Hard Lessons by Blackdog theblackdogs@aol.com copyright 2004 by Blackdog, all rights reserved * * * * * This story is intended for ADULTS ONLY. It contains explicit depictions of sexual activity involving minors. If you are not of a legal age in your locality to view such material or if such material does not appeal to you, do not read further, and do not save this story. * * * * * Chapter 1. My wife Jane and I were sitting in our living room one evening recently, chatting and drinking coffee with guests when the conversation turned to the issue of disciplining young people. "I think some kids today could benefit from a good old- fashioned spanking," offered Tim, and his wife Barbara nodded in agreement. I blushed fiercely red. The guests noticed this and Jane laughed gaily. "Oh," she said, cocking an eye at me. "Jack has had some interesting experience with that subject. Someday we must get him to share his stories with us." I blushed even redder. The subject soon shifted to more mundane matters, but my mind involuntarily returned to the painful -- and I have to admit, exciting -- days of my youth when my life was anything but dull and predictable. It all started when I was 11 years and entering Dalton Middle School -- grades six through eight. I had been enrolled in the regular curriculum, but based on my grades and test scores, I was recommended for the "gifted" program, something of which I was very proud. The gifted classes for sixth-graders were so full that they added a fourth class on top of the usual three. As is turned out, this class of 28 students included 24 girls and just four boys. More to the point, the teacher was the infamous Miss DeFlores. Miss DeFlores was already a legend around the neighborhood before I got to Dalton. A former Army nurse, pretty and imposing at 5-foot-9-inches tall and with long raven-black hair, she had a reputation for being a tough disciplinarian who was especially strict with boys. Before the new school year started, my parents were required to sign a special form authorizing my participation in the "Advanced Program For Gifted Curriculum and Conduct." It was a 17-page document, printed in small type and written in legalese. My parents glanced it over and quickly signed. What none of us paid attention to was the paragraph on page 11. "Parents of the above-stated child grant to the school and its designated agents and guests parental rights over the child for the entire school term. The school shall have authority over the child's curriculum, conduct, dress, discipline and hours of school attendance, including -- but not limited to -- corporal punishment and special conduct requirements outside of traditional school hours. Parent agrees to grant such rights without conditions or right to withdraw such approval. Parental agreement is secured by a lien on any real property owned by the child's parents. Withdrawal from the program shall result in forfeiture of real property so secured." What that meant, of course, was that the school (and anybody school wanted to include) could do whatever they wanted to me, and that if my parents objected and tried to remove me from the "gifted curriculum and conduct program," they would lose their house. Room 18 was where I spent the next nine months, although I must say they sometimes felt like nine years. I arrived "on time" at 8 a.m., only to find the doors locked and Miss DeFlores and the 24 female students inside, while us clueless four boys stood outside, wondering how we could possibly have all shown up late. Then the door opened and a smiling Miss DeFlores greeted us. "Sorry to make you boys wait. No, you're not late; we had a special meeting of the female students that began at 7 a.m. Come on in; welcome!" What was spooky about Miss DeFlores is that she was always smiling; even when inflicting the most humiliating, painful punishments, she had a merry, light, playful tone to her voice. For us, the merriness was going to be more difficult to achieve. Chapter 2. We stood there for one awkward second, and then Brad, whom all the girls would later pronounce the cutest boy, stepped forward. There was a delighted gasp from the females in the room. Miss DeFlores smiled. "What did this bad boy do wrong?" she asked. "He crossed the yellow line without permission!" replied the preteens. Brad looked flummoxed; as did we. We all looked down, and sure enough, there was a yellow line painted on the tile right inside the door, forming a square four feet-by-four feet where we had stood, unknowingly. Now Brad had "overstepped his bounds," quite literally, if inadvertently. "And what's the punishment for that?" Miss DeFlores asked. "Bare-bottom spanking!" the gleeful reply came back. "OK, Brad, take down your pants," Miss DeFlores said. "We have a lot of room to cover today and I don't to take up too much time with this." "I -- I'm not going to take down my pants in front of -- all -- all -- these girls!" he stammered out his objection. Miss DeFlores quickly reached out with her strong right hand and grabbed Brad's crotch through his slacks. She tilted her head and squeezed. "OUCCCHHYIKKESSSOGOD!" yelled Brad, who was soon being pulled to the center of the room by his privates. "Now, take off your pants and briefs this instant or I'll really squeeze your precious nuts hard this time," said Miss DeFlores, pulling a long, flat paddle from her desk. It looked like a cricket bat. Whimpering and starting to tear up from the pain in his nuts, Brad pulled off his pants and pushed down his white briefs, revealing his hairless 11-year-old cock and balls. The girls giggled and pointed when Brad's privates came into view. "Now, bend over and put your hands on your knees. Stick your tush out; no, further," commanded Miss DeFlores. Poor miserable Brad did as best he could, under circumstances. His face got even more miserable when the first blow of the teacher's paddle connected with his defenseless bottom. "YEOOWWWWUWTCH!!!" he yelled; he'd never been spanked quite so hard before. The blow almost knocked him over. Seeing his unstable situation, Miss DeFlores grabbed his by the arm, and -- twisting his elbow -- flopped him across her lap. "Stop wiggling or I'll really give you something to complain about," she said, and applied nine more swats to his increasingly crimson behind. By the time the last one landed, tears were streaming down Brad's scrunched-up face and his buns were as fire-red as his face. Released, Brad stood up and frantically rubbed his buttocks, a motion that made his hairless privates bounce and bobble, to the considerable amusement of the girls. Miss DeFlores regally smoothed out her skirt and stood, facing us boys, now -- except for the whimpering Brad -- white-faced with fear and disbelief. "You young men may benefit from what Brad here learned rather painfully, and that is that classroom rules are to be enforced without exception and without any false sympathy for those two lazy to read and follow the rules," she said, pointing to a large piece of yellow posterboard on the wall next to the entrance. She crossed to the board and gestured to it. "Perhaps we could all benefit from a little review. Jack, would you be so kind as to read the classroom rules aloud for us?" she purred. With a stammering voice, a hammering heart and increasing wonder, I croaked out the following regulations recited from the yellow board. 1. Boys may not enter the classroom (cross the line) without permission, and until they have disrobed. 2. Unless otherwise instructed, boys will be nude throughout the school day, except for lunch period. 3. Boys are expected to manage their bathrooms needs and limit their uses to the lunch period; otherwise they will use the chemical toilet in the classroom. 4. Boys are subject to discipline as ordered by the teacher, but such discipline can also be administered by the teacher's designees, which can include visiting teachers, administrators, other school employees and parents. Female students may discipline boys when authorized to do so. 5. "Pre-emptive" discipline to prevent rules violations will be a regular part of the classroom program for boys. 6. Punishments will be inflicted for any violation of school and classroom rules, including any failure to promptly and politely obey any direction of the teacher or her designee. 7. "Moral straightness" components of the curriculum will require some examination of the sexual development of the boys. Failure to maintain an erection when requested is a violation, as is having an erection when prohibited. Similarly, boys will be punished for achieving orgasm without permission, or failing to orgasm when so ordered. 8. Boys may be required to stay after school, or undergo special punishments outside the classroom and outside of typical school hours. 9. To maintain maximum flexibility, such regulations may be modified, supplemented or suspended by the teacher. When I finished reading, every boy's face reflected fear and amazement; the girls looked thrilled, and not a little predatory. "Now, boys," said Miss DeFlores, swinging her paddle for emphasis, "you have 10 seconds to avoid violating the first rule. Strip, now!" There was a second of hesitation, and then we all took our cue from Brad, who was desperately (and somewhat comically) pulling his shirt over his head in an effort to avoid another punishment. We all just made the deadline by a the narrowest of margins; we stood there naked before the prying eyes of 25 clothed females. "Look," cried one pretty red-haired girl, "look at the blond boy on the end. He's got a stiffy!" And sure enough, Jeff was sporting a rock-hard preteen boner of three throbbing inches. The very act of being nude in front of all these girls had its inevitable effect, and he blushed a deep red as he stood there. He tried to cover up his groin with his hands, an attempt at modesty that was rewarded by a stinging swat on the butt by Miss DeFlores. "Nude means no covering up, Jeff," said the teacher. "Now, you didn't have permission to show off your vulgar erection. You have 10 seconds to make to go soft, starting now . . . " Poor Jeff was miserable with fear; he couldn't control his rock-hard schoolboy penis either way; he certainly couldn't will it to shrink back down. When the 10 seconds were up, Miss DeFlores let out with a disgusted sigh and grabbed the boy by the arm. Now the punishments would really start in earnest. Chapter 3. One of the really scary things about the "Gifted Curriculum and Conduct" program was that all us boys were held jointly responsible for the conduct of any one; if one transgressed, we were often -- although not always -- punished as a group. Miss DeFlores explained that this was in order to create "positive peer pressure" to be well-behaved; at the time we suspected it was just to make certain there were more opportunities to see us boys punished and humiliated, with the greatest possible frequency and variety. In this instance, all four of us naked boys were now draped in position on our "punishment easels." They were wooden frames with a variety of pulleys, planks and manacles. The girls locked us in these devices bent over a wooden piece covered with carpet that arched our buttocks up. Our legs were wide-spread, exposing our pink-brown anuses and our ankles secured with steel cuffs covered with fabric; our arms were stretched out perpendicular to our bodies and our wrists secured in a similar fashion. When Miss DeFlores was satisfied that we were all properly positioned and secured, she addressed the eager young girls. "This punishment is for having an unauthorized erection," she said. "Let us show these nasty boys just how far from fun it can be to have a disgusting stiff penis. Girls, to your posts." Four girls stepped forward and knelt in front of us, one girl before each boy. At a nod from the teacher, the girl reached up and grasped three flaccid and one hard 11-year members and began to stroke. "Slowly and firmly, girls," said Miss DeFlores. "Enough to get them nice and hard." And it did not take long. Soon all four of us were sporting raging, throbbing boners under the tender ministrations of our female fellow students. "Now, the ring," she commanded, and each of the girls slipped a rubber-elastic ring over the head of each penis and worked it down to the base. Soon each of our preteen boners was even redder and stiffer as the blood was trapped in our teased organs. "First, we focus on the buttocks, ladies," said the teacher. "There are many ways to punish a boy there. The most common way is to spank him across the fleshy areas, with strong, rapid strokes, like this," she said, and walked down the row, striking each of us quickly twice on each firm young bun. It hurt, but we knew this was just the beginning. "Another way is to punish the anus," she said. "Boys' anuses are very sensitive, as we will learn throughout the school year. Today, we illustrate how a sharp, stinging blow to the anus with create a very satisfactory disciplinary effect." With that, she unwound a long leather thong from the handle of the paddle; it hung down about two feet. She unclipped it and it formed a handy little whip. The position in which we were bound spread our legs, revealing our hairless anuses to the prying eyes and -- as it turned out quickly -- punishing devices of the females. Without another word, Miss DeFlores reared back and struck me right on the puckers of my 11-year-old butthole with the thong, sending a sharp message of screeching pain through my body; I screamed out in surprised pain. That produced a delighted roar of laughter from the girls. When Miss DeFlores repeated that effect with bullseye strikes against the clenched holes of each of us boys, the roar grew loader and was punctuated with giggles and cheers. "Let's practice a little with those areas, girls, and see how you do," said Miss DeFlores. "Each girl should try five spanks on each buttock for each boy and then try the thong twice on the boy's anus. But be quick about it; we have lots more ground to cover." Imagine it; each of our four 11-year-old boys, bound naked in a humiliatingly widespread position, our cocks, balls, buns and anuses open for viewing and abuse. We were set up by 24 vengeful, excited fully-clothed school girls, who spanked our buttocks and stung our defenseless bottomholes. Each of us got 240 spanks; poor aim limited the actual strikes on our twitching pink-brown holes to a dozen or so, but even so we were all crying and wailing with pain and embarrassment. When the spanking was finally over, our butts were red and screaming with pain; our anuses were twitching with fiery stabs of irritation and discomfort. And surprisingly enough, our schoolboy boners were all the more stiff and throbbing nevertheless. The ring, combined with the idea of being humiliated by all those females somehow created the biggest, hardest erection I had ever had in my young life, and somehow it seemed to me that pain and pleasure might possibly be connected. I looked over at the faces of each of the other boys, and saw the same thing; although they were all crying with faces smeared with tears. their "things" were throbbing; one boy, Tom, even seemed to be leaking from his purple- headed penis what Miss DeFlores would later call "pre- cum." When our weeping and crying died down to whimpering and minor sobbing, Miss DeFlores produced another device. "Ladies, it's believed that much of the problem with men and boys is the testosterone hormone that is manufactured in their testes, which are located in this sack, called the scrotum," she said, pointing to the exposed pink-red "jewels" of poor Brad. "Luckily, nature also provides the remedy. The 'balls' of males are even more sensitive than other boys parts," she said. "Let me illustrate." She took a green plastic ruler, lined it up against Brad's helpless nutsack, and bend back one end. With a slight smile, he released the bowed end, and it struck flatly against Brad's plump sixth-grade balls. His cry of pain produce a fresh rush of giggle from the girls. "My point exactly," said Miss DeFlores, drying, setting the ruler down. "At the other end of a boy's naughty parts, the penis is an often neglected area of punishment." The teacher strolled in front of us, loosened the thongs in her right hand and addressed the deeply-interested girls. "An erect male penis is also very sensitive to stimulation, pleasurable or not. Penis-slapping is not well-known, but combined with penis-whipping, it can have some very positive effects on male behavior." With that, she walked the down the line, quickly slapping each of our throbbing pre-pubescent cocks, making us grit our teeth as the world reeled. We were barely coming back from the pain when she gave each of our rock-hard schoolboy penises two quick downward lashes with the thong, the blows striking us on the top of the shaft or the sensitive tip. We were all writhing, groaning and crying now: our buttocks were still aflame from the spanking; our anuses throbbing from the whipping, our preteen cocks twitching and jerking from the lashes they'd received. And poor Brad had endured the worst of it; Miss DeFlores' powerful spanking, the ball-busting ruler and all the "corrections" the rest of us had endured. It was a chastised and thoroughly humbled group of four boys who were finally released from the easels and allowed to sit at our desks. Chapter 4 For a while the first day was -- by comparison -- routine. We boys were all allowed to dress for lunch, and although sitting down in the cafeteria was a difficult process, we didn't want to have to explain why we were standing up to eat. Returned to the classroom, we meekly sought permission to strip. When we got to our desks, we noticed that into the seats had been inserted plastic phalluses; slick plastic devices whose purpose we could only guess at. "Well, what are you waiting for?" asked Miss DeFlores, a twinkle in her eye. "Boys will be seated immediately." Tom timidly raised a hand, and the teacher nodded, giving him permission to speak. "But Miss DeFlores, if I sit naked on that . . . it'll . . . " he stammered. "Go deep into your nasty little boy rectum?" she said, sweetly. "Well, perhaps that's the reason it's there, young man. Now, sit, or I'll have to punish you." With the memories of the pain that had been inflicted earlier still vivid in our memories (and elsewhere) we boys all gritted our teeth, opened our legs wide and straddled the plastic horns. Although it was probably only three inches in length, it seemed like a foot-long bat going into my most intimate hole as I eased down onto it, grimacing. As the device stretched my 11-year-old anus and rectum, the pressure and discomfort mingled with another sensation, one of forbidden pleasure. By the time my sensitive buttocks bottomed out on the wooden seat and the phallus was buried well up my ass, I could feel my preteen penis filling with blood and twitching into an erection. It happened to the other boys, too, to the considerable amusement of the girls in class. "Miss DeFlores," said one pert brunette. "The boys are all getting boners. They must like have something shoved up their behinds." The teacher smiled. "That's good to know, Stephanie," she said. "Maybe we can arrange to conduct some experiments along those lines. In the meantime, let's put rings on those erections nice and snug and proceed with the day's lessons." We boys spent the rest of the day totally naked, impaled on hard, plastic dildos, our hard cocks jerking teasingly as the ring around their bases kept us aroused and frustrated at the same time. Forbidden to touch ourselves, we sat there for hours while our preteen assmuscles gripped the sodomizing invader in our rears, and our steel-hard erections throbbed and pulsed until the school day ended at 2:30 p.m. At 2:25 p.m., we boys were allowed to dress, but before we left, we were handed a sealed envelope to be delivered to our mothers and sisters. We dared not open it, but we feared -- rightly as it turned out -- that our teacher was taking steps to make sure that our punishment and humiliation did not end in the classroom. Chapter 5. That evening, I was in my room, doing my homework, when my mother and sister came in. I had dutifully handed over the envelope earlier, and silently ate my dinner and finished my assignments. My mother seemed a little embarrassed but my eight-year- old sister, J.J., had an expectant grin on her face. I didn't know what was in the letter that Miss DeFlores had sent home with me, but I recognized the expression that J.J. was wearing; I had seen it all day from the girls in my class. "Jack," my mother said, "this note from your teacher says there are certain home conditions that we have to enforce on you. They may seem a little strange, but Miss DeFlores insists that they are necessary parts of the program at school." I nodded without saying anything. By now, I knew that disputing anything that Miss DeFlores had required was going to cause even more pain and humiliation than I was already in for. "This letter says that from now on, you have to be nude all the time while at home; that the doors are to be taken off your room and your bathroom, and that the shower curtain in there be changed to a transparent type. Any outdoor chores except in the front yard have to be done in the nude, and that you may be required to wear certain . . . devices. "There are other things listed, but the most important one is that your have to have a discipline monitor, and J.J. here is appointed to be yours. She will have complete authority over you, and will administer most of your in-home discipline." "Starting NOW!" said J.J., gleefully. "Get naked this very instant!" she said, and pulled from behind her back a ping pong paddle. My bottom throbbed in anticipation of the kind of punishment my spirited sister was going to inflict on me. I stood and started to pull off my clothes, blushing to be getting naked in front of my mother and sister. "What about Dad?: I asked. "What does he think about this?" hoping that the other male in the house would step in and bail me out. "Your father is in the garage, making your punishment chair," said my mother. "It should be ready in a few minutes." Once I was naked, my sister and mother inspected my nude body, an examination that produced an erection. My mother blushed and J.J. giggled. They lifted my arms, pried open my firm butt-cheeks and pulled out my penis and testicles for closer examination. "He doesn't have much hair," my mother said, "just a little in his armpits and a couple in the cleft of his butt. But they'll have to be shaved off every week. As he gets older, he'll get hairier, so that will be a bigger chore as time goes by." J.J. nodded. "And that," said J.J., flicking a finger against the wobbly violet head of my erect cock, "does that get bigger as he grows older?" My mother giggled. "Oh, yes. But you may not have to wait that long." At that moment my father entered the room, carrying an unfinished pine chair. There were manacles for the ankles and the wrists attached, and from the seat projected a wooden dowel of about three and one-half inches. "I've got all different sizes," my father said, indicating the upthrust piece of wood. "Thinner, thicker, longer, shorter, smoother, rougher. They just screw in and out." "I'll bet they do," quipped J.J., and everyone laughed except me. A few words about my younger sister may be in order here. Like me, she was a gifted student; in fact, she started reading at age three and by the time she had reached the age of this narrative, she'd read hundreds of books and had the vocabulary of a college student, only better. At eight, she was a spunky brunette with short, sassy brown hair and a well-shaped body; athletic without being masculine. At 4, foot, 6 inches tall, she was almost a foot shorter than me (I was 5, foot, 4 inches tall at the time), but her confidence and the power that our parents and Miss DeFlores had given her made her more than my equal. J.J. made a quick inspection of the chair, and smiled broadly. "OK, Jack take a seat on your new throne," she said. My mother, kind soul that she was, asked out loud if maybe the dowel might not be lubricated with baby oil or Vaseline. My sister shook her head. "Aw, Mom, you always want to baby him. Let him put some spit on it if she doesn't like it dry," she said. Getting the hint, I applied some saliva to my fingertips then as quickly as I could smeared it on the prong. "Quit stalling," she said, and pushed on my shoulders. "Pull your ass wide open . . . I want that wood to go all the way up your butthole." I lowered myself down slowly; but buttocks had almost recovered from the spanking, but my rectum was still sore from the hours of anal invasion I had suffered at school earlier that day. As the dowel tunneled deeply into my rectum I felt the sensation pump fresh blood into my sixth-grade stiffy. Looking back, what seems strange is how little any of us questioned this whole regimen; maybe deep-down we all got a perverse thrill out of it. Just how perverse a thrill, I would find out later . . . "We're going to leave you to J.J. here for your home study work," my mother said, and when my parents departed, my "little" sister approached me with a smirk that sent a shiver down my spine. "Comfortable?" she said, approaching me. Before I could make any comment, she walked around me and said, "Oh, let's see if the manacles work," and secured my wrists and ankles. "And let's try this," she said, and from somewhere produced an elastic ring that wound around the base of my yearning pink-red stiffie. She stepped back to examine her handiwork. "Perfect," she said. "Perfect for what I have in mind." There's something about being naked, bound and helpless - - and with a thick hard object stuffed up your backside - - produces a prodigious erection in a young male. I had been getting "boners" off and on since I was maybe six or seven years old, but none of them compared for hardness or excitement to the reactions of this amazing day. I was aware that as boys turned into men, they had "orgasms" that resulting in shooting their semen. I'd had never experienced them, but the whispered and giggled descriptions I'd heard led me to believe that it was quite an amazing experience. J.J., too, was curious about the male orgasm, but she was in a position to do something about it. "You know, Jack, I've heard that sometimes nasty boys like you can shoot without any thing coming out. Can you do that? And how often?" I was flummoxed; I knew that this whole nudity and humiliation and punishment thing was to try to keep young boys from acting up as they approached puberty; the brochure had hinted chastely at that. But what was the reason behind the increasingly sexual aspect of the "corrections"? "I've never . . . "I stammered, as I felt J.J.'s small cool hand curl around my red, stiff penis. The touch sent a jolt of excitement through me; another squirt of blood entered my member despite the cockring. J.J.'s grin got bigger; she skootched closer on her chair and nudged my naked legs wider apart. "This is going to be soooooo fun," she said and began to stroke me up and down, a little awkwardly at first. As the sensations in my 11-year-old peter began to build, her touching evened out, and she found a rhythm that was soon shortening my breath and making my butt-ring clench around the dowel in my schoolboy behind. She stuck her tongue out of her mouth at an angle in a cute expression of concentration; her eyes narrowed as she sped up his jacking motion, her fingers getting tighter around my tingling cock. I felt my nipples harden, my skin heat up and my balls roil as a strange and wonderful new sensation took hold of me. Faster and faster, tighter and harder she stroked me; I started to moan and throw my head back. All of a sudden it overtook me, this unprecedented sensation of stretched arousal and excitement eruption unimaginable release and relief. I arched off the chair the dowel still two inches in my rectum and bucked my hips through J.J.'s busy hand. My cock pulsed and throbbed; the piss-slit opened and closed and my ass-muscles gripped and clenched in a frenzy. I groaned out an in articulate series of grunts and gasps as I felt the greatest pleasure I'd even imagined. No fluid came out of me, but the powerful sensation was clearly my first "dry cum." When the feelings subsided and my vision cleared, I saw J.J. with a look of perverse triumph on her face. "That's one," she said. Without giving me more than a few seconds to recover, she went back at my still rock-hard cock, stroking and caressing and teasing it with increasing expertise. She was a natural at this comparing her handiwork with my reaction, and adjusting accordingly. Her hand continued to jack me up and down, head to balls, in a rapid, close motion. At age 11, my body was on the cusp of puberty, and it was already tuning itself to response to erotic sensation, which certainly described what was happening between my pre-teen legs. J.J.'s efforts didn't take long to have the effect she was trying to induce; my already stiff penis got even harder and perhaps longer, and it wasn't three minutes after my first orgasm that I felt that amazing feeling starting to take hold of me. Again, my asshole and rectum sought out the perverse pleasure of the thick invader and clenched onto it, even as I could feel my cock pulse and quiver as it prepared to climax. For the second time, I threw my head back and cried out in ecstasy; for the second time I felt my sixth-grade cock tingle, buzz and then "explode." The pissslit opened and closed, my balls seemed to pucker and throb, and my cockhead jerked and twitched madly as the orgasm raced through me, sending jolts of thrilling energy to my brain, my nipples, my anus and everywhere. Again, no liquid spurted out, but the feeling was intense and draining; when my dick stopped jumping around and trying to expel the sperm that my body hadn't yet started manufacturing, I noticed that I was sweating, and that my muscles had tensed and pulled and flexed against my bonds as the orgasm rolled through me. "That's two," said J.J. "Let's see if you can go for the record." Gasping to recover my breath, I asked, "The record? What record?" J.J. started to resume her stroking of my cock, still stiff despite the two powerful climaxes she had just induced. "Miss DeFlores wrote in her note that there's a record of a preteen boy having 10 straight orgasms, and one who had 14 in an hour. I wonder how close you can come to that." "Ten?" I squawked. These first two seemed to have wrung me out. How could it be possible to do this 10 times in a row? Wouldn't you pass out? Wouldn't your dick get too sore to feel enough pleasure? My body soon betrayed my doubts. J.J. had a talent for this, and my cock and balls had more resilience than I imagined. It was actually taking less time than before to regain full stiffness and to feel that wonderful eruption sensation all over again. I was right on the edge of my third climax; my whole body was straining for the delicious release. My back was arched, my wrists and ankles straining at the (fabric- lined) cuffs, my shitter clenching and unclenching rapidly at the erotic invader in my rear hole. My teeth were grit, and my breathing was loud and raspy. I felt the moment come tantalzingly within reach and . . . She stopped stroking. She took her hand away and sat back on the bed. It took a moment for my erotic haze to part sufficiently realize what she's done. "J.J.," I gasped out. "Why did you stop?" She looked blankly at me. "Stop what?" she replied. I blushed even more than I had when they first disrobed me. "You know . . . with your hand. I was real . . . you know . . . " She stared back at me with a resolve unimaginable in someone so young. "I don't know you mean unless you tell me right out," she said. "In detail." I shook my bonds in frustration and pumped my twitching, red cock at the empty air. "Why did you stop jacking on my cock?" I finally blurted. "I was just about to have a . . . orgasm." She smiled wickedly, and reached out her hand, stopped it two inches from the 11-year-old "man"hood. "So what is it exactly you want me to do?" "Please," I said, again trying to push my cock into her grasp. "Please, J.J., stroke my dick with your hand. Bring me off. Make me cum, please!" Her hand moved another inch and a half, almost there . . . "So you want me to play with your nasty cock and make you feel good? If I do, what will you do for me?" I was breathing like a horse now. "Anything. I'll do anything. I'm just so . . . hard and so . . . ready!" Her hand closed lightly around my needy member, but did not otherwise move. "Anything?" she said. "Will you be my slave and do all my chores?" I nodded quickly. "Will you lick me between my legs as long as I want?" A faster nod. "Will you lick me between my butt-cheeks?" A brief hesitation, then I nodded again. "Will you let me shove stuff up your butthole and screw you back there like a girl? Make you beg and cry for it?" "Yes, yes," I blurted. 'Anything! Just get me off! Please!" She shook her head, her eight-year-old page boy haircut flaring. "You are going to be so easy to boss," she said, and resumed her attentions to my desperate, jerking preteen cock. Ten, maybe 15 tight, twisting strokes with her talented hand and I was back at the edge again, groaning, straining and pushing myself through her arousing grip. "GODDDDDDDD!!!!!! OH MY GODDDDDDDD!!!" I cried out as the third orgasm blasted its way through me; I rattled my chains and arched off the chair and writhed; for some reason, this third one was more powerful than the other two had been. The scorching physical thrill lasted longer and was more shattering; I jerked and moved almost violently, held down only by my restraints and the dowel in my spasming anus. This time, though, J.J. did not pause between climaxes; her sturdy schoolgirl arm went right back to work, jacking and stroking and twisting and stimulating my already red and pulsing boy-cock. Not a minute after the last orgasm, I was again rushing toward the edge, reaching blindly out with my thrusting groin to have her give me the release which I was now becoming addicted to. A dozen powerful strokes and I was groaning through my fourth climax. Again, J.J.'s stamina proved remarkable. She was started to breath heavily, too, and her face started to show a sheen of sweat, but she kept right on masturbating me. Some switch had been flipped in my body and mind, and now the rush toward climax was faster and more violent. Her talented hand tore a fifth orgasm from me; only this time the spasming of my loins took on an achy feeling, as if the "muscles" down there were getting sore from all the work they were doing. The skin on my penis was also starting to feel a bit abused as well. In reaction to this, my cock wilted just a little, but stayed about three-quarter hard due to the ring and the dowel in my butt. When she started up to try to make me cum a sixth time, I protested. "It's starting to hurt a little, J.J.," I said. "Please stop." J.J. grinned and fisted my cock tighter and rocked it with a powerful up and down stroke. "It's supposed to be punishment, dumb big brother of mine! Did you think all this was just so you could have a bunch of nasty fun?" My eyes opened with surprise . . . then the reality of my situation started to sink in. Her rapid and snug motions on my member moved my cock back up to full-stand status; even though the strokes made my overworked penis start to smart with pain, my lust continued to fuel the cycle that I knew would lead to another powerful but agonizing climax. My face grimaced with discomfort; I tried to wiggle away from her grasp but the wooden post in my butthole prevented much movement. In my mind, my spunky little sister was now a nymphet sex-vampire, raping me with her hands, sucking my energy painfully out of my traitorous penis. "Please, J.J., please . . . it's really gonna hurt this time, I know it!" I begged, but to no avail. "Big sissy," she jibed, her fist flying on her own brother's chafed and hard cock. "You love it! You know you love it! Cum! Cum for your little sister! Over and over until you pass out!" I thought I might pass out when the seventh orgasm burst on me. This was the most powerful one -- it felt as if the top of my schoolboy penis was exploding. Still no fluid emerged, but my pisshole gaped wide-open for five seconds, then fluttered shut and open in a rapid succession of a dozen movements. I felt a contraction in my balls and in my anus -- in what I would later learn was my prostate gland -- and with all the sensations came a flash of pain, as if I has tried to piss a bunch a series of long, strong squirts of Tabasco sauce out of my tortured prick. Sweat poured off my face and body now . . . when my spasms finally died away and my sex tackle stopped their bizarre mix of agony and ecstasy . . . my head lolled forward so my chin fell onto my chest. After a long moment, my eyes fluttered open and I saw that my poor, red, scraped, overworked cock was only half-hard, drooping limply in a weak loop forward. Now, at least, I thought, the ordeal was over. J.J. tried to get me to erect with strokes, flicks and feather-light touches, but my abused prick had had enough. Or so I thought. Huffing in frustration, J.J. stood up and quickly stripped off her shirt, showing her naked, flat chest. She unbuttoned her jeans and pushed them down (with her panties down to her knees) and stepped out of them into complete nudity. She sat down on the bed across from me, and smiled slyly. She opened her slim, preteen legs and showed me her hairless but fascinating crotch, with the sleek vertical slash that males are genetically programmed to crave. "Now," she said, "wouldn't a sexy big brother like you like to have a naked little sister around all the time, flashing her cute eight-year-old body at him? Bet you'd like to taste my sweet little-girl cunny, or finger my hot little butthole." With that she stood up and spread her legs, dropping a hand to her cuntlips, and began to slowly rub herself. "Or maybe you'd like to put your big brother cock in her pussy and fuck her? Is that what a sexy big brother would like to do to little J.J.?" In spite of myself, I could feel my body respond to the sights and sounds in front of me. The images of my sleek younger sister's nude body sent primitive lustful impulses through me that overrode the pain I had just suffered. "Don't do this, J.J.," I pleaded, even as I felt my member stiffen and throb anew. "It's not fair." She turned around, bent over and pulled her asscheeks wide, showing off her perfect pink asspuckers. "I'm not doing a thing," she replied blithely. "Can I help it if you are a nasty boy with a filthy hard prick?" I moaned in my fetters; I could see where this was going. My cock was again at full-stand, which meant that it was going to be attacked again and have another agonizing orgasm raped from me. And that's what happened. Only this time, J.J. sat astride my legs, reached down and jacked me while she looked right in my face close up. "C'mon, Jackie," she said, her hands starting slow but speeding slowly up on my burning cock. "You're gonna have the biggest one yet! It'll feel so good, you'll beg me for number nine and 10." She jacked and jacked and reached down to cup and caress my swollen, teased balls. "And this is just the start! I'm gonna jack you off all the time and make you cum and cum and cum! Soon you'll be shooting sperm and I'll milk a gallon out of you every day! And there's not a thing you'll be able to do about it!" J.J. leaned forward and kissed my throat, licking her moist tongue all along it, even while she worked vigorously on my throbbing, pain-laced cock. "Maybe once in a while I'll milk it with my tight little third-grade pussy. Would you like that, Jackie? Shoot a bunch of hot cum deep inside my little cunt?" Her hands and mouth and the smutty imagery did the trick. My sore cock and balls exploded once more, and my body shook with such violence that J.J. slid from my lap and landed on the floor while I howled out my climax. I spasmed and shook and groaned and cried and bucked as my immature body tried to accomplish the impossible -- hurl up big wads of non-existent semen out of the pulsing tube of my penis. My body rattled like a man touched with an electric wire; the restraints crashed against the wood of the chair and my screams and cries were such that they even brought my parents to the door of my room. "Is he all right?" Mom said, looking a little worried at the sweat-soaked, pain-clenched vision of her young son. "He's fine; that was just his eight orgasm. Miss DeFlores said we should try to get 10 out of him. He's really enjoying it," J.J. said. I was so wrung out I couldn't speak; my head lolled and my mouth was desert-dry. "Well, he looks pretty tired," said my father. "Let him go to sleep and you can get your last two in the morning." J.J. pouted. "But it's not as fun if you don't have all 10 at once!' she said. In my dizziness I said a prayer of thanks that my parents entered the room, unbound me and pulled me gently off the dowel in my behind. They helped me to my bed, but took the covers with them. "Rest up well, Jack," my mother said as she departed. "You have a very exciting week ahead of you." Chapter 6. I slept like the dead; my cock was still store the next morning, but I put some cold cream on it and it felt better. As J.J. overslept, I managed to avoid having another two masturbations pulled out of me, and I went to school thinking "Things can't possibly be any worse." Of course they can! The next day was actually fairly non-shocking. The "horns" in our seats were missing. and aside from being nude all day -- which did produce a certain number of involuntary erections -- it was almost like a regular school day. Brad was spanked again for some minor infraction, but the 10 blows were nothing compared to what had happened on the first day. The following day, however, we stripped and noticed that the horns were back on our seats. And in trying to sit down on them, we felt a difference. "Yes, boys, the pegs in your tight little butts are bigger today," said Miss DeFlores. "They are each a half- inch longer and wider. But it's for you own good; we have to get you ready for what's coming later in the program. Believe me, you'll thank me for it." I groaned and moaned as the three-and-one-half inch plastic phallus sliced into my anus. The raping presence in my once-virgin butthole had its typical effect on all of us: soon all four boy-cocks were standing tall. The cockrings were then slipped over them, and we were erect and throbbing until dismissal time. At home, even J.J. was nice to me, not demanded any degrading tasks from me except to give me one playful goose between my buttcheeks. "I can think of more fun things to do with that," she said. "You will, too." It was the very next day that the perversity of our strange new worlds came surging back. The horns were gone but Miss DeFlores had not forgotten our tight little-boy assholes and how they were connected to our throbbing penises. "Stephanie, you said the other day that boys liked getting things up their bottoms," said Miss DeFlores, fiddling with a box at her desk. "Would you like to be the one to lead our little biology experiment?" She laughed gleefully and ran from her seat. Miss DeFlores said to her "Take the four boys to the punishment easels and have them bend over, their legs nice and spaced and their buns pulled wide," the teacher said. We boys glumly complied, figuring we were in for another round of spanking. We must have made quite a sight to the females in the room. Four clean-limbed boys, stark naked, with their butts, balls and cocks all on full display and subjected to whatever treatment the girls and women wanted to dish out to them. Miss DeFlores handed something to Stephanie -- I couldn't see what -- and told her . . . "you put in on like this . . . that's right and then, pick a boy. Yes, you look very nice." The roomful of girls broke out into a excited gale of smutty laughter. I felt Stephanie move behind me, and started to tense myself for the spanking that was I was certain to receive, possibly followed by some anus-whipping. Instead I felt her small hands pull my asscheeks uncomfortably wide, and then a hard, slick something pressed against the tight puckers of my schoolboy butthole. "Do it! Do it!" yelled some of the girls. With that encouragement, she pushed forward, and the strap-on fake penis that Stephanie now wore lanced its way into my defenseless rear. I grunted with the pressure of the phallus grinding its way into my shittube. But the feeling of the artificial cock scraping against my prostate, and stroking the sensitive erotic nerves in my anus flashed a message of primitive pleasure through my body. "Look!" cried one girl. "Look at his dick get bigger!" It was true; as Stephanie started to fuck me in my schoolboy asshole with her strap-on, sensations of nasty pleasure made my cock swell bigger and longer than usual. Soon it felt steel-hard and throbbing as my female rapist plundered my amazingly receptive backside. Soon the other girls were clamoring for the chance to fuck a boy's ass, and in another minute, there was a girl behind each of us, hammering a long plastic penis up the clenching asses of each miserable but aroused boy. They fucked our asses long and hard for about five minutes, and it wasn't long after that that we began to spasm. I was first, feeling an orgasm burst gloriously from the feeling of being butt-raped. My cock jerked and throbbed, and my tingling asshole clenched so powerfully around the strap-on phallus that for a few moments, the plastic invader was held fast by my spasms. The three other boys climaxed also, but Tom was the star. With a mighty shout, he arched his body and actually squirted out a respectable amount of real live cum. A wet, hot spurt of boy-milk spurted out of his purple cocktip and splatted wetly on the floor. "Very good job, Janice," praised Miss DeFlores. "To get an 11-year-old boy to shoot actual semen, that's very impressive!" All the girls in the class got a chance to strap-on the fake penises and have a go at our defenseless anuses. Each of us got sodomized by at least five girls, and each of us also climaxed two or three more times. Tom even shot wetly one more time, although it was only a dribble this time. That set the pattern for the next two weeks. Our assholes were progressively stretched until were sitting on five- inch long horns, and getting used to them. At home, our sisters were raping our cocks with their hands and shoving dowels, fingers, carrots and other objects up our rears. J.J. had me licking her moist cunt while she lay on her back on her bed, talking with her friends on the phone. I was, of course, naked, usually with a buttplug with a chain that was attached to a cockhead ring that bent my pulsing cock uncomfortably between my legs. I had to lick her four hours on end, giving her numerous little girl orgasms. Sometimes she would flip on her tummy, and I was have to lick and kiss and suck her eight-year-old. At school, we went through a cycle of relative calm followed by the most degrading of chastisements. Somedays we spent almost all day in one of the other punishment devices. We were spanked on our buttocks, balls and cocks. We were forced to jack off on command, and even required to masturbate each other. Our rears were regularly plundered with strap-ons, and we have to perform a variety of other degradations including being photographed in a wide variety of poses and activities, and sometimes even being made to wear girl's panties and bras, especially when being ass-raped. As it turned out, though, it was all just preparation for the "high point" of the fall semester. Chapter 7. It was Thursday, a "Talent Night" that I first got a clue as to what was on its way for us poor, friendless boys. "Talent Night" was a mysterious event that involved me in my familiar pose naked on the punishment chair, impaled on a thick invading prong. Only on "Talent Night," I was blindfolded and gagged, and earplugs stuffed in my ears to muffle noise. The usual wooden butt-plug was replaced with a five-inch long vibrator, which was set to "medium." Those nights, people came in and sexually used me. They sat on my pulsing, jerking cock; they jacked me off, sometimes painfully. They ripped the gag out of my mouth and made me lick them. They were always females -- at least at first. I could tell that some of the time it was J.J., but other times it had to be some of her third-grade friends. None of them sat all the way down on my twitching, needy cock, but they teased it with their pussylips, and did everything to it but put it in the pencil-sharpener. One night I could tell it was a grown woman. I couldn't learn much, bound and blinded as I was, but the lady straddled me and sank herself down onto my preteen cock. Without saying a word, she took all of me in her wet, moist cunt and rode me like a cowboy rides a horse. She slammed herself roughly down on my swollen member and handled me roughly, biting my shoulders and chin, twisting my nipples and slapping my face from time to time. Eventually though, she started to climax on top of me, and she groaned and bucked and writhed, motions which brought on my own orgasm. Some "Talent Nights" I was used by a half-dozen females ranging -- as far as I could tell -- from the preteen to the middle-aged. They used me to have their delicious climaxes and debased me by making me stiff and spasming against my will. It was eight weeks into the school years that the next big step occurred. That "Talent Night" was drawing to a close, and when the last guest left, my mother came in and began to release me. She first intended to turn the vibrator from medium to off, but she accidentally switched it to "Very High." The rapid strong buzzing in my anus made my poor, chafed, tired cock jerk back into a vertical stand, and my mother laughed. "Well, that's good to know," she said, caressing the red hardness of her son's throbbing penis. "Especially with what they've got planned for tomorrow." The next morning was pretty routine; sitting naked at our desks, doing math problems, no horn in our rears or rings on our cocks, which were only half-hard considering we were getting no stimulation other than being totally nude around 25 fully-clothed females. We came back from lunch, and we boys felt our hearts go in our throats; the punishment easels were again set up, and in a strange new way. As we stood nervously peeling off our clothes, Miss DeFlores said gaily, "We will be having some special visitors this afternoon. I know you will all do your best to make them feel welcome and to make the purpose of their visit successful." Our teacher then whispered instructions to the four "head classroom discipline monitors," and clapped her hands. "OK, girls, let's get ready for the excitement! Our guests will be here in about one-half hour." We frightened boys were led to the easels, and put into a new pose. We were tilted forward, with our arms stretched out and our legs drawn up but splayed. We were level with the floor, but about three feet above it, and -- of course -- shackled into position. Clever preteen hands found our cocks and quickly jacked them into full, hard boners, which were then crowned with a elastic ring snugged down the base of our penises, right above our swollen balls. It was about five minutes we were in that position, waiting, dreading, when the door opened and in stepped our visitors. It was the coach of the local high school football team, and eight of his players. Coach Frommer had a successful program at the high school, and part of what made it successful -- we were told later -- was the way he kept his horny teenagers concentrating on football by preventing them from chasing girls. As the season progressed toward the playoffs, his "boys" were especially hot, having stayed away from females since the start of the school year. To give them relief, but to prevent them from getting in distracting relationships with high school girls, the coach brought them here, after a discussion with his long-time friend, Miss DeFlores. The high school youths were all fit and muscular lads, and all of them sported thick erections in their jeans. The girls in the class quickly went about to their appointed tasks, which involved helping the boys undress, oiling up their cum-congested balls and virile cocks, and incidentally spearing oil up our poor sixth-grade rectums. It was soon clear just where those thick, leaking teenboy rods were going to be plunged. The girls crowded around the hunky 15- 16- and 17-year- old boys from flirted with them quite sexually, stroking their twitching cocks, cupping their sperm-bloated balls and making sure they were primed for the next act, which was quite clearly to use our hairless preteen boy bodies as vessels to vent their lust. Two boys paired off for each one of us. One took his place in front of our faces, the other stood behind our widespread and helpless buns. In my case, I felt one boy -- a senior running back, I would later learn -- reach out and spread my already wide-open asscheeks, then press the tip of his cock against my "virgin" puckers. "Man," he said, "haven't shot off in weeks. This is going to feel fuckin' good." As he sliced his throbbing thick erection -- it was about six inches long -- into my yielding asshole, I felt a wave of indescribable pleasure wash over me. As inch after inch of pulsing hot male meat slid into me, I could feel my own cock get harder and longer and hotter. Now, don't get me wrong; I am not gay and never will be. I have no interest in dating or kissing or being with men in a romantic or sexual context. But as an 11-year-old boy in a sexually-charged atmosphere, sporting a teased, hot cock, with hot warm flesh pressing against the sensitive folds of his anus, I have to admit it felt awfully good. As long as I had no say in the matter, I gave in to the feeling. So did the other three boys. It wasn't long before all of us were moaning and grunting as stiff, virile teenage cocks were plunging into our preteen rectums, powerfully raping our clenching, gripping shitters. The teen fucking my ass long-cocked me -- he would slam his wonderfully swollen phallus balls-deep in my stuffed rectum, and pull almost all the way out, with just the tip of his purple cockhead still nudging my sucking, pink-brown asspuckers apart. Then he plunged back again, his strong hands, yanking me back so that he went in as deeply as possible. Thanks to the stretching we had, and the lubrication provided, we were able to take the ravishment of our snug buttholes with a minimum of pain and discomfort. Each hammer-blow of his hot, hard cock sawed against my prostate and pleasured the sensitive nerves in my asshole, which gripped his invading manhood strongly. I felt my body heat up and my breathing change as he plundered my shitter. "Tight fuckin' ass!" he grunted, and kept pounding, each stroke getting a little bit deeper in my wiggling, thrilled pooper. My whole world was reduced now to the wonderful feeling of getting my 11-year-old asshole power-fucked by this steel-cocked teenage stallion. As I moaned with pleasure, my lips parted, and between them slipped the thick, juicy dick of the other horny football player assigned to me. I didn't know anything about cock-sucking, but I didn't have to; he lustily fucked my face. All I had to do was keep my lips snug around his 16-year-old boner and he would do all the work of this act of oral sex. So there I was, trussed up, splayed wide open, with my aching hard preteen cock jerking and twitching while bone-hard teenage erections were being pistoned into me, head and tail. The same thing was happening to my three male companions; they were all getting shafted deeply in their clutching boy-pussies and gulping mouths by the super-aroused athletes. It didn't take all that long for the high schoolers to reach their climaxes; I felt the flashing cock in my asstube swell up and then begin jerking and spitting. The boy riding my ass cried out a string of obscenities as he pissed a series of long, thick spurts of virile male milk in my happy anus. I couldn't exactly feel the hot cum splash in me, but I could feel the contractions of the cock, and as the boy emptied his testicles and prostate into me, the amount was so copious that as the butt- raping continued, the excess was starting to squelch out of my hole and roll down my thighs. If it hadn't been for the ring around the base of my cock. I'm sure I would have shot off right then. The sensation of a hairy, plumb cock ravishing my asshole and filling it with male-milk was soon joined by the splashing of semen into my ovaled mouth, as the second boy grunted and arched his back and squirted long, hot streams of his slippery essence right down my throat. After a long moment, all eight boys had -- temporarily -- emptied themselves into our rectums and mouths. The high schoolers stepped back, where eager preteen girls wiped down their still-stiff members, and handed them cool drinks. "How was that, guys?" asked the coach, grinning. "Did you get off good?" The high schoolers grinned and laughed. "Man, I musta shot off a gallon of cum in this tight little ass," said one of the players. "Yeah, and no hassles about spending money on them for a date, or any of that committment crap!" said another. The coach looked pleased. "I knew you'd like it. You guys just keep on winning in the playoffs and you can bury your aching bones balls-deep in these grade school shitters as much as you want," he said. Of course, one cum was not enough for these virile studs. For the second round, the girls flipped us over so that we were facing up, our thighs wide-spread and drawn-up, our wrists trussed to our ankles, our teased and unsatisfied cocks pointing at the ceiling. After a rest break of about 15 minutes, the girls stroked and "fluffed" the teen boys' rammers back to full, swollen erection, and the athletes approached our helpless bodies again. Now the boys switched; the ones who had fucked our faces now had access to our asses, and they wasted no time in raping us there. Wet hard cock quickly disappeared to the hairy balls of the strong young men, punching all the way up our sensitive rectums. They put their firm hands on our slim hipbones for leverage, and then really started slamming their aching hot meat deeply into us. Each solid cock-punch into our snug rear holes send a jolt of erotic energy through our release-deprived bodies. Our preteen boners got thicker and longer than ever before; the elastic that was binding them was stretching and stretching as fresh blood forced its way into our cocks. "Take that!" grunted the stud fucking my ass. "Take my big horny cock all the way up your tight little asshole! Feel it! Feel it!" He was giving me shorter strokes than my first "partner" had, but they were more powerful and more rapid. "Fuckin' tight asshole! Tight little shitter!" he grunted. "Feel my cock in your ass! You love it! You know you love it!" Again, I am no homosexual; but at that moment my body betrayed me. "Yes!" gasped out, wiggling my ass as best I could. "Fuck my asshole! Rape me hard! FUCK YOUR HUGE COCK UP MY LITTLE SHITTER! HARDER! HARDER!" Before long all of the boys were begging to be fucked hard -- really hard and deep -- by their older "lovers." We boys tried to spread our legs as wide as possible to allow the virile, hung teen boys the maximum accessibility to our sucking, happy rectums. My body was in a state of suspended and ecstasy; I felt myself hanging at the edge of explosion. Sooo close . . . Suddenly I felt the thick sausage in my ass swell and start to throb. "Fuck! I'm cummin' so fuckin' HARD!" cried my fucker. "Goddamn! Damn!" he said as he began to piss out his hot sperm into my guts. Somehow his orgasm triggered a reaction in me . . . A moment later I arched my body impossibly high off the easel and started to cum. The ring around my penis was stretched from pink to pale as my preteen cock swelled prodigiously and the piss slit opened. "OH GOD!" I yelled. Even as copious streams of boy-cum was being fucked into my spasming rear, my own cock and balls climaxing. But unlike the dry cums that had been forced on me, this one was wet and glorious. A satisfying mass of my juices tore through my over-stimulated penis and blasted out of the purple tip, making a huge arc in the air and splatting wetly on my chest and throat. A moment later, as I felt another deposit of teenboy sperm enter me at one end, I spouted another load of my juices out of my retooled preteen pecker. It was as if the cum was going in my asshole and coming directly out my pisshole. As good as it felt to have dry cums, it was nothing like having a wet orgasm, to feel the juice pulse through you, to have that tremendous sense of release as the empty yourself in such a paralyzingly pleasant manner. Each of us boys got fucked at least four times; myself I had three thrilling wet orgasms and one of the other boys started squirting off, too. By the time the teen boys went home, their balls emptied, we were filled with cum leaking from our lips and anuses. Our "visitors" returned for the next three weeks, and eventually each of us had been used by each member of the high school football team, which -- by the way -- won the state title. And when basketball season rolled around, well, you can guess what happened then . . . . Epilogue I don't have the time and space here to recount all that happened to me and us poor boys for the three years we spent at Dalton. Needless to say, we were humiliated, punished, molested, raped and more all that time, and were used as slaves and concubines for girls, women, and older boys and men. But it did have several positive effects. We became model students and citizens. All the boys in the program (expanded to a total of 25 boys by eighth grade) were well-mannered, polite and studious. We became student leaders; Brad, the boy who was the first one punished on that very first day, was student body president our senior year in high school and went on to a prestigious college and career. And me, well, I found not just manners and study habits, I found a wife. J.J. and I developed such a bond in those years of "corrections" that after we both graduated from college, we moved to another state, changed our names legally, and J.J. became "Jane." She says I am a wonderful lover; I can achieve an erection on command, and keep it up indefinitely. I can cum a half-dozen times, and I am more than willing to enjoy any kinky thrill she has in mind. Like tonight. She's going to put me on that punishment chair and ride me, just like she -- and my Mom -- used to do all those years ago. THE END