clean yourself up and come in the house.”

By that he means I should wipe the cum off me with my hands, and lick myself clean, so I get as much off as I can and I go back to the house. Daddy is waiting for me, and he just nods towards his bed. He takes off the ring around my cock and my balls, finally, which helps some. But see, I’m not allowed to jerk off, and my bedroom is right off the living room, and there’s no door. I have to sleep naked and he checks my sheets and my undershorts for cum stains. I’m not allowed to close the bathroom door either, so there isn’t any time I can jerk off unless I do it at school, and you know how much privacy there is in the boys’ rooms, which is why it’s so hard for me not to get hard in the showers, cuz I’m always so horny.

So anyway, Daddy puts me on the bed on my back, and raises my legs up over my shoulders, and then he rams his huge cock into my poor asshole, and it feels like I’m being torn in half. Ash, he’s so big and it hurts so bad! So he fucks me as long as it takes for him to almost cum, and then he pulls out and makes me suck him off the rest of the way. And you can imagine, I told you how huge he is, when he shoots, it’s not just a a couple squirts, it’s like a dam has busted and cum just explodes out of his cock. I swallow a lot, but his cock is so big in my mouth that most of it leaks out of my mouth. When he’s done, I know to get out of his bed and go to my own room. By then I’m so exhausted I just go to sleep. It takes all the next day for my butt to recover, so I’m more or less normal by Monday.

But you know what, Ash? As much as it hurts, as much as I hate it when my daddy rams his monster dick up my butt, I kind of like it at the same time. It makes me hard, and at the same time it hurts, it feels good. And when I do it with another boy, it feels really good.

Part III: Ash continues.

So I was just blown away by Ty’s story. I knew--sort of--about gay sex, but I’d not yet heard more than the vague references to it that young boys make when they don’t quite know what they’re talking about, but think they’re supposed to. The whole time Ty was talking, we had our arms around each other, and his hand moved slowly around on my dick, or on my balls, or around my thighs, and I was doing the same thing to him. We both stayed as hard as rocks, and I noticed that his dick kind of oozed a clear, slippery fluid.

He stopped talking, and we just sat there. I was so amazed, I just did not know what to say. Then as I was searching for some words, any words, he said to me, “Ash, will you do it to me? I mean, will you fuck me up my ass?”

If I had been amazed moments ago, it went double now. “Well, um” I stammered, “I dunno...”
“Please, Ash, I want you. I want to feel your dick in me. I want to feel your wonderful hair tickle my ass. I dream about you at night. I want you.” And without warning, he bent down and took me in his mouth. Oh, God! I had never felt anything so good! But he didn’t continue; he just got me good and wet.

Then he lay back on the desk we’d been sitting on, and brought his knees to his chest. I didn’t quite know what to do, so I sort of leaned over him, my dick pointed in the general direction of his butt. He gave me some directions. “Push your hips forward and line up your dick with my asshole. Then just push until it goes in.” So I did as he told, and suddenly my dick was engulfed with the most perfect warmth and good feelings. “Now pull out and push back in,” Ty told me, so I did. After the first thrust, instincts took over, and suddenly I was fucking his ass, plunging in with hard, aggressive thrusts, and pulling out until my dick head was just barely inside, and then ramming back in again. I’d only cum once before, in a dream just before I woke up, and had not yet started to jerk off myself, although some of my friends were doing it. So when I came inside Tyrell, it was, as they say, a watershed experience. Waves of pleasure swept through my skinny frame, spasms of ecstasy spreading through every cell of my being. For an instant, time stopped and I existed in an eternity of pure bliss. And then I became aware of Ty again, and I knew he was sharing my pleasure. One thing remained, though, because he was still rock hard. Don’t ask me how I knew, but I knew what to do. I pulled my shrinking dick out of him and bent down to his crotch. Suddenly I wanted to taste that glistening fluid that decorated the tip of his dick. Suddenly I wanted his cum to fill my mouth. So without any more coaching, I took him in my mouth, licked the delicate fluid from his dickhead, and sucked on it. I liked the feeling, the taste of him in my mouth, and took more of him in, licking and sucking as much of it as I could reach. It didn’t take long before he blasted hot creamy cum into my virgin mouth, and I loved it. I loved the feel of the thick, hot fluid, and I loved the taste. I loved the feel of the slippery stuff sliding down my throat. I gulped it down as fast as I could and then sucked the last drops from him, and when I let him out of my mouth, he was soft again. We both sat up, and without even a thought, we kissed each other. And not just kissed, but kissed, if you know what I mean. With tongues and everything. It was way cool, and when we stopped kissing, we just sat there holding and hugging each other.

Some time later we heard the door being unlocked, so we let go of each other and just sat still until Mr. Harding opened the door. He was dressed for the street and had his gym bag in one hand. “Have you boys learned anything the last two hours?” he asked.

Ty looked at me, and I looked at him. We both struggled to keep from busting out laughing, and Ty said, “Well, I guess I won’t be busting on the skinny dude anymore.” And I said, “Yeah, and I’ll leave the big dumb jock alone too.” And then we both broke up laughing. Mr. Harding just shook his head and told us to get dressed. He gave us a ride home, and it turned out he’d told our parents that we’d “volunteered” to stay after to help him set up the gym for a regional tournament. Ty’s father was so pleased, Ty thought he might even keep a week’s growth of hair.

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