Punk Kids or Brett's Big Boner 7
Disclaimer: If you are not yet 18 years of age, or if it is illegal to read materials of this kind where you live, then please stop now. This story is for adults, and contains descriptions of sexual activity between teenage boys initiated by them and with older men. This story is completely fiction, all descriptions and names are also made up, and any similarities are truly just that, purely similarities. I do not engage in or condone sexual activity between adults and teenagers which is regulated by law. These are fantasies for sexual private sexual enjoyment, not for emulation in real life.
I have not had the opportunity to write a major story, with the exception of one in collaboration with a colleague whose writing I admire. My stories are posted on Paulie’s Personal Web Site and on ASSGM.com. I would appreciate comments on my writing which may be a bit rusty. I certainly admire the good writers on the web, and consider myself still a learner. Please contact me at [email protected].
Brent McDermott stood in his room dressed only in his baseball cap, his jock, leggings and his socks. He had fantasized about Amy walking into his room in one of those black negligees he’d seen in a Victoria Secret catalog that Darryl Romberg had brought on the team bus on one of their road trips. He imagined her licking her lips as she stared at his perfect body and bulging jock, and then envisioned her crawling up his body dressed as he was now, and him fucking her senseless. But those fantasies only gave him a nut ache, and made his leaky prick soak his jock or briefs. So he tried as much as possible not to go there too often. As he swung his bat staring at the handsome, sexually powerful image in the mirror, his cock started to get stiff anyway. Christ, he had not come for three days, trying hard to keep himself for Amy on the weekend even though his prick was driving him crazy, and the sight of his own body made his prick lurch. He couldn’t understand it, but whenever he was alone, staring at his gorgeous face with those sexy dimples and his hairy, teenage form, he would spring an erection. He chalked it up to blue balls, but at the same time, he admired every inch of his own frame, just as much as the girls at school did.
When Brent was thirteen he used to masturbate in his age group baseball uniform of the time, staring at his reflection as he lay in bed facing the mirror on his closet door. Two years later watching his hand slide up his thick prick when he masturbated, and staring at his own handsome image, gave him almost as much excitement as the thought of slipping his boner into Amy’s sticky cunt and having her milk the sperm out of him. With a guilty look about his room, to make sure no one was watching him through his window, he grasped his semi-hard prick through his jock, and licked his tongue over his full, beautiful lips. His cock drooled a bit of boy sap wetting the inside of his pouch, and he groaned as he squeezed one last time and let his randy teenage pecker go.
The boner problem was getting worse and worse. He had even spoke to the youth priest in confession last week about the problem. He figured he did not go to confession all that often, and hell, some old priest would not recognize his voice…it was a way to see if he could get some free tips on how to control his libido. Of course Brent did not know that the deep voice on the other side of the screen was Father John Richardson, just 33 years old, and full of surprises.
From his days as an altar boy, Richardson had found ways to suck and jerk the penises of both priests and parishioners. At thirteen he had jerked off Aaron Stern while they sat in their altar boy uniforms to the side of the altar during a service. His hand had slipped under the flowing white gown, and as the homily droned on, he had released and then fisted the other boy’s ever-hard bone till he squirted his sap into a Kleenex wrapped around his fat knob. At fifteen John had been seduced by a young novice priest, whose smouldering good looks and deep blue eyes had caused him to melt into submission. Each time they met, the Priest would strip him naked, sit him on his lap, and pluck his nipples as he palmed the boy’s overheated prick. Many a time, the young priest had milked two or three ejaculations from the young Richardson, much to the boy
’s delight as he grunted and whined on the young priest’s lap. When he was in seminary, he found ways to seduce the horny, young men whose transition from secular to religious life was difficult at best. In particular he recalled a young hunk from Wisconsin who had played football in high school before a short stint in the Army. Carey Carlson would feign sleep and allow John to slip his hands under the bedding in the room they shared once the lights were out . Then John could explore every inch of his roommates firm, muscular body. Many a night, Richardson would torture his young friend, searching out every sensitive place on his body, then slowly masturbating his fat knobbed prick, teasing it, and milking it with agonizing deliberation until the sweaty balls would launch wad after wad of the sticky, viscous sperm. The room would be filled with the familiar stench of bleach from Carey’s huge ejaculations. On occasion he would continue to milk the young novice who would not admit that he was awake, making him writhe a bit on the bed as his sensitive prick was worked cruelly after the explosive cum. More than once his persistence got another load from Carey’s always full balls. But they never once talked of what occurred, and later when they separated and said their good byes, it was as if nothing
had ever happened in the room at night.
All these experiences had prepared Father Richardson for the role he was about to play in the saga of Brent McDermott’s ever stiff boner. The good Father had modified the screen in one of the confessionals so that it could be removed if necessary. In addition, while the screen on the parishioners side obscured any sightlines, on the priest’s side it offered a clear view of who was sitting there. Already, Father Richardson has managed to suck the cocks of a seventeen year old street punk whose mother insisted that he go to confession, a Marine back from basic training whose long hairy legs and thick cock resulted in confessions weekly, and two young fathers who swung more ways than their wives realized. Each of these men thrust their hips against the screen and flattened themselves against the partition to force their throbbing pricks into the wet, hot mouth of the voracious priest. Moreover, Richardson had persuaded younger boys, as part of the confession, to demonstrate their masturbation that they were confessing. As these boys performed what they thought was a private reenactment for God, the good Father was watching intently and rubbing his own leaking penis to an explosive ejaculation as these boys from thirteen to fifteen wrung several healthy young loads from their hard peters.
When Brent arrived at the confession booth, Father Richardson thought he had scored a bonanza. There before him in dress slacks, dress shoes, a dress shirt and tie was fifteen years of male perfection, big and with a masculine if vulnerable sexuality. Once Brent was in the booth, Father Richardson got what he wanted.
“My son, what can I help you with today?”
“Father, forgive me, for I have sinned.”
“God will forgive you my son, what have you done that requires the Lord’s forgiveness?”
“Father, I have urges and needs, and I have sinned by, ah, by, well, you, know, giving in. I couldn’t help myself father.”
“My son, perhaps you should tell me exactly what you did, or what happened to put your soul in jeopardy.”
“Ah, well, if I have to, okay, I guess I can tell you, huh, Father.”
“Yes my son, the church has provided you with a shelter, a place to protect your soul and redeem yourself. Tell me what has happened, and we shall see what we can do to ensure your grace.”
“Well, it’s like this Father, I really like this girl at school…her name in Amy.”
“Love is the virtue of youth and a gift of God, is this your sin my son?” Father Richardson knew that Brent had something more private to share, he had been through this drill with other straight teenage boys. But he wanted to calm any fears, and gradually lure Brent into his snare.
“Actually Father, it’s not just that I like Amy, it’s that I get feelings when I think about her…you know, guy feelings.”
“Ah, you mean you have the lust of Adam, and the wants of a man with a woman? Well son, God has made you as a healthy male. You will mature into a virile man, and you will marry and plant your seed in your wife, and will procreate as God and the church intend so that our Christian community can continue to grow and be strong.”
“So you don’t think its wrong if I, ah, you know, get an erection?” Brent blushed in his cubicle, not realizing that Father Richardson could see him clearly. Brent reached down and adjusted his slacks, even talking about Amy and erections, made his unruly penis begin to fill with blood, the fat knob, begin to itch. Even as he spoke to the screen earnestly, his big left hand began to unconsciously knead the swelling prick.
Father Richardson, watched as Brent began to absently massage his swelling prick knob, trying to relieve the ticklish itch. “My son boys your age are supposed to achieve regular and constant erections. No doubt your virility and normal sexual desires make you even more susceptible to constant erections. Tell me, when do you get them, and what do you do when you get them. Tell me about the last week, in detail.”
Brent squeezed his eyes shut, and his sweaty palm increased the speed of massaging his now rigid boner. “Fuck” he thought, Father was going to make him go through his problem chapter and verse, and he wasn’t going to be able to just skim over the details. Shit, he was lucky no one could see him, aaaaagggggghhhhh….” he groaned under his breath as his fingers stroked the feverish prong, now beginning to leak in his cotton briefs.
“Ah, okay Father, well, let’s see, since last week, I guess I’ve been having
erections every day, sometimes more than once. Is that what you need to know?”
“Okay my son, so you have had erections each day, how did you deal with them… tell me.”
(“Oh fuck,” Brent thought…”here it comes.”) “Well, I guess I do what most guys do Father, sometimes I take a shower and try to ignore ‘em, and then sometimes I jerk… ah, I mean, I masturbate.” Brent grasped his boner firmly, letting his thumb slide back and forth over the aching knob, squeezing his eyes shut and waiting for Father Richardson so respond. Sweat was gathering under his arms, and beads were beginning to appear on his forehead.
“My son, your seed is a gift of God, it is precious. It should only be shed or spread under the guidance of the church. Tell me, how many times you have masturbated this past week, and under what circumstances. I will tell you how we can address this problem, once you fully disclose your conduct.”
(“Oh shit…..”) “Gosh Father, I guess the first time in the last seven days was last Saturday. I woke up on Saturday morning thinking about Amy, and with, you know, an erection. Everyone else was downstairs, so I just rolled over and began to grind my penis into the bed. Gosh father, that felt sooo good. I just kept screwing the bed, and grinding my penis into the sheets. But I was afraid I’d make a mess, I always seem, you know, to shoot a lot of cum…ah, I mean I ejaculate quite a bit of sperm, so I turn over and use one of my gym socks.”
“Were you naked under your sheets my son, and what did you do with the sock? (Richardson smiled, knowing that his probing questions would only make Brent more uncomfortable, and his prick grow harder). Is the sock part of what you use when you masturbate. Do you grasp your erection and begin stroking yourself? And how do you use the sock?”
(“Fuck…!) Yes, Father, I was naked…I often sleep naked or just in my sleep shorts. I didn’t just start stroking…I have the sock under my mattress, so I slipped it over my bon… I mean my erection, and cause I make a lot of natural lube, I just started to stroke the sock up and down.” Brent could not help himself, he unzipped his pants and slid his hand into his briefs, grasping his thick penis, and sliding his rough finger pads over and round the bloated knob, now sopping in its own juices.
“So you produce a great deal of pre-ejaculate…and you used that pre-ejaculate to lubricate your penis inside the sock, and then allow the sock to provide an artificial sleeve into which to masturbate your penis and shoot your sperm.”
“(Oh Chirst….)Yeah, Father, that’s how it happened.” Brent’s fingers danced over and tickled the aching tip of his fat prick.
“How long did it take you to achieve your ejaculation, and what were you thinking about, please be specific. Do you have a special technique that you use when you are masturbating your penis?”
“Aw gee Father, do we have to talk about that?” By now, Brent was kneading his penis firmly, thumbing the leaking prick knob, making it tingle and tickle, squeezing his eyes shut at the ticklish sensations racked him.
“Yes my son, I need to know how far you have traveled down the road of self-abuse. For example, do you touch other parts of your body?”
(“Mother fucker…..”) “Ah, yeah, father, sometimes.”
“Where, and what do you do, now we need to have you stop procrastinating, and give me the details.”
“Yes, Father, well, I also play with my nipples.” Even as he spoke, with his eyes closed, Brent stretched his long legs out and slouched on the confessiional bench. His left hand continued to maul the thick tube and blunt knob of his erection, but his right hand reached up and tweaked his left nipple through his shirt as he described what he did the previous Saturday morning in bed.
Father Richardson was gratified by what he saw. His own 7.5 inch boner was rigid in his pants, and was itself leaking into his briefs. He reached down and unzipped his slacks, and slid his hand inside and extracted his throbbing erection. With a sigh of satisfaction, and a stifled groan, he rolled his fist up his penis, over the tip and back down, picking up the drops of pre-cum, and smoothing them into the tingling flesh. Struggling to keep his voice normal, Father spoke to Brent, “Go on son, tell me what you did….”
“Aw…jeez Father, this is so hard (not realizing the play on words as he rubbed his stiff boy pecker), I lay on my back, and I plant my feet and bring my knees up so I have some leverage. Using one hand to play with my ah, nipples, I slide the sock up and down on my penis with the other. I kinda like to rub the head, but not too much cause its so sensitive (Father’s erection burped more pre-cum as he listened to Brent’s description), so I kinda stroke and then roll the sock over the knob real quickly, then go back to my shaft.” As he spoke, Brent looked furtively around the cubicle as if to see if anyone could see him, checked that the door was locked, and then using both hands, pushed his pants and briefs to his ankles. His freed, thick 8-inch cudgel curved hard toward his stomach. The moment his fist closed around the knob of his boner, his eyes closed again and his other hand went up reflexively to unbutton his dress shirt so he could slip his fingers inside and tweak his nipple directly. Now Brent was on auto-pilot, his thick fingers doing what boys’ fingers across America and the world do when their sexual heat gets high, frigging their boners and playing with their big, hunky bodies. His legs were stretched tautly out in front of him, and his body jerked each time his rough palm slid over the sensitive tip of his raging prong. It took all his concentration not to betray what he was doing when he spoke to Father Richardson. Little did he know that he was giving the Father a fabulous show, of slutty teen masturbation, by an All-American jock hunk.
“Is this a full description of how you touch yourself my son, just your nipples and your penis? Or is there more…?”
Brent gasped as his fist slid over his cock head, and he yielded one last detail that almost made the good Father ejaculate on the spot. “Well, I sometimes rub a finger against my anus Father, I know it’s a dirty thing to do, and I know that men don’t play with their asses, but it feels so strange, and good, I just can’t help it. I don’t do anything else, unless I’m in the shower, and then sometimes I slip my finger inside to maybe the first knuckle. But when I am in bed, I just tickle my pucker once in a while, then go back to my tits… I mean my nipples.” By now, Brent was furiously wanking his big boy bone, sliding his fist up and over, circling his palm around the bulging knob and twisting his fist around it to induce more lubricant to bubble up and out of the wide piss lips. The fat plum of his cock head was being chaffed by the rough skin of his palm, and the rigid stalk, curved and hard, shone with the slick juices of his boy sap, leaking from the knob and wetting the shaft as his fist slid up, over and down. Each time his palm raked over the apple of his oversized prick tip, his body jerked and he squeezed the rubbery stiffness of his teats to distract him from the sensation.
Now it was Father Richardson’s turn to maintain his self-control as his fist slid up and round the turgid pole jutting from out of his slacks. He had been blessed with a thick penis, with a bulbous knob and deep piss lips which filled with his leakage. So with his feet were planted wide and his torso slightly slouched, his mature fist kneaded the tingling rock hard cock. He was so experienced masturbating in the confessional, he did not need too much adjustment to shoot a thick, juicy wad of priest cum. Making sure he did not gasp and almost biting his lip, he spoke again to Brent: “What were you thinking my son, let us rid you of these impure thoughts, reveal them so we can deal with them
….” Father squeezed his eyes shut as his rough fist and palm tortured the fat plum of his wet glans, now fully slick with his own leaking pre-fuck.
Brent was in no better shape. He was not completely slouched, his feet turned outwards, his pants and briefs at his ankles, one hand twisting his nipples, sending shocks through his prick, and the other hand grinding the fat knob and stalking of his boner, milking it ruthlessly. “Father (he croaked, then whispered), I know I shouldn’t think impure thoughts, but hell…I mean heck, I can
’t help it. Every time I see Amy I think how soft her skin is, and how perfect her mouth is, and how much I want to make love to her….we’ve made out and… you know, she’s so wet and her tits…I mean her breasts, there so sensitive. I just can’t keep her out of my thoughts, and when I was jerking I kept thinking how nice it would feel to slide my prick…I mean my penis, into her. I swear Father, I think we’re gonna get married some day, so it’s not like we’re committing a sin. Cause someday we’re gonna be husband and wife and it’ll be okay…but I can’t hold it Father, I need to cum, I mean to ejaculate sometimes, and it feels so good when that sock is working over my penis like it was Amy’ s pussy…I mean, oh jeez, you know what I mean Father………” At that moment, Father Richardson watched as Brent balled one fist and stuck it in his mouth after tweaking his tit one last time, and then gripping his raging prong just under the head, rope after rope of sticky boy juice squirted from the bulging glans and piss lips. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven streams of cum bolted from the big teen prick, wetting his chest where his shirt had spread . This fourteen year old hunk was a sperm factory already, and his cock had basted his chest up to his nipples, only his own thumb preventing him from shooting scum up to his face. At the same time, Father Richardson’s own twitching penis squirted five long streams of sticky man cum across the cubicle, his mouth open, taking his breath in pants as he watched the beautiful boy masturbate his boner into submission. Both both and priest shuddered and then fisted their overly sensitive prick knobs. Unlike Brent though, Richardson had years of experience in controlling his response to the overwhelming feelings that fisting a bloated prick head after an ejaculation could cause. As he wrung his hand of the starchy, sticky fluids, he spoke to Brent who was using a tissue from his pocket to wipe off his hands, and sop up as much of his cum as possible, while avoiding the achey, itchy knob of his penis.
“My son, you are to keep your hands off your penis! (he spoke with deep sincerity and gravity) I’m sure there were more times this past week you played with your penis, and more times that you spilled your sacred seed. You don’t need to describe them, or to deny that you did it. We both know that you did. (Brent slumped in the next cubicle as if he realized the priest knew him too well) God gave you your male member to impregnate a wife and to produce children in holy wedlock to continue mankind. You must not waste your seed on adolescent self-abuse and impure thoughts. Let your penis stay hard, let it leak in your pants if necessary. If it twitches and leaks from deprivation, it is the restraint of purity. If it aches rubbing against your briefs or against the sheets at night, remember that God knows if you are engaging in sinful and lustful onanism. But if you find that you cannot control your urges, you are to return to me and this confessional, and we will deal with your problem discreetly and privately. I will minister to you directly. Do you understand my son?” Say twenty-five Hail Mary’s and pray for forgiveness. Now go home, take a cold shower and keep you hands away from impure activities.”
Brett blushed deeply again, realizing how stupid he had been to masturbate while he was in the confessional, and hoping that he had cleaned up all the evidence in the darkened space. What if the Father had detected what he had done? But he was fortunate, he’d gotten away with it since no one could see him. Now he would try to follow the Father’s instructions. He would struggle to control his urges to masturbate, even when his prick tip tingled and leaked. If he needed help, he would consider coming back to Father Richardson. “Father, thank you…I feel much better. I’ll do what you asked, and if I have problems, I’ll let you know. Thank you Father, thank you very much.” With his clothes in order, and his prick beginning to shrink, Brent slipped out quietly as the priest smiled. He knew if Brent did what he was told, he would see him again soon. No fifteen year old boy with a body and cock like that could resist stroking himself. Father Richardson felt sure he had another conquest.
As Brent left the confessioinal cubicle, the air smelled strongly of sperm. But Father Richardson still had another two hours to provide relief to sinners, and he knew at least one other teenage boy who would be coming in to slide his fat boner through the screen for some special attention. He licked his lips and waited in anticipation.
Johnny Sets up Brent
Unwittingly, Brent was trapped by his lust for Amy and his desperate struggle to control his prick. At fifteen, he wanted nothing more than to stroke his penis into submission if he could not thrust it deeply into a hot, clinging cunt. But he could do neither. Amy would not let him into her pussy yet, and Brent’s strict upbringing had made him turn to the church and Father Richardson’ s advice on how to manage his teenage hormones. Nothing could assist Johnny more in his quest to gain control of Brent’s body. Brent’s unrelenting horiness would become Johnny’s foil. He would use that weakness to push Brent into a situation from which he could not escape, and he would become the master of the older teenage boy’s remarkable teenage penis.
Johnny began, by tracking Brent’s every personal move. One Saturday morning when he saw Brent leave for baseball practice he took his chance. He went next door and asked Brent’s mom if he could go up to Brent’s room and borrow a basketball. Brent’s mom knew Johnny’s mom, and had watched Johnny grow up next door. It never dawned on her that there was anything untoward about Johnny’ s request. As she went down to the basement to continue with her laundry, Johnny raced upstairs to Brent’s room. The room was surprisingly neat, like Brent. The bed was made, and even though there was baseball gear on the floor(bats, balls, gloves, uniforms, gym bags), it was organized and stacked carefully. Johnny quickly went to several locations, two in the bedroom, and two in the adjacent bathroom. There he installed remote cameras and microphones. He also went to to Brent’s computer, and although it was off, he was able to attach a device to Brent’s DSL connection. Time was passing, and he had to get out of the house before Brent’s mom came upstairs and found him. He went to Brent’ s closet and found a basketball, and as he was turning to leave, he saw something on the floor near the hamper that made him stop. It was one of Brent’s used jock-straps, and a pair of soiled leggings and baseball socks. Impulsively, Johnny scooped them up and stuck them under his jacket. Then he raced downstairs, and through the kitchen door as he heard Brent’s mom coming back up the basement steps to the kitchen.
When he got to his bedroom, Johnny closed the door and hauled Brent’s clothes out. He thrust the crusty pouch of the jock strap under his nose. The starchy scent of testicles assaulted his nostrils and he inhaled deeply, his dick going hard with the thought of Brent’s balls full of boy sap. Then he picked up the socks and sniffed the soiled toes, stinky with boy toe sweat, but not raunchy or rancid. These treasures would inspire Johnny until he was able to have Brent in his hands. He put the stolen items into a shoe box and slipped them under his bed for use at night before he went to sleep. Then he went to his complex computer, video and audio set up to ensure that the remotes he placed in Brent’s room all registered on his apparatus. Within minutes he had everything set up to record Brent’s toilet, his shower, his bed, and a panorama of the room. He also could pick up any sounds in the room or bathroom. He set his system to activate on motion or sound. The trap was about to be sprung.
Brent was sitting in the back of the van on the way back from practice. The guys were goofing off, talking trash---but Brent was leaning against the window staring intently out the window, trying to will down the erection in his uniform. His big, hairy hand was kneading the aching prong trying to force its way to full erection in spite of his best efforts. Fuck, when he sprung a boner in his jock, his dick would get strangled first, but its size and strength would eventually lead to the damn thing protruding outside his pouch and now he was leaking onto his hairy leg, making the fat knob itch from the bristling contact. He could not get Amy out of his head…he wanted to get home, get showered, and take her out to the movies tonight. He needed to cum, and he did not care whether it was her soft fist or some hot action---maybe (he prayed, and his cock lurched) a blow job, but he needed to get off TONIGHT!
When he scampered out of the van and said a quick good-bye to the guys, he sprinted through the front door and up the stairs to his room. He vaguely heard his mother saying something about Johnny borrowing something from him…but he could have cared less. All he wanted to know was how long it was going to be until Amy’s soft lips were on his, and her soft hand was tickling his fat prick knob until he squirted a gallon of boy jizz. He closed the door, and grabbed his cell phone from the dresser and made a call, and then as he breathlessly waited for Amy to answer, he began kicking off his sneakers, and peeling off his clothes.
As he stripped down to his jock strap, socks and leggings, Brent forced the tight strap down and allowed his throbbing erection to spring out, its fat tip already wet and sticky from emissions during the ride home. When Amy picked up the call, Brent’s fist slid slowly up and down his penis, milking out more pre-ejaculate, lubricating his fist as it allowed him to relieve the tension . And as he started to talk, as he worked the teenage boner cautiously, Johnny’s cameras and microphones were in action.
“Am, jeez, for a second I didn’t think you were gonna pick up…when are we meeting tonight?”
“Brent, I’ve got some bad news…I’ve come down with a low fever, but my mom won’t let me out…she says I have to stay home and rest. I tried to tell her we would not be out late, and we would stay indoors, but she said no. I’m sooooooo sorry baby, I was looking forward to seeing you…but my mom won’t budge.”
“Awww cripes, damn, I was really hoping we’d get together tonight, I’ve been looking forward to it all day,” Brent’s fist slid up his rigid pole, and palmed the leaking glans, making him shudder even as he controlled his voice into the cell phone. “You think you might be feeling better tomorrow?”
“Even if I am, our family is driving out of town to visit friends, that’s why my mom is so unwilling to let me go out tonight. She wants to make sure I’m feeling better for tomorrow.” Amy bit her lip, and her other hand kept moving under her shorts and panties. If Brent only knew that Amy’s beautifully manicured index fingernail with its red polish was rubbing lazily back and forth over her engorged clit before it dipped down to slip between her labia to gather some sticky juice to keep her finger-pad lubricated, he would have ejaculated immediately. The very place he needed to soak his fat prick knob, Amy was teasing while he masturbated in burning frustration. Two horny teens, talking so innocently to one another, and both were on the verge of a huge climax. “ I gotta go baby, mom is calling to me and I can hear her coming upstairs. I’ ll talk to you on Monday. Maybe we can get together Monday night and go to the Library, after your practice and dinner. Call me Sunday night…miss you.”
Brent made his good bye, professing his undying love, even as he nursed his unrelenting lust. The moment he ended the call, he groaned out loud as his fist continued to slide slowly over the sticky helmet of his raging boner. “I fucking need to cum….” he croaked loud enough for him to hear, but no one else in the house. What he did not know, was that Johnny was recording every movement and every sound.
Brent reached down under his bed, and out came a sock. “I can’t fucking wait, I can’t… sorry Father, I can’t hold out….I need it bad, and my girl’s not available to help my blue balls, I need to shoot my crud and I gotta do it now
…” Every time Brent spoke, Johnny was carefully listening and recording. But Brent pulled a surprise that caught Johnny off guard, but would open an even more satisfying opportunity. “Aw Christ, why did I have to say ‘Father’, fuck, I better call him, Jesus Father, you better have a good idea, cause I’m not gonna wait till Sunday unless it’s really good, and my balls stop aching.”
Brent picked up his cell phone, and called the cell phone number Father Richardson had given him if he needed any assistance coping with his “problem.” He hadn’t called yet, much to Richardson’s regret, but he was about to get a stunning surprise and an opportunity to do more than watch one of the hunkiest teens in the community.
Brent waited as the number rang, impatient that the call would be switched to message, and he wouldn’t get through, when suddenly it was picked up: “ Hello, this is Father Richardson, can I help you?”
“Hey Father, this is Brent, Brent McDermott, you remember I came to confession a few days ago, and we talked about a personal problem?”
“My son, I gave you my phone number, but you did not give me your name. Perhaps you can help me by recalling our discussion, or your problem.” Father Richardson recognized Brent’s voice, but he wanted to make the boy humiliate himself, and admit to his needs.
“Ah, Father, it was kinda personal, something I’d rather not discuss on the phone, but maybe we could talk this afteroon before dinner…I could come down to the church and we could meet in the confessional. Would that work?”
“Brent, I hope you don’t mind if I call you by your first name, would this be about the sin of masturbation, and difficulties you were having controlling your urge to play with your penis?”
There was a silence, and then Brent spoke slowly and reluctantly. “Yeah, Father, that was me…I’m having a real problem, and before I go astray, I’d really appreciate your guidance.” In the meantime, Johnny had sprung a full boner of his own, listening to Brent and Father Richardson. The moment the priest began to speak about masturbation, Johnny began to knead his boy prick, and work the inflamed knob. The Father and Brent had been discussing Brent’s masturbation! Holy Shit! And now, Brent was going down to see Father Richardson, to talk with him about it some more. He listened as the two agreed to meet in forty-five minutes, and in the confessional booths at the far end of the church. There was only one thing for Johnny to do, get there first.
Johnny grabbed some of his electronic devices, and flew downstairs, telling his mom that he had to get to Darren’s house with some school work immediately. He jumped on his bike, and flew down the street, only five minutes away from St. Mary’s. He locked his bike around the corner, and then made a discreet, quiet entrance to the church. He scoped out the sanctuary, and saw where the alcove where the confessional was located and the priest had directed Brent to go. Quickly and quietly he worked his way to the alcove. He noted that the cubicles where Father Richardson and Brent had agreed to meet were currently empty. The Father on duty was at the other end of the aisle, and the door to the booth in which the confessor would sit was open. The priest was on his own, and the privacy gave Johnny the time and cover he needed. It took him ten minutes, but he was able to place a remote camera and speaker into the confessional booth behind where the priest would sit, and then another in the confessor
’s booth that would capture the small panorama of the cubicle. He wanted to make sure to get Brent’s face, as well as the words between him and Father Richardson. Little did he know that he would get much, much more, and that it would feed perfectly into his plans for Brent. Johnny made sure there was no one in the alcove, and as quietly as he slipped in, he slipped out, getting back on his bike, and heading home. He needed to be ready to capture the intimate details that Brent would be sharing with Father Richardson, information that he hoped would help. But what was about to happen would not only help Johnny, it would provide a venue for some of what he had planned for Brent.
As Johnny raced home on his bike, his still erect prick was rubbing madly against his shorts, torturing the burning knob, and making him leak like a sieve. When he arrived he ditched his mountain bike in the garage, and sprinted upstairs to get to his computer, monitors, and speakers.
At the same time, Brent was walking down the street to get to St. Mary’s and Father Richardson. He had showered quickly, all neatly captured on Johnny’s equipment, especially when he soaped and massaged his long, thick cock, unable to keep himself from playing with the big prick and working it into a tingling erection. But in spite of massaging the soft, lubricating suds over his raging boner, and plying the sensitive glans, he finally wrenched his fist away from his cock. He got out of the shower, dried himself and dressed casually, so he could get to Father Richardson and what he hoped would be a miraculous relief. The clock was ticking, and even as Brent walked his big boy penis was still leaking, soiling the clean white briefs and causing it to chaff the sensitive knob. Soon, Brent McDermott would lose control of the cock which was the center of his teenage focus, and the object of his frantic efforts for sexual relief.