Copyright 2010 by Luc Milne. lucmilne@telus.net All rights reserved. One copy may be downloaded for personal use.
CAMPING FUN WITH THE SATURDAY CLUB
About three times a year, in the early and late summer and in the fall, The Saturday Club has a camping weekend on a big piece of wooded property owned by one of the members. There's a cleared area where the tents can be put up, with a well and pump for water, several picnic tables, and many hiking trails wandering through the 600 acres. It's about an hour out of the city in the foothills, so getting there is easy and we don't have to waste a lot of "play time" driving out on Friday afternoons and coming back on Sunday evenings. These camping weekends serve a special purpose for the club which is a group of men who like the company and the use of older teen boys. The camp outs are to examine prospective new members, trying to determine how well they would fit in with the club and whether their tastes are in line with ours. Usually we limit the potential new members at these weekends to two, or at the most three, and only seven or eight regular club members are chosen to do the vetting. The competition to be chosen for "evaluator" on a weekend camp is fierce because it provides a chance to try out some new boyflesh (all of the applicants for membership must bring a boy of their own) and to introduce new men to pleasures they may only have dreamed of. The evaluators are accompanied by their boys (sons, nephews, students, athletes they coach, or even street boys picked up for the occasion.) Some guys bring two or three boytoys, so there is plenty of teen meat to around.
The club owns some canvas wall tents big enough for several men and boys to move around in, since a lot of group play goes on during the nights, and a few two-man tents for guys who like to take a special kid for private use. Each member brings any pleasure equipment he'll need, like ropes and cuffs and gags, tit clamps, dildos and whips. I take care of laying in the food and drink and everybody shares the cost.
Sharing is the key word for these weekends: it's not just the cost we share: all the succulent boyflesh is open to free and almost unlimited use by every member and every evaluator gets a chance to test the prospective new members' boys. Each new member candidate is also expected to show what he can do and how imaginatively and willingly he can do it. We all believe that teenage boys are a natural resource which should be available to all. And getting new meat, both men and boys, is important to the continued liveliness and pleasure of the club as a whole.
Last weekend's evaluation camp was especially memorable because we were trying out a prospective new member named John Grant who is a financial advisor at one of the big banks His son Rory is in his junior year of high school - an "untouched" piece of teenmeat discovered by a coach at his school who is a member of our club. He patrols the shower and locker rooms of the school looking for "talent". The main attraction of Rory was his spectacular cock which hangs almost seven inches in its normal state but, according to the coach, rises to a titanic ten inches in the shower when the kid soaps it up. It's not necessary for a boy to have a monster cock to be included in Saturday Club fun but we always like to have a few members who can supply big-dicked boys for those of us who enjoy "quantity" along with "quality". It didn't hurt that Rory was also, according to reports, a good looking kid with a smooth, lean body.
Ed, the coach who spotted Rory in his naked splendour, called in the boy's father, John Grant, for a late afternoon parent-teacher conference, to see if there was a possibilty he might be a likely candidate for our sort of interests. Ed made sure that he was just coming out of the coach's shower room off his office when Grant arrived, so the man could get a look at Ed's big veiney cock swinging between his heavy thighs, still shiny and tumescent from its long soapy massage under the warm spray. Ed told me he took his time drying off in front of the man while he introduced himself and apologized for not being dressed. He said that Grant could hardly look him in the eye because his gaze was firmly fixed on the coach's meat the whole time. It was only when Ed turned away and slipped on a fresh jockstrap that covered his package, while at the same time pushing his meaty butt cheeks up into even more succulent mounds, that the man was able to pull himself together, although the coach said he could see a promising swell down the guy's trouser leg.
At that point Ed had arranged for one of his "special boys" to come into the office with a limp, saying that he thought he had a sprain and could use an ace bandage on his ankle. The kid was also wearing nothing but a jock, and since he was one of the boys the coach regularly brought to Saturday Club sessions, he knew what was going on and what he was supposed to do.
While the coach continued to ask questions of Grant about his son Rory's studies and about any athletic ambitions he might have, he also put the kid up on the massage table and began wrapping his ankle. The boy moaned and pretended to feel a lot of pain, so Ed asked Grant to come up beside the lad and steady him by putting his arms around his chest and holding him tight. It soon became clear from the sheen of sweat that broke out on John Grant's forehead that the experience was getting to him.
As Ed worked on the ankle the boy began to kick out with his other leg, still squirming against Grant's hold on him: Ed said "Put your hand on the kid's thigh, John, and press down. Keep him quiet." The fact that John Grant chose to put his hand on the upper thigh, as near as he could get to the boy's crotch was enough to make Ed suspect that John Grant had potential for membership in the Saturday Club. But just to make sure, as he finished wrapping the ankle, he said sharply to the boy, "Stop acting like a baby, you little pussy. Be a man, a little pain never hurt anybody. Besides, we can tell you're getting off on it, aren't you?" He reached for the kid's bulging jockpouch, pulled it to one side and hauled out the boy's hard cock, shiny with precum, and throbbing so that it bounced up and down in the air as it arched above his nuts.
"Look at this pussy's boymeat, John, isn't that the tastiest thing you've ever seen? Go on, feel it. Let's make this little slut blow his wad for us." John Grant hesitated, seeming to struggle with his conscience, so Ed grasped the hand that was still pressing down on the boy's thigh and guided it to the boycock, wrapping it around the hot tube.
Grant didn't take his hand away, but he didn't do anything with it either: he seemed frozen. "Go on, milk it a little, John. Jerk it like you do for that big dicked son of yours. Surely you taught Rory how to jack off when he got old enough." But, according to Ed, that was a "bridge too far" with John Grant. He dropped the hot boymeat and stepped back, stammering a protest. "No, no, I never...I never did that...ever..." Ed could see the big wet spot on the man's trouser leg and knew enough from that to be pretty certain John Grant was Saturday Club material. So he apologized to the man and said he'd be in touch with him again. Once Grant was gone, Ed said he took the ace bandage off the kid's ankle, wrapped it around the boy's wrists behind his back, pushed him down on the table and sucked two sweet loads out of his cock without stopping to let the him rest between climaxes, before sending the slut to the showers. He said that sucking the second load out of the teencock, super sensitive from the first shoot, was great because the bitch stuggled and yelled and bucked so much that his cock kept pushing its way past Ed's gag ring and fucking his throat.
On the Monday before the camping weekend I called John Grant at his office and told him I had been referred to him by a coach at his son's school. I said we were wondering if he would like to come with Rory for a weekend in the woods with a group of men who enjoyed doing things with their boys - purely "social" I assured him. I explained that Ed had felt he might like our little club which was useful for making contacts, and that it helped the boys make new friends as well. He was a little hesitant at first, but finally agreed that he and Rory would like to come. I told him what to bring in the way of clothes and sleeping bags and said I would pick them up at his house on Friday afternoon about five o'clock for the one hour drive to the property.
On Friday I arrived at Grant's house in an upscale suburb and they climbed into my Subaru SUV, John Grant in the front with me and Rory in the back, sitting between my two sons, Jess and Sam. They didn't know him because they go to a private school, but they are his age - Jess is a junior and Sam a sophomore. I've been playing with them for years and they are well-trained so they knew what they were supposed to do. While I kept John engaged in chit chat in the front seat, my sons quizzzed Rory about his school and his friends and the music he liked and the sports he played. They were squeezed in a bit tight in the seat and they made sure that their bodies were in close contact on either side, with the arm of Jess around his back and the hand of Sam resting casually on his thigh. I knew that eventually Jess would move one hand onto Rory's chest and feel up his pecs, when they talked about weight training in PE classes and that Sam's hand would slowly move up into Rory's nicely packed basket when they asked him about the girls he dated. I watched Rory's face in the rearview mirror and could see him getting red and bothered, looking nervously at the back of his father's head, but I was pleased to see that he didn't try to fend off the attentions my two boys were giving him. At one point John Grant turned around in his seat and said "How are you doing Rory? You guys seem to be getting along pretty well." He saw that Sam was mauling Rory's crotch like a baker kneading a big mound of dough, and turned back again to face front, clearing his throat and staring firmly at the road ahead.
By the time we had turned in at the property gates and driven the half mile into the to the campsite, he had his hands clasped in his own crotch, attempting to hide whatever was going on down there. When we got out of the car, I was pleased to see that my sons stayed right beside Rory, Jess with his arm around the kid's shoulders and Sam with his hand firmly cupping one of Rory's beatiful butt cheeks. The crotch of Rory's jeans was tantalizingly full.
The other men and their boys were already there along with the second candidate for club membership we were evaluating that weekend. His name was Cal, and he had been pestering one of the members for months to let him join. The member was a colleague of his in the real estate office where they worked and had revealed more about the club's activities to Cal than he should have. Calvin Strunk or "Just call me Cal" was unmarried, without kids, and tended to hang around the bus station toilets trying to pick up boys who arrived from their small towns for their adventures in the big city. He wasn't quite our type of guy but we learned that he had a nephew, Alex, who was a sexy piece of teen flesh, and that Cal was willing to bring him as his "date" for the weekend. So we invited him.
The tents had been set up, the fire pit had a blaze going, and food was being set out on the two picnic tables. To one side there was a circle of camp chairs where we sat for about half an hour drinking beer or wine with our boys sitting on the ground between our legs, leaning their heads back against our widespread cotches. In cases, like mine, where the member had brought a couple of boys, the other kid stood behind and massaged our shoulders, pressing firmly up against the backs of the chairs. For the eight evaluator members and the two membership candidates there were fifteen boys in all to enjoy and use.
I should explain that we start these evaluation weekend camps at a fairly low key, so that we don't frighten away the new guys and their teens. We show them how casual we are about body contact with the kids, and watch to see if they follow suit naturally. In Cal's case he pulled his nephew, Alex, down forcefully and practically manhandled the boy between his hammy thighs. But John Grant was a little more reserved: he had Rory sit to one side of his chair and just contented himself with letting his hand play over the boy's head and onto his neck. Of course we can't go on in this "touchy-feely" way forever: someone has to break the ice, and last weekend that was a member called Tom: he said to his boy (his sixteen year old nephew, Kelly) "I feel like munching on some hot nuts with my beer, kid. Strip down and let me at 'em." The boy, who was experienced with the club, stood, pushed down his jeans and jockeys and moved to the side of his uncle's chair, holding his swelling penis up against his firm stomach so that his ripe boynuts bulged out, round and juicy, just right for nibbling on. Tom swigged some beer from his can, then leaned down and took one of the nuts in his fingers, pressing it into his lips like a big gum ball. He rolled it around in his cheeks and we could see that he was biting down lightly on the nut, "cracking" it a little. Kelly shivered and whimpered, but didn't draw away. From the cocklips of the prick he was still pressing against his stomach we could see a drop of clear boyhoney start to form. Tom let the teen-nut pop out of his mouth and moved up to lick at the honey, then dropped down to the nuts again, this time cramming both of them into his face so his cheeks swelled out like a greedy chipmunk. More rolling and munching sent Kelly into a complete body shudder, and he began to whine like a puppy. Around the circle of chairs a couple of other members had pulled their boys to their feet, opened the kids' pants and were eating their own boynut treats, so that a chorus of moans and whimpers began to fill the clearing.
The two candidates for membership, John and Cal, stared at the scene, as if they had stumbled into some strange world where everything they had ever dreamed of was coming true. Neither of them made the slightest move to go away. Their boys, Rory and Alex, were also transfixed, and a little afraid, I think, that the nutbusters might start in on them next.
But before that could happen, I stood up and said, "I think we'd better eat, guys. We don't want to spoil our appetites with the cocktail nuts, do we." So, laughing and joking we moved to the picnic tables. At first the men and the boys sat down together and ate the usual camp fare: sandwiches and grilled hamburgers, potato chips, potato salad, and cole slaw. Conversation was general and the men joked with the boys about their hair and their clothes and their bodies, while the kids slyly got in digs about the "old guys" and their weird ways. Gradually with bellies filled, thoughts turned to other kinds of food. Two of the tables were cleared and the boys were stripped completely, then five of them were laid across each table so that the each club member sitting on either side had a nice plateful of "boy-meat-and-balls" to dig into. Because we wanted to save Rory and Alex for dessert, we left them in their underwear and tied them to posts embedded in the ground at the ends of the tables where they had a good view of the feasting. Cal and John were invited to join us, though, and to follow our lead in the second meal of the evening.
We have found that this kind of "food sexplay" is non-threatenting and fun for the new guys and their boys and helps to ease them into the more rigourous games to come. We like to start the "teen buffet" with hotdogs or "boy sausage on a bun": each man is given a warm hotdog bun which he "butters" with the precum he squeezes from his kid's sausage, then lays the prickmeat between the two sides of the bun and starts to eat his way through the bread to the juicy tube of flesh inside. Naturally the chewing of the bread sometimes brings a guy's teeth into contact with the meat inside it, so there are plenty of squeals to let us know the boys are experiencing their eaters' hunger very vividly. By the time the bread is gone, most of the guys continue with a ravenous sucking on the big boy wieners, until they finally get their reward of creamy teengrease straight from the gasping cumlips of the abused cockheads. A couple of guys like pickles with their hotdogs and they will take tiny gherkins and stick them down into the boy's cumholes, then nibble them out: as they get closer to the tender cumlips, they nip at the sensitive morsels as they pull and chew out the last of the pickles from the holes. The yelling that occurs during this cumlip chewing session has to be muffled, so we call up the extra boys, the extra lads not needed for the feasting, to come up and stuff their cocks down the yellers' throats.
Last weekend I watched Rory very carefully during this stage of the meal and was pleased that his jockey shorts were bursting with tumid teen cock and throbbing teen balls. We were also monitoring Cal and John, to see how they took to their sausages on a bun: Cal was so greedy with his kid that we had to pull him off before he finished, afraid that he would do the boycock permanent damage. He had a kind of glazed look as we pried his mouth from the lad's penis, as if he didn't realize that he was just sucking on a teen sausage, not actually cannibalizing the boy. John, was a more careful eater: he took a long time on the bun and then when he got down to the sausage inside, he tended to lick at it rather than suck on it. But at least he went along with the scene, even though I don't think he ever got his boy to shoot. Our experiened teens need more than a light licking to make them pop for us.
As dusk began to fall and the shadows of the trees stretched across the clearing, it was time for the finale of the our first night's meal: the double "dessert" courses, when the two prospective new boys would be milked by the members for the first time. The taking of "new cum" is always special and the reactions of the prospective candidate members are important as a sign of how whether they are going to be able to share their boys' meat in the Saturday Club way. First it was Alex's turn: we untied him from his pole and pulled down his boxer shorts to reveal a delectable virgin cock and balls, the penis not long but thick and plump, uncut, with a plum shaped head glistening with precum, and the round testicles tight and firm in their smooth pouch. The kid's a blonde and he had a silky trapezoid of blond pubic hair which was shaved off the next morning so that he was completely lickable. His pecs were slightly developed and his tits were big and ripe, begging to be suckled. We got him up on the table on his hands and knees and made his Uncle Cal put his hands on the white bubble butt cheeks and pull them apart so we could all finger his rosebud and tongue it lightly to feel the ridges of his pucker. While we examined his ass, the boy's cock began to harden and drool strings of honey, so we turned him over on his back and tied him down spread-eagle using cuffs and chains that are permanently attached to the table corners. I took hold of his cock and squeezed it hard so the meatus swelled up even plumper, then told Cal to take the first lick of his contribution to the club's stock of teenmeat. After that Cal had to stand by and just watch while we enjoyed our first dessert course.
This was the "boy sundae" event, a treat at all of the friday night camp meals. We bring out from town a supply of chocolate and caramel syrup, spray cans of whipped cream, jars of maraschino cherries and cans of salted peanuts. I know it's a cliche, and that it's messy, eating sundaes off a boy's body, but that doesn't make it any the less fun and tasty. We decorate his crotch with a circle of cream, then spoon chocolate syrup over his nuts, and dribble it on his cock head; a salted peanut is inserted in his cumhole, with more nuts beside him in a bowl to replace the ones nibbled out. On his pecs we dribble caramel syrup and put a dollop of cream and a cherry on each tit. The same treatment is given his belly button, and little dribbles chocolate and caramel syrup are traced across his whole body and across his face for those who like to "suck-face" with their teens. But then, when the boy sundae is ready for eating, I tell the men to stand back and I say to the boys who are watching "Come and get it, kids. It's your treat!" At that the boys (there were 13 of them not counting Alex and Rory) descended on the sundae boy and gobbled up the sweet decorations on Alex's body like starving piglets crowding around a sow's titties. The smacking sounds of tongues and lips sucking up the cream and syrup and cherries was very stimulating: many of the men took their cocks in hand and jerked them lazily as they watched their boys ravage Alex's body. We kept adding cream and syrup when areas began to be cleaned, and that would set off even more ravenous pigging out by the lads who pushed at each other to get at the best bits: the tits and the cockhead and the nuts.syrupy balls.
After a while I signalled to the men and they moved up behind the boys, and reached around their bodies as they hunched over the table eating at Alex's flesh. They slowly jacked their hard teen cocks, gently squeezed their balls, and fingered their ass puckers. They kept bringing the eaters to the edge of climax then backing off, causing the kids to eat with even more frenzy. Finally we saw Alex's body stiffen and arch up, ready to shoot his own creamy syrup. I moved quickly forward and yanked the kid who was at that moment sucking Alex off the the kid's cock, then pulled John Grant to the table, saying, "Go ahead John, do the honours, eat this slut's first club cum." A little push of his head toward the crotch was enough to make him sink his open lips onto the quivering meat, which at that very moment erupted into his mouth, filling it with chocolate flavoured boy semen. John Grant groaned, and buried his face as far into the boy's pubes as it would go, desperate to get every drop of teencum out of that pulsing tube. Alex's load was prodigious. It was more than John could swallow. We could see strings of it spill out of his lips and run down onto the boy's nuts. I took pity on Cal and brought him forward as well. "Go on Cal, clean up the slut's nuts. You deserve some of the good stuff, yourself. And thanks for bringing us such a tasty boy." Finally I said to the boys who were still licking at Alex's tits and face, "That's it boys, dessert's finished. Back off." A couple of us pulled John and Cal off the kid's crotch, and we uncuffed him, helped the groggy boy up, and instructed the other boys to take him to the pump and wash him off with the fresh well water.
We now turned to Rory who was staring at the scene with a glazed look. We untied him from the pole and led him to the other picnic table which was still clean. Some of the men lighted the tiki torches stuck in the ground around the tables, so that the gathering darkness was lit with a flickering primitive glow. We got Rory up on the table on his back and pulled down his white jockey shorts, releasing the marvel of teen flesh beneath. His penis was still only half tumescent, and it flopped back against his stomach reaching all the way to his belly button, but leaking precum in it's semi-swollen state, which puddled in the depression of the navel: many of the members would want to dip their tongues in that small honeypot. Rory's cock was fat and heavy, like a weighty leather cudgel, probably eight to nine inches in girth, and uncut with a thick foreskin that looked as if it could take a lot of pulling and chewing by hungry club members. I slowly skinned the skin back from his meatus to reveal a classic helmet shaped glans with a long cumslit and prominent cumlips: it wouldn't take much reaming and vacu-pumping to make that hole wide enough for tongue probing and to swell up those little cumlips fat enough to nibble on. The erector muscle down the underside of the shaft was as thick as man's finger and looked more than capable of keeping the penis lifted and arched in its fully distended state, which was gradually developing. The shaft stretched slowly but inexorably up the boy's stomach, the meatus moving past the belly button by another inch. Rory's pubic hair was dark, but not heavy, and we would leave it on him: this wasn't a boy to be shaved clean like some doll: this was a unique piece of teen meat that needed to be left in its natural condition. The nuts were the size and shape of duck eggs and hung in their long sack, almost resting on the table beneath the spread thighs. Few of the members would be able to get those babies in their mouths at the same time, but many would try. Just as few would be able to deep throat that slab of teen meat so that their gag rings could milk out its goodness, but everyone would have a go at it.
We cuffed Rory's arms and legs to the table and prepared for the finale of the meal: something beyond a "boy sundae"; more of a "Teen Cum Surprise" - the sort of thing that french chefs used to bring on at the very end of the meal as the "piece de resistance" - a showpiece so special it defied common or conventional dishes. The "surprise" aspect of this "dish" was that everyone present had to help in its presentation before the elite diners got to eat it. All the 14 other boys, including Alex, were called back from the pump where they were still washing down the sundae boy and the men brought each of them to the edge of the table and jerked off the hard boycocks vigourously so that the lads shot their loads within minutes onto the body of the magnificent Rory. Then each of the men including John and Cal crowded around the table and jerked his own swollen cock off onto the teen body until it was decorated with twenty-four copious loads of man and boy sperm. We gently used our fingers to spread the semen evenly over the lean, muscled body, including his face, his legs, and his feet, so that every inch was covered with a light sheen of cum, reflecting the flickering light of the torches. I told the boys to stand back away from the table, then looked around at the 10 men licking their lips as they looked own at the cum-frosted body. "Gentlemen" I said, "let's eat!"
I was too involved in licking and biting on my own area of Rory's torso to be able to describe exactly what happened next, but I am sure that from a distance it looked like savages feasting on the thrashing and groaning body of their captured prey. Eventually every man got his turn at the magnificent cock with its massive meatus, and every man got his moment with the rolling balls and the cum-flavoured tits. And every man got to lick the bits of semen from the boy's handsome face, probing down into his sperm -painted lips with their tongues, giving him a taste of the jism that coated him. One of the men had brought a bottle of fine cognac with him to the weekend and he dribbled a thin stream of the heady golden liquid over the boyflesh when the semen began to disappear, giving us a new impetus to lick and slurp at the shiny skin. The more we slurped at the cognac-soaked boy the more we lost our control and there was a danger of doing damage to the kid if we kept on too long, especially if we worked harder and harder with our lips and our teeth at the cock head and the balls. But before that could happen Rory at last gave up his treasure in a heaving, endless gush - enough to feed each of us a good mouthful, and we worshipped in turn at the streaming cumlips like pilgrims at a shrine. His semen tasted of vanilla and brown sugar and ginger: it was as thick and creamy as a warm custard sauce: one taste made you want to eat it forever. Licking the cum off Rory Grant's cockhead helped you understand just what "cum addiction" was all about!
When, at last, the boy slumped back, drained and shuddering, his meat beginning to lose its full heft, but still wetly tumescent and suckable, we withdrew one by one, grabbing our own boys by the balls and dragging them into our various tents where we fucked their mouths and assholes until we, like Rory, had no more cum to give them. After that we got down between our boys' legs and sucked out another nightcap of teen cum before falling asleep with our heads in their crotches and their meat still in our mouths. In my case I suckled Jess all night and Jess suckled me as my younger son Sam slept beside us. I presume that John and Cal did the same with Rory and Alex since in the morning we found them entwined in their respective bed rolls. Cal had sucked so many further loads out of his nephew's candy cock that the boy didn't wake up until late morning. John was sleeping on his side with Rory spooned behind him, that magnificent dick pressed up against his father's ass.
So that was the first night of the "evaluation" camp, and very promising it was.
On Saturday morning, after taking a dip in the creek nearby, then lazing around the camp, and at about eleven o'clock eating a good breakfast, we gathered around the two picnic tables for a "Workshop" session. One of the features of these weekends, and of other Saturday Club meetings as well, is the "educational" hour when various members with specialized tastes and skills teach the other men how to increase their pleasure when they use the boys. On this weekend Ed Barton, the high school coach who had recruited John and his son Rory, gave a great demonstration and 'hands-on" practicum in penis whipping.
Taking a whip to a teenager's meat can be very stimulating, for both the man and the boy, but it's got to be done with skill and control, to keep the emotions from getting out of hand. Ed, who is single and has no boy of his own, had brought one of his "special boys", chosen from the continually renewed array of tempting boyflesh in his locker room at the school, as the "sample" whipping cock that he would demonstrate on. He also brought a full supply of different kinds of whips so the men could get experience with a range of pleasure toys. Ed put his kid, named Zack, on one of the tables, tied down in the standard spread-eagle position, and casually jacked the boy's long, slender cockmeat as he talked, until it started to swell up. Then he let it flop back against the kid's stomach, just as Rory's meat had lolled on his stomach the night before. He explained that it's always important to tie the boy down when you first begin his whipping experience so he won't move around too much when you work on his meat. But he added, "After a year or so of regular cock discipline, you'll find the slut doesn't need the cuffs any more - he'll just lay back and accept his fate."
He explained why he had chosen Zack as his boy for the weekend: "For teencock whipping I like a boy with a long, juicy piece of meat. It doesn't matter if he's cut or uncut, but, for my tastes, he's got to be large enough to make me feel that he should be punished, just to make it clear to him that no kid should have a cock that size." He took Zack's meat into his hand again and jerked it a little more. "Now this boy is cut, and as you can see, he has a fat, mushroom meatus that swells up and out so that it's wider than his cock shaft, which is relatively slender. That gives me a good target for certain types of whip, making it easier to work over the cumlips with the tip of a quirt or carriage whip. After I get through with them, Zack's cumlips are going to be all red and puffy, just right for sucking on, aren't they kid?" He gave the boy's cockhead a hard squeeze and Zack hissed, quickly anwering "Yes, Sir."
Letting go of the boy's cock, Ed looked around his audience who were waiting expectantly for the lesson to begin. He said, "Now we're going to need four boys with nice fat cocks as practice material for you guys who want a little hands-on training. Any of you men want to volunteer your boys?"
I said, "Take my Sam; he's hung big and he needs a little attitude adjustment these days." This was true: Sam is a cocky kid who thinks his big dick gives him special privileges to lord it over the other boys, including his older brother Jess.
Ed laughed and said "Good for you - bring the slut over to the other table and lay him down across it so his legs hang off one side and his head the other, and spread his thighs before you tie him down, so we've got good access to the cock and balls." As I was doing that, Ed got three other men to volunteer their kids for the practicum in teencock whipping, and soon the second picnic table was decorated with four teenagers lying across it, arranged alternately so that two men could stand on one side of the table working at the meat, and two on the other. When Ed called for the four whippers, who would follow his example as they played wirh the teencocks that were starting to grow with anticipation of the torture to come, I stepped forward, and brought John Grant along with me, forcing him to volunteer as one of the four. He tried to back away, but I said "Don't be a pussy, John, let us see if you're one of us. You and Rory have a great future with the club if you just get with the programme." So he took his place on one side of the table next to Sam and me in front of the crotch of a fifteen year old street kid with huge menacing meat. He'd had been brought by one of the members who's a Judge at the Juvenile Court and has access to a lot of hot young cock. Very quickly two other members stepped forward to take their places at the crotches of the two boys on the other side of the table.
Ed began his lesson: "I usually start with a riding crop, one with a rough sort of sandpaper surface on the slapping tip." He reached down into the big case he had beside him and pulled out several crops. "Tom, would you give one of these to each of the whippers?" While Tom passed out the crops. Ed instructed us to make sure that our kid's meat was jacked up to at least a semihard state and that it was lying against the boy's stomach so the erector muscle on the underneath of the shaft was accessible. When we had our riding crops in hand, he continued the demonstration. "I start at his balls and snap his cock shaft smartly with the crop, making the big erector muscle pulse and swell up with the sharp blows. Like this...hear that?...I like the sound of the crop smacking the boymeat and the little grunts he makes while I work up and down the length several times. Go on, try it on your kids."
The sound of sharp snaps followed by moans and grunts from the boys, made the onlookers, both the boys and the men, move in closer to watch the action. My Sam was glaring at me as I flicked his erector muscle with the crop, but his dick rose and fell with every snap. Next to me, John Grant was just lightly tapping the street kid's heavy shaft with the crop, not even hard enough for the boy to feel it. Ed called out, "Hey John, you'll have to do better than that: this isn't a tickle fest, it's a cockwhipping. Put some wrist action into it." I put my hand around John's wrist and gave it a kind of twist which in turn made the tip of the riding crop snap sharply on the boy's meat. The punk yelped and his cock reared up briefly. This seemed to galvanize John and he began to work at his "lesson" a little more eagerly.
Ed continued. "Next, I rub the rough surface of the tip right on the head of his cock, rasping against his cocklips, which in your own boy at home would become permanently swollen, with continual punishment over a period of time. Again, as you can hear, the reaction of the boy is part of the pleasure: rubbing the cocktip always gives rise to that sort of smothered moan you're hearing from my slut now. That makes my own cock start to leak precum. And you can see that the boy's cock sap is starting to ooze out as well. And when that precum starts to ooze, start tapping the whole meatus with quick liitle flicks, maybe fifty times, getting harder and sharper as you go." Zack's groans rose to a high pitched keening. "Music to my ears, kid" laughed Ed, "music to my ears."
We all began to rub the rough crop tips across the cumholes of our boys' cocks, and were rewarded with a chorus of little squeals and heavy panting. Then the tapping at the cockheads loosed a serenade of boy howls My own cock started leaking so much precum, I ordered my Jess to come forward and kneel at my crotch to lick me as I worked. Around the circle of watchers some of the other members also pushed boys to their knees and plugged their mouth holes with rising manmeat.
Finally, Ed said, "But let's move on." He brought some other objects out of his case and gave them to Tom to distribute. "Next I take the ten inch leather slapper, like the ones you've got now, and crack it against the kid's throbbing shaft about a dozen times." He began to count as he slapped the length of meat soundly...but by the count of "eight" the boy Zack began to buck and his cock tried to stand up straight against the slaps, so Ed backed off saying "If he starts to get too hot, I slap his balls a couple of times, just to bring him down...like that. See, that makes the cock calm down a little. I like a whipping boy's cock to be semi-malleable, because the sound of leather hitting a swollen, but medium-hard, still limber boy sausage is very stimulating. You can carry on working the shaft and cooling him down with ball slaps as long as you like. Eventually, as you see, the slut's cocklips will drool dick jelly into a puddle on his stomach. Now, a few fairly vicious slaps on the head of the dick completes the slapper fun and gives him something to sing about." He mercilessly beat Zack's moist glans with the slapper about a dozen times, putting the palm of his hand over the kid's mouth to muffle his yelps. "Go on, men, use your slappers on your whipbitches."
What followed was a symphony of slaps and yells, accompanied by a chorus of encouragement from the onlookers. "Beat the little fucker!...Make him squeal!...Do it again...Slap his balls hard!...Whip the slut!" Not that we four whippers needed any prodding!
After a bit, Ed's voice broke into our rising whip lust, making calming us down. He said, "Now we take a little intermission from the cock whipping to snack on the hot meat. I'm going to take the precum from his stomach and his meatus and coat the shaft with it, then lick it off in long rough slurps...like this...up and down the pole with my tongue...again and again...You see how his meat swells and rears up like it has a mind of its own? If the kid starts breathing too heavily while I'm snacking on his juicy sausage, then I take my thumb and forefinger, like this, and flick his tender cumslit to bring him down, because I'm not ready for him to give up the milk yet."
We followed his instructions, and took a "snack break" on our kids' steaming tubes, then played the "fingerflick" game on their cumlips: except for John Grant. who was pigging out so mindlessly on his boy's cockhoney that it was clear the kid was going to shoot, so I had to jerk his head off the glans he was mouthing so roughly and flick the kid's cumslit myself, to cool him off. Still, I took it as a good sign that John was beginning to loose his inhibitions.
After our precum snacks the training continued through the last stage of the whipping discipline. Ed showed us how to use the nine inch penis whips with the square leather thongs. We dragged the thongs across the meat slowly several times and gave the shaft a couple of light brushes, just to give the pussies a hint of what was to come. Then Ed showed us how to rotate our wrists swiftly and bring the thongs down on the meat, rotating continually so that the leather tips zipped and cracked against the reddening flesh without mercy. He guided our arms to keep us from being so forceful we might break the skin. The splay of the thongs and the rotation of the wrist meant that the tips struck against the balls and the cocklips at the same time that they were whisking the shaft into a glowing, quivering rod. Then when the bitches started whimpering and humping up with their torsos, actually trying to meet the blows of the penis flails, Ed told us that the reward was near: he said "Grab the boy's cock with your fist around base of his cock, holding it up vertical to his crotch so that the thongs start to whack directly on the tip of his dick." When we did this we found that the thongs brushed the cumlips and dragged across the meatus, catching on the coronal rim of the cockhead, picking up beads of precum oil, which was by then bubbling up from the cumhole, and flicking the spicy stuff up into our faces.
When the first spurt of white cream appeared at my boy Sam's cumslit, I got my mouth down on him and suctioned out the niagara of hot boy froth, while he writhed and yelped, feeding my cumhunger until there was nothing left in his heaving balls to give me. I swallowed him to the root, and ground my teeth lightly on the base of his shaft, squeezing out the final squirts. Then, just to make sure there was no more juice in him, Ed showed me how to give Sam's whip-red, tooth-marked semi-hard cock several more swipes with the flail. That produced a last drizzle of cum, which was the tastiest of the whole load.
Needless to say the same scene was played out in the crotches of the other three whipping boy's and Zack's as well. And around the circle of watchers there was plenty of hard thrusting into gulping young throats with mancream welling up and spilling out of the sucking mouths. Some of the guys pulled their suckerboys to their feet and tongue-fucked into their lips avidly, eating their own cum out of the kids' mouths and licking their own daddy semen off the flushed faces.
After Ed had licked the last of Zack's cum from the red swollen cockhead, he said in closing, "If you're lucky enough to have a big-dicked boy, you've got to keep reminding him who's boss and make him believe that he deserves all the punishment that you want to dish out to his meat. You'll find that the cum from a big well-whipped boycock is spicier and heavier, and more delicious than any other teen cream you eat."
As a finish, he grabbed Zack by his balls and pulled down on them squeezing hard, making the boy moan. "WHAT ARE YOU, SLUT?" he yelled.
"I'm a freak, Sir, I know I don't deserve to have such an ugly monster dick," the boy gasped.
"AND WHAT ELSE?" Ed shouted, giving the balls another vicious twist.
"And...and...THANK YOU, SIR, THANK YOU FOR WHIPPING MY DICK AND SUCKING OUT MY FREAK CUM!"
Ed smiled and gave Zack's cock a little caress and a pat, as if it were a pet that had done well. Then he turned and acknowledged the applause of his audience.
Clearly Ed had trained Zack very well.
The rest of the afternoon was quiet time for the boys and the men, who needed to store up their strength for the night's festivities. The kids swam in the creek or slept under the trees and the men napped in their tents or wandered out into the woods. We did observe, though, one of the rituals of the weekend Saturday Club camping trips. That is the "Suck'n'Fuck Ramble." Three or four of the boys who hadn't had much use yet were taken out onto the main hiking trail through the woods and tied to slender birch trees or bent over fallen tree trunks as "comfort stations" for the guys who wanted to take an easy ramble through the woods as their afternoon activity. Moving easily down the wide trail in twos or threes, the men stop at each of the boy comfort stations and take a quick drink of teen cum, engage in some light ass fucking, or feed their daddy meat into the warm boy mouths, not bothering to shoot - just keeping the boys in practice for the evening to come.
We don't eat much on the Saturday evening, because every man and boy takes his magic "blue pill" about six o'clock and, as we all know, the sex pills work better on an empty stomach. The pills are provided by the club out of the members' dues and are freely available during the orgy nights: the boys usually need another two pills later to keep going, hard and potent, all night long. Strangely enough the men don't seem to need so much stimulant, but of course they aren't being relentlessly milked and forced to fuck hole after hole for hours at a stretch. They can take time out and just walk around the various tents watching the action or sit in their chairs around the fire listening to the sounds of debauchery echoing around the clearing while their juices begin to build up again in their nuts. And let's face it, you don't always have to be rock hard to suck a kid's cock or sit on his his stiff dick.
After the pills are passed out, we have the "Drawing" to set up the "Abuse Rosters" for the new boys. Each of the member evaluators gets at least an hour with each of the new boys, partly to check their suitability for our sort of fun and partly to see how the prospective new members react when their boys are put through their paces. There's a sack for each boy with slips of paper numbered 1 to 8 in each. Every man draws a slip from each bag and that indicates his turn in the "roster". Members are allowed to trade slips if they draw the same number from each bag or if they want to spread out their playtimes over a longer period. Obviously number 1 is the most desireable position and number 8 the least. Getting to use a kid who's still fresh and inexperienced in the depravities of the club is a great treat. But there's also plenty of fun to be had even in eighth place with a boy so corrupted by the lascivious games that have been played with his body during the night that you can do almost anything you want with him.
Last weekend the major interest was in the "Rory Abuse Roster", but there was plenty of interest in the Alex roster as well. Each boy was placed on his own in one of the big tents, along with his father, or bringer - John and Cal - who were required to sit in a camp chair and watch the proceedings without taking part unless they were specifically invited. While the new boys are being initiated in the large tents, the other tents in the clearing are the scene of a constantly changing carnival of sex games with the other boys.
Cal Strunk turned out to be a disaster as a potential club member. He was pushy, trying to join in the scenes in Alex's tent even though not invited, and he grumbled constantly about his nephew being "spoiled" by all the "overuse". This was partly because Alex's virginal appearance made many members want to push him as far as they could toward corruption. Cal physically shoved one member out of the tent when the man told Alex that he was going to piss in him mouth (something we don't encourage, but allow on special occasions). Finally, not being able to stand watching anymore, Cal left the tent and tried to crawl into other tents and interrupt or join "programmes already in progress" as they say on TV.
John Grant, on the other hand, was a model applicant: he watched all the action attentively and willingly helped when needed. When one of our members with a "monster cock" (even bigger than Rory's) was fucking the boy on his back, John, at the member's invitatio held the kid's ankles over his shoulders to open up his asshole to the monster cock's invasion. John knelt, I was told, so that his own pendulous balls and long limber dick brushed across Rory''s face as the lad bucked against the shocking invasion of his ass. And at one point when John stuffed his balls into the junior stud's mouth to smother his yells, he was heard to mumble, "Shit up and take it, you little pussy."
When it was my turn to sample the many delights of Rory Grant (I was number 4 on the roster) I was ready and primed. I'd spent about 45 minutes earlier face fucking Alex's pretty mug until I was ready to feed him, then pulled out and made him beg me for the milk, which I eventually shot into the palm of my hand and forced him to lick up like a cat lapping milk from a saucer. Then I pushed his face into my crotch and let him clean me until my whole crotch was gleaming with spermy boyspit.
Waiting for my turn on the Rory's teen beef, I sat on the ground outside his tent, listening to the guy with the number before mine have his fun. Fortunately this was Tom, the member who loves ball play. He spent his whole hour torturing and nutcracking Rory's two handfuls of teenballs, so when I entered the tent, the kid's prize cock wasn't too sucked out to be immediately useful, although his testicles were red and ripe, swinging heavily in their sack. Tom is such a nut freak he doesn't even care if the kid cums while he chows down on his nuts: he just likes to hear the boys squeal. (I should add the Tom has full dentures, so that he can take his teeth out when he works on a boy's nuts and gum him until the victim almost passes out!)
I knew exactly how I wanted to spend my time with Rory, or rather with Rory's cock, since it wasn't the whole boy I was interested in that night, just a very prominent appendage he was lucky enough to possess. I greeted John, who had been sitting in his chair watching Tom work over the duck eggs between his son's legs for almost an hour, and I asked him to help me untie the lad from the tent pole in the centre of floor where Tom had secured him to keep him from trying to get away from his talented fingers, his squeezing fists, and his gnawing gums.
I told Rory to lie down on the orgy mats we that spread on the floor of the big tents, with his legs together and his arms stretched out to his sides. Luckily Tom hadn't popped the kid's nut, so his meat was still turgid - a good sign that he had responded well to hard use and didn't "shrink up" as some kids do when they're first used roughly. It was a simple matter for me to grease up his teenpole with some of my special flavoured lube and straddle his stomach on my knees so that I could position my cock-hungry asshole directly over the meat tent pole standing stiff and tall from his crotch. I reached around, took hold of the slick warm cylinder, and brought it to my ass pucker, then slowly sank down onto it, inch by inch until the giobes of my butt rested against his upper thighs. I let the warm poker marinate in my ass juices for a while, humming deep in my throat, with my head back and my eyes closed, savouring the feeling of absolute fullness inside me, anticipating the ride to come. Then I began to move up and down slowly - first just an inch or two up and back down, then after a while, three inches up and down, then four and five inches, until my ass channel was so alive and raging with desire that I finally lifted myself almost all the way off the ten inch ram-meat and plunged back down on it, again and again, riding it, letting my crotch circle and buck and rock on it in a gathering frenzy of fuck fever. I reached for one of Rory's hands and wrapped it around my own cock.
I ordered, "Jerk me, kid...beat my meat while I ride your horse dick...oh, God, yes, yes...jerk me harder...work me Rory...get with the rhythm...up and down...follow my fuck beat..."
Eventually the full ten-inch up and down movement wasn't enough. I had to have more. I lifted my body up so far the cock head popped through my assring and slipped out entirely, but I immediately sat back down on the thing, letting it force its way through the sphincter ring, as if I were raping myself on this boy's pony dick. At intervals I would take a little rest in my ride, letting my ass sink down full bore on the pole, and just let the fullness deep in me send its waves of warmth through my whole body. I milked the base of the big boy sausage with my ass ring, and used my fingers to pinch his big nipples hard, so that he arched up into me with the pain. Then, gathering strength again, I started riding hard, finally reaching a full, wild gallup with my head tossing back and forth and my hands slapping blindly at his pecs and his shoulders, goading him on, making him thrust up desperately to meet my downward plunges and draw back on my upward moves, his meatus popping out of my hole, then punching ruthlessly back in, like a small fist, jamming into my stomach. When he began to wimper and hyperventilate, I knew the climax was near, so I rose up just enough to position his cockhead right inside my ass ring muscle, which I fluttered around the ridge of his glans until a spate of warm boysemen flooded my hole, the big erector muscle throbbing against my asspucker again and again. I could feel the thick cream leaking out and running down my inner thighs. When the gushing stopped, I opened my eyes and looked at the kid's father, who was staring, mesmerized by the scene. I panted "Get over here, Dad, and eat your son's cum out of my asshole. I guarantee it'll be like nothing you've very tasted before."
He was slow to get out of the chair and move around behind me, but I could sense that he wasn't going to pass up this chance of a completely new experience. Rory's cockhead was still inside my ass ring, but the rest of his massive shaft was visible, still quaking, covered with the overflow streams of cum. "Get down and lick the jism off his dick shaft first, John, then I'll let you felch the really good stuff out of my hole."
I could feel his forehead against my ass crack as he moved his face in to lick at the cum-slick rod: then I could feel the hair of his head brush against my ass cheeks as he tongued down the long tube to lick up the sperm puddling on his son's balls. The sensation was so exciting, I lifted up further, so Rory's big meatus popped wetly out of my puckerhole and I said "Okay John, time for the main course. Get your fucking face in my ass and eat it."
The licking was a little tentative at first, but as he tasted the exotic combo of cinnamon flavoured lube, musky ass juice, and sweet boysperm he ate with a "cumming" appetite, forcing his tongue through my sphincter to tickle the satiny inner skin beyond, teasing out every drop of the nectar.
Rory still had his fist wrapped around my own cock, but he had stopped jerking me long ago. as he approached his own climax. Now, with his father's tongue eating his boy's cum from my ass, I knew I had to shoot off too. I pushed forward so my cock was inches from the boy's lips - his father following me with his tongue on my pucker all the time - and with a few quick pulls, I brought off my own eruption which sprayed across the boy's lips. It was another good sign for his future with the club that Rory, the moment he felt the first spurt semen on his mouth, raised his head and swallowed the spuming cock, eagerly sucking at the milk like a hungry calf.
I think the guy who followed me on the "Rory Abuse Roster" that night may have had to work pretty hard to get any more juice from the kid - or maybe he was an ass man and was happy just to pork the boy's butt for an hour. It didn't matter: I'd had my fun and was content. I was considerate enough, though, to feed the boy another little blue plll before I left, so that within the hour he would be hard and raring to go for several hours more. Before I left the tent I pulled John Grant's face from between his son's legs where he was still licking up the "leavings", and put him back in his observer's chair, reminding him that he could only take part in the fun if he was invited by the member using the lad.
For the remaining hours of the night I mostly laid on my back in the middle of the clearing, looking up at the stars, and drinking in the sounds that echoed around me. There's something magical about listening to one of your friends rough milking son in the tent next to you, and another guy felching the cum out of your other son's butt with lip-smacking slurps in the tent beyond. A cock-hardening chorus of voices washed over me: "Please Sir... please...don't do it again..." a kid pleaded, his voice cracking under the strain of having tit clamps tugged off nipples. "Oh, God...there...yes, right there...right on the tip..." another young voice begged, over the buzz of an industrial-sized vibrator pressing against his cumlips. The weary groan of a kid being milked for the sixth time...the high squeal when the candle wax dripped onto young nuts...The astonished gasp when the second cock forced its way into a tight teen asshole...the indescribable noise from a ball-gagged boy getting his cock and balls chewed on..these were the delicious sounds of the Saturday Club camping orgy. And there were the men's voices too: strict, gravelly, and urgent..."wider, bitch"..."on your knees, pussy".. in one tent a man shouted "again!...again!...again!...keep on bitch...eat me!"..and in another a crooning voice said "that's it baby...that's the way to make daddy feel good...just a little deeper baby...you can do it."
The morning after the camp orgy many of the sleeping bags were so caked with cum they had to be burned.
The late breakfast scene on Sunday morning was hushed, with everyone moving in slow motion, the men like athletes who'd run the marathon, and the boys like zombies staggering mindlessly. Gradually the tempo livened up, almost to normal: some of the boys took a last dip in the creek. The men sat around the dying embers of the fire, drinking coffee, reliving in their conversation the night's high points. Every man heard from the others how well his boy had performed, and possible games for the future were suggested.
I could tell from the way the members treated Cal that he was never going to be asked to join the Saturday Club: it would be Ed's job to call him and tell him early in the week. But the comments about Alex made it clear that he would be added to our "extra boy" list and that members would call him from time to time to join our regular Saturday sessions. About John Grant and Rory there was clearly unanimous approval. And I knew that soon I would be giving him a formal invitation to join our group. Rory promised to be a very big attraction.
On the ride back to town the three boys dozed off in the back seat, their bodies entangled in the easy intimacy of young guys who share very dark and very lewd secrets. I gave John some pointers about how to handle the situation with Rory at home, which promised not to be too difficult since John's wife has her own international executive placement agency and travels for weeks at a time.
Tomorrow I've invited the two of them to my house, for a swim and a barbecue. I'm divorced, with my wife getting the condo in Maui and me getting the two boys, so my place is the Saturday Club playhouse, and I can have men and their boytoys in any time I feel like it. I've also asked Ed to bring another of his special boys, one conditioned to flogging while tied to the St. Andrews cross in my sound-proofed games room. After the show, we'll turn him over to Rory, Jess, and Sam to play with while we old guys sit and watch. At the end of the evening I'll tell John that he and Rory have been accepted as welcome members of The Saturday Club.
[End]