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The School of Hard Cocks
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
SCHOOL OF HARD COCKS - CHAPTER 3
The librarian was stunned by my sudden interest in reading, but
it devolved that Frankie had found the only really interesting
thing there. I did, however, learn to spell "prostate", and found
it was *not* "where my jizm was stored". Frankie and I continued
to meet secretively to enjoy our mutual ass-play until we were
discovered at it one day by some other boys; we were briefly the
"butt" of some jokes, it was not long before most of the guys had
fingered each others' bums. And the discovery that even the
bookish Frankie could be coaxed into "getting down and dirty"
like the rest of us enhanced our spirit of comraderie. Still, no
one broke the rule about butt-fucking (fingers and vegetables
excepted).
As christmas holiday approached, I hoped to hear from my folks;
most of the boys were going home. But *my* wonderful parents took
a vacation to Hawaii (I discovered later), so I and a few other
boys stayed at school. There was nothing to do, so we had to make
up something. We soon tired of writing our names in the snow with
piss, ("NEVER eat yellow snow!") but in the course of amusing
ourselves with this mindless exercise I discovered by accident
that Todd, an older lad from Vincent hall, was really "into"
watersports. He had a *huge* bladder, it seemed, and he could
maintain a steady piss stream for as long as three minutes if he
put his mind to it: for some reason, he was proud of this
ability.
On a dare one day, we stole a whole case of cokes from the
pantry, and took it up to the attic. Todd quaffed six of the
little bottles in quick succession. After about an hour of
playing cards, Todd refilled one of the empty bottles with piss,
and drank a seventh cola. In a remarkably short time, he had
consumed and re-filled all twenty-four bottles, spilling almost
none in the process. To our astonishment (and a few "eeeew,
gross!" comments), he then drank the first bottle, and by evening
had recycled the entire case of twenty-four! When we discovered
Todd was all by himself in Vincent hall, we invited him to stay
with us in Howard for the duration, giving us time to find he had
a few other kinks. He was totally into piss: he would willingly
drink "from the tap", and he loved to have us all "store it up"
and then go all over him in the shower room. Lying on the tiles,
drenched in warm urine, he'd jerk himself off to a frenzied
climax, which generally got us all worked up and wanking happily
away.
I asked Todd how he came to enjoy this odd sport; he said he'd
had tutors all his life, and one of them had used pissing on him
as form of discipline. But, as kids will, Todd had turned
something supposed to be onerous into something fun, and
deliberately "mis-behaved" frequently in order to get his
"punishment". But he asked us not to reveal his secret to his
mates in Vincent, because he felt sure the older guys there might
not be so "accepting" as we were. In retrospect, I think he was
right.
Winter gave way to Spring, at last; among the fond memories I
have of that long period of cold, short days and long *warm*
nights are some of the usual pranks known to all boys: "short-
sheeting", farting contests - that sort of thing. The cleaning
staff were *not* amused when we re-discovered the old "pan of
warm water" trick. Someone passed this on to a chap in Vincent,
who tried it (we heard through the "grapevine") on Todd, who
scarcely needed the inducement of a hand dangling in a pan of
warm water to "let go": so voluminous was his effusion that his
mattress had to be replaced!
Separation of the "V"s and the "H"s meant that in team sports it
was always V's vs. H's: *this* meant the V's almost always won,
since the Vincent boys were older and more experienced. But as
that first year advanced, I led the Howard swimming team to
victory, which enhanced my "status" considerably. With my
reputation as a hellion firmly established, it was generally to
me that my classmates turned in search of new adventures. When a
chance discovery of the word "bestiality" in the dictionary got
me to thinking, I decided a nearby farm might offer some prospect
of amusement.
The trouble was, I (like all the boys at H-K MA) was a "city-
slicker" with no experience around farm animals. But a few week-
end forays to the grounds of the Donnybrook Farm soon revealed
that animals get horny, too, and plans to capitalize on this
began to take shape. It was not long before the more adventurous
of us had discovered that calves will suck on *anything*!
This led to another experience. One warm lazy saturday afternoon,
Owen and I were casually getting sucked off through a fence
behind the barn by two calves. Without warning, each of us was
gripped by our shirts and jerked backwards, and I upwards off my
feet. Owen was 14 or so and larger than me. I wiggled around, and
looked into the stubbled face of what seemed to me a *giant* of a
man.
"Waal, looky here," he drawled. " 'Coupla da boyz from the skool
over yonder, likin' to git their lil' dicks sucked by a itty-
bitty calf!"
He put me down, but did not let go. He was craggy and lean,
dressed in dirty overalls. With our hands free, Owen and I tried
to stuff ourselves back in our pants. Owen looked panicky.
The farm-hand spun us around and looked us over. "Y'all's too
runty-like", he said to me: "GIT!" - and he thrust me away from
him. But without a word, he marched Owen towards an open door in
the barn. I ran, looking back frequently, and when they had
disappeared into the barn, ran back as quickly and quietly as I
could: I felt a responsibility to Owen. By the time I found a
knot-hole in the rough boards that gave me a view, the farm-hand
had lashed Owen by his wrists, extended over his head, to a post
that held up part of the roof. The guy stepped back, lit up a
ciggie, and examined his prisoner. Owen was shaking visibly. The
man puffed his cig slowly, apparently pondering what to do next.
When the smoke was done, he ground out the butt on the floor,
then removed his shirt. He was hairy, lean, and mean looking.
He stood in front of Owen, whipped out a pocket-knife, and in a
trice had sliced Owen's tee-shirt right up its front. He cut it
through to each arm, and roughly jerked it from Owen's frame.
Sweat glistened on Owen's chest, and he began to moan, just on
the edge of crying.
"Please, Mister..." was all he could think of to say.
"Hmmmm: right purty, that," the man said. "Wanna see the rest."
The knife-blade glinted in a beam of sunlight. The man unbuckled
Owen's belt, pulled it out and flung it aside. Then he took his
knife and in a single pass sliced the pants from the waist to the
end of one leg; he repeated this on the other side, and Owen's
pants fell away. That knife was *sharp*, no doubt about it, and I
was beginning to shake with fear. Owen was sobbing now, and
sweating even more. Rivulets of liquid poured down his chest, re-
appearing below his boxers to mingle with the few hairs he had on
his legs. The man lit another smoke, and again stepped back to
admire Owen, who, despite his fear, was certainly worthy of
admiration. Like all the boys, he was nicely developed. Hanging
there from his bound wrists, his almost-hairless armpits were
exposed and his chest muscles were stretched alarmingly.
Still smoking, the man stuck a finger into Owen's boxers and
flipped his soft prick out through the opening. Then he stood
back again, fingering the sharp blade of the knife, seemingly
giving thought to slicing off Owen's dangling dong. This was too
much for me; I had to do *something* to save my friend! I rushed
to the still-open door and burst in on Owen and his captor.
"Hey, Mister!" I shouted, hoping there was someone around to hear
me, "leave my buddy alone, for gosh sakes! Let him GO! Let *us*
go!"
The man grabbed me by my shirt once again and effortlessly lifted
me off my feet.
"Ah ain' gonna hurt yer buddy," he said sarcastically. "But since
y'all done come back ta try an mess me up, y'all's gonna git to
watch."
In a trice, he had me tied to another post, with my arms behind
my back and a light lash around my ankles and neck. I was
powerless against this guy, twice my height and weight, and
clearly strong as an ox.
"Jist keep you little mouf shut now," an don' make no trubble:
they's no'n roundabout thishere barn 'cept us three. I don' like
runty 'n's like y'all, but thisyear" - he turned to Owen -
"young'n's jist ma kinda meat."
The knife flashed again, and Owen was utterly bare, his boxers
added to the heap of shredded clothes. The man stood back in
admiration; he unclasped the straps of his baggy overalls and
dropped them, revealing a fully engorged dick of ample
dimensions. Then he knelt before my trembling friend and slurped
his soft pecker into his mouth.
Owen's adolescent body responded: "Mister, could you let me
loose? I promise, I won't run away, but the blood's run out of my
arms, and it hurts," he said.
The man stood effortlessly, and a twinge of appreciation swept
through me as his lean, muscular legs propelled him. He fetched
the knife from his overalls, and cut the rope suspending Owen,
leaving him with his wrists tied, but free to drop his arms. Owen
nearly collapsed, but managed to remain standing in front of the
post: he did not try to run. After a moment's thought, the man
cut the rope from Owen's wrists as well: Owen rubbed his arms
briskly, trying to get circulation going in them.
"Guess'n y'all won' run an leeve yer boyfriend's behind," the man
said, "but don' y'all be making any trubble fer me, neether! Ain'
agonna hurtcha if'n ah can hep it..." With that he savagely
jammed the point of the knife into the post just above Owen's
head, where it would be handy...
He knelt again and resumed sucking on Owen's dick. I was
beginning to relax *just* a little, getting the feeling that we
*might* get out of this alive and in one piece. The man was
feeling Owen all over with his huge hands, and sucking noisily. I
got a hard-on just from watching. When Owen began to thrust as if
to come, the man stopped sucking. He grasped Owen's ankles and
spread them far apart, then spun around on his heels and buried
his face in Owen's backside. He seemed intent on *eating* Owen as
he alternately bit on the fleshy cheeks before him and licked
Owen's shit-crack with his long tongue. I was pretty sure this
was new to Owen: I had a momentary flash-back to Mr. Schwartz,
and knew if Owen could relax, he might like it. Owen's hard-on
did not soften, so I guessed he was enjoying the man's efforts.
Nor had the man's dick softened, either: he stroked it now and
then, and it became very wet and glossy.
"Don'cha'all move!" the man ordered. He stood up, picked up a
large wooden barrel, and placed it in front of Owen. He grabbed a
thick horse-blanket from a peg and threw it over the barrel, then
threw Owen over the blanket. Then he got down behind Owen, spread
his cheeks with his hands, and resumed his attentions to Owen's
shapely bum. Sweat poured from their bodies, and I found myself
pretty wet as well. I'd have played with myself, but with my
hands tied, it was impossible. Watching this man shove his slimy
tongue in and out of Owen's bung was making me horny. Owen's
moans now seemed to be those of pleasure instead of fear.
"Don'cha'all move!" the man ordered again. He stood for another
cigarette, his erection never flagging for an instant: Owen's
nubile body remained rolled over the barrel, his creamy white
legs spread-eagled behind him. The man paid no mind to me at all.
But when he moved again, I knew at once that I was going to see
my friend fucked. *My* erection drooped, and fear gnawed at my
heart. The man leaned far over the barrel, grasped Owen's arms,
and moved them alongside his body. Holding Owen's wrists and
balancing himself on the barrel, he lowered his throbbing wet
cock towards Owen's butt: with perfect aim, the engorged head of
his dick found Owen's anus, and began to slowly, very slowly,
disappear. I expected Owen to cry out, but there was silence. In
just a few minutes the man's body covered Owen's completely.
Despite a feeling in my own backside of what Owen might be
experiencing, the scene was incredibly erotic, and my prick rose
back up.
They lay coupled for several minutes, then the man withdrew
slowly until almost all of his cock was exposed; then reversed,
and plunged it home again. He repeated this over and over,
gathering speed. His muscular legs, long arms and powerful back
were synchronized perfectly, and my hard-on throbbed in my pants
as I watched. What I could see of Owen appeared completely
relaxed as this lanky farm-hand fucked him, faster now, faster
and faster, until, with a last potent lunge, he collapsed on top
of the hapless boy. I watched as the muscles of the man's ass
contracted and dimpled, relaxed, contracted again, the only
outward evidence that his seed was flooding Owen's colon. My dick
throbbed in synchrony, and my balls were beginning to ache,
because I could not join the copulating pair before my eyes.
Eventually, his orgasm completed, the man pushed himself up from
the barrel and withdrew from Owen. His rapidly softening cock
glistened, and some cum dripped from the tip. I half expected it
to be covered in blood or shit, but neither was in evidence.
"Don'cha'all move!" the man ordered again, less forcefully,
"cummin' rat back". He went out of the barn and effortlessly
loosed his water against the door standing open there. He
returned, stepped into his overalls, flipped the straps over his
shapely shoulders and hooked them in front. Then, almost
tenderly, he bent and helped my buddy off the barrel. Though
Owen's face was flushed with blood, I thought there was a
"satisfied" look on his face! Standing naked, he said, "Ooops!"
and a wet, rattly fart escaped; jism ran down his buns, along the
back of one leg, and fell away just above his knee. His dick
remained hard, standing straight out from his slightly hairy
pubes. He definitely needed relief of his own.
Reading my thought, the man pulled the knife from the post and
sliced the ropes from me. Scarcely thinking of what I was doing,
I opened my pants to let my dick "breathe".
The man lit up again. Blowing smoke through his nose, he said,
"That wuz a rat naise pieca boy-ass! Grows 'em good over at th'
skool, they do! But I sees y'all needin' sumthin' more, so ah'l
jist watchya take care o' each other, seein' hows I's a bit
tuckered out 'n'all."
I was on Owen's dick in an instant, anxious to get things over
with; I swept my hand up the back of his leg to gather the cum
still seeping from his ass, slathered it over his nipples, and
sucked like a mad-man: Owen shot his load almost instantly, and I
thought I might drown before he was finished. "Tuckered out"
himself, he then sat on the barrel, and I jerked off and shot my
wad all over his chest and stomach.
"Purty." was all the man said.
Now our problem was, how to get Owen back to the school, seeing
that his clothes lay in shreds.
"They's a coupla una-forms over yonder," the man said. Vincent
boys leave 'em behind some nights. Hep yersef.
"They'll prolly be too big for him: we're Howards," I replied.
"Ah don' giva sheeit *what* y'are, I evah catch y'all feeding my
calves again, ah'll fuck the both of ya! Now, *GIT*!"
Well, there were enough clothes to get Owen passably dressed, and
as soon as we could skedaddle, we were *out* of that barn! As we
tramped across the field, I was quick to ask Owen if he was
alright, and if getting fucked had hurt. "Naw, 'taint the first
time: guess you could tell that. But you've got to promise that's
*our* secret!"
"Sure!" I said, "but it looks to me like the Vincents have been
spending some time in that barn."
"That, too, will be our secret - for now, at least", Owen
replied.
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