Punk Kids or Brett's Big Boner 8

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].

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When Brent arrived at the church, he went straight to the alcove where the confessional was maintained, and to the same booth he had used last time he spoke with Father Richardson, as the Father instructed over the phone. He looked about furtively, and blushed as he walked into the booth. The last time he had been in that booth, he had shot scum from his aching pecker, and the thought of it made his whorish prick stiffen and leak a bit. Brent still did not know that the Father had watched him masturbate during the confession, nor that the screen between the two booths could be removed---if necessary. All he knew is that he was unable to control himself the last time he had been here; the town’s most handsome and athletic boy, with an unruly penis that seemed to
have a mind of its own.

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

Soon the fiction was removed by the good priest advising Morgan that his was a sin of sexual depravity at an early age, and that unless he cooperated, he would be sent to a special camp where boy’s like him learned attitude adjustment and a disciplined work ethic. Fearing the influence that Father Richardson had with his mother, Morgan agreed to the priest’s regimen which included the weekly spankings now on his bare ass with his briefs and pants at his ankles, and a ritual milking of his hard prick. Morgan was disgusted by the thought of another guy handling his dick, but he could not resist the sensations produced when Father Richardson’s calloused palm closed around his short, thick pricklet and brought him to at least two and often three shuddering ejaculations at each visit. Today, after his spanking had resulted in the expected erection, Morgan had been required to strip naked, and lean back on his haunches on the Father’s desk, his hands resting at his ankles, bowing his firm torso up and out. The position accentuated his hard boy dick, it’s ruddy knob, wet with anticipation. Father had prayed as always, and made Morgan do the same in that awkward, lewd position. Then the priest had taken some “holy oil” anointed his hands and while one frigged the boy’s willing boner, the other had snaked in between his muscled thighs and found under his bouncing testicles the ragged line of his anus. Working with a determined stroke, Father Richardson’s index finger had wormed its way inside Morgan’s resisting sphincter, and coupled with his relentless fist, he had brought the young boy to a shattering ejaculation, with pellets of his boy cum flying from the expanded cock head as the priest ruthlessly twisted it in his insatiable grip. Morgan was given brief interludes, filled with praying, and then two more times his helpless pricklet was thumbed, squeezed, and roiled to delicious ejaculations. The second time Father Richardson had tweaked his nipples, sending electric shocks to his penis as the fist slide up, over and down his stalk, and the third time he was required to suck two fingers while he was masturbated. Ricahrdson had told him that the insertion of the fingers was a symbol of his silence before God, but in fact it merely reduced the boy to a helpless, distracted punk as his fat cock knob was mauled into submission one final time by the greedy priest. Before he left, Morgan was admonished to keep his hands off of his penis, the priest reminding him that if their sessions did not produce strong ejaculations he would know that the boy had been engaging in proscribed behavior. So Morgan left, realizing that his desperate boy need to cum would only be satisfied at the hands of this young priest, and resigned himself to another week of difficult self-control and spontaneous erections as he waited for his appointment with the uncompromising cleric. Father Richardson had enjoyed his session, and masturbated furiously after the boy had left to relieve his own leaky prick. But with Brent’s call, his ardor was restored, and already his cock was stiff in anticipation of dealing with the most beautiful boy in the parrish.

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

“Father, I did as you said, I kept my hands from my penis, and did not masturbate to ejaculation…but, Father, I can’t go this way for days and days without gettting sorta backed up, you know, my testicles ache I gotta find a way to release the pressure. Can you suggest anything, please Father, otherwise I feel like I’m gonna explode.” Assuming again that no one could see him, Brent began to massage his big basket with his long, thick fingers, and his cock hardened and lengthened, snaking up from his loose briefs, beyond the waistband, towards his navel. The fat knob rested on his stomach against the depression where his hairy navel was located. He unbuttoned his shirt and he let his thumb tease the leaky, fat knob that was exposed. He closed his eyes, and pulled out the flaps of his shirt so that his cock drool would not stain it, and his thumb could have unfettered access. As he grazed his fat plum, his tits hardened, and made cones in the material of his shirt.

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

“Ah, I’m not sure Father…” Brent’s furrowed his brow in an inquisitive manner, even though his eyes were closed and his fingers were toying with his fat mushroom cap.

“Recently my son (Father Richardson lied), I had a case where a young man who was about to be married was in your situation. I reminded him that in particular before his wedding, he could not spill his seed. That he should save for the wedding night, in the arms of his wife. He begged me to help him, because he did not feel he could resist the temptation of his strong calloused fist, sliding up and down his rigid penis.” Father carefully selected his words, growing more and more salacious as he spoke, making Brent get hotter and hotter, and leading the teen to the precipice he wanted him to fall over. “ Eventually, I had to take matters into my own hands, so to speak. The young man was going to slip into sin if I did not act, and so for the sake of his immortal soul, and to keep him pure for his wedding night, I volunteered to take on his pain.

Then there was the college boy who came to see me to confess his sin of self-abuse. He said he kept a soft white cotton sock under his bed, and at night when his roommate was asleep, he would either slide his hand into the sock to glove its sinful intentions, or he would slide the sock over his long, thick penis and chaff the material over and over the sticky, prideful head. It got to the point that he would sneak into the room during the day when he should have been in classes to play with his always rampant penis, and even went into the bathrooms in the library to lower his pants and briefs and expose the snake to his calloused fist.” Smiling as he watched Brent lower his own pants and briefs again, and begin to slide his fist up and down his rigid shaft, Father continued his careful speech. “I explained that the only way he could achieve salvation would be to turn the offending member over the God, and that I would help him cross over to the path of righteousness.”

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

“If there is no other way to counsel you into controlling your physical demands and unholy wants and needs, I will perform for you the same service I have for other young men who wish to live up to the gospels, to the virtues and to their own honor. Come forward to the screen.” By now, Johnny had a painful erection as he watched transfixed. The gullible Brent McDermott stood and shuffled over to the screen, while Father Richardson on the other side was firmly stroking his own erection underneath his cassock. “I want you to rest against the wall, and close your eyes, and pray with me…and I will handle your problem. “Say with me…Father, help me to have strength to resist my unmanly lusts, my desire to touch my flesh and spill my seed; allow me to surrender to Father Richardson my wicked intentions so that he may lead me away from the path of sin.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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