Sam Johnson

Little Black Death

I'm not much of a doctor, but when it comes to abusing young teenage boys, I defy anyone to top me. It has been my life's work and I have, I think, taken the art-form to a whole new level.

I still practice today, and still thoroughly enjoy my work, but, without a doubt, the old days were best. I know, I know – the tiresome view of every old codger squinnying at the tawdry globe around him. But in the case of molesting sweet young boys, it is indisputably true.

1978 was my year to remember. I got a temporary gig as Consulting Physician at St. Sebastian's boys' boarding school. It was a conservative, wealthy establishment, tucked away in the foothills behind a small country town. A strict Methodist ethos pervaded the place – more reminiscent of the puritanical fifties than the swingin' seventies.

Not long after I arrived at the school, I saw Ben. A gorgeous short-back-and-sides boy, wrestling with a couple of his pals in the lower quadrangle. I stopped in breathless admiration. Angelic, he was, but quite vigorous and ruddy cheeked. Then an older boy, Jarrod Gack, got my boy in a playful headlock from behind, held him for a bit, then grabbed him round the midriff, lifted him up and threatened to plonk him in a rubbish bin. Much laughing and shouting – all in good high spirits. It took only fifteen seconds of this rambunctious play for me, hag-like, to seal the boy's fate to mine.

By gosh he was a looker, and at that perfect tender age. Budding boyish youth. Clean-cut but wanting to be a rough-nut. Jut-jawed but ethereal. Shy but yearning for manhood. Boyhood in its most exquisite spring bloom.

As it happened, the timing of the lad's appearance couldn't have been more perfect. I'd recently sourced a new drug and was waiting for the right moment. Can't say too much about the drug, sorry. Very hush-hush. Suffice to say, on a recent trip to the subcontinent, I came back with more than the usual brain-pan full of underage memories.

Taken orally, this drug – let's call it 'benzidite' – has absolutely no effect whatsoever. Except one: it turns the taker's urine black. I tried it and it worked a treat. A very disturbing sight, to see your urine emerge in a filthy black stream. Even knowing what I knew, I couldn't help a feeling that something was wrong deep inside me.

Slipping it to the boy wasn't a problem. During a torrid game of rugger or tugger – or whatever sporting endeavour it was that the lads were panting their way through – I simply added it to his water bottle. Due to a recent flu epidemic, the boy's had been instructed to provide their own clearly labelled drink containers.

It was then just a matter of sitting back in my surgery and waiting. My only fear was that the boy would freak, ring his parents and go off to see the trusted family physician. Not that the 'benzidite' could be traced to me, but it would certainly short-circuit the magnificent summer of fun I'd been furiously imagining.

But, first thing next morning, my feverish midnight dreaming turned suddenly, shockingly, real. He was there in my waiting room when I arrived! Perched on the edge of a chair, looking most adorably worried.

I frowned and was curt. "Surgery doesn't open for another half-hour, son."

Standing, wiping his hands on his school pants, he said, "Um, yeah, sorry, Doctor Jones, but it's… I gotta problem."

"Wish I had a dollar…" I muttered.

"Huh?"

Oh he was too, too adorable.

"Do you have an appointment?" I asked.

The boy shook his head.

"Well I won't be able to see you today – too busy – sorry." I walked on past him, about the enter my office.

He almost grabbed my arm "Um, Dr. Jones – please, it's real bad."

"Will it take long?" I asked.

That threw him a bit. "Well… dunno… it's…"

Gorgeous! I sighed impatiently. "Oh alright. Come through. It'll have to be quick, though."

"Yep. Right. Thanks a lot."

As I sat down in my swivel chair, popping my briefcase away, I motioned for him to take a seat beside my desk. He did, again perching on the edge, rubbing his hands nervously on his thighs.

The boy couldn't wait any longer. "This morning when –"

"One moment," I interrupted, holding up a hand. "Now, name?"

"Ben Chesterton."

"Age?"

"Fourteen."

Plucking his file from the bottom drawer on my right, I opened and scanned it. "Well, a clean bill of health, Master Chesterton. Excellent."

"Mm."

"This is your first trip to the surgery in your eighteen months at Sebastian's! You must tell me your secret."

The lad tried to give a small laugh but was too worried.

"So what can I do for you, Ben?" I said, slapping his file down and giving him my full attention.

He immediately blurted: "When I went to the toilet this morning my, ah, pee was black."

I looked at him, saying nothing, as if trying to hide my sudden, very deep concern. "… are you sure, Ben?"

He nodded, watching my face with growing fear

"But was it really black? Or just darker than normal, sort of orangey brown?"

The boy shook his head vigorously. "No, no – totally black. I couldn't believe it. Just this morning when I went, about an hour ago."

I got a small plastic sample jar from my desk drawer, screwed the yellow cap off, and handed it to the boy. "Urinate in there for me, please Ben."

The boy took the jar with a nod, serious little face – he'd obviously been expecting this. Standing up he asked politely, "Um, where will I do it?"

"In the jar," I said, curtly. "At least half-full if you can."

"Um, yeah… but where will I go to do it – is the toilet out there?" Pointing at the waiting room.

"Ben, just do it for me here, please. I need to see your stream."

"Oh." The boy tried to act casual, but his dear cheeks reddened. Holding the jar in one hand, he started fumbling at his fly, then suddenly put the jar down on the chair and turned his back to me, and again started fumbling at pants. "I'll just… you know… to get started."

I let him do it that way, enjoying his adolescent shyness. The boys at St. Sebastian's live under a rigorously enforced policy of modesty. All changing and showering is done in private cubicles, even at bedtime. Headmaster thinks it prevents homosexual tendencies. It's main effect, though, is to make the boys extremely shy about anyone ever looking at their bodies.

He picked the jar back up and brought it to himself. I watched the young fella from behind. The silence was very strained. I listened with great care, but could hear no little trickles start up. He occasionally moved an elbow, shifted his stance, as he tried to coax a stream from himself.

After a full two minutes of fruitless endeavour, I said, "Try pulling your pants down, Ben. That sometimes helps younger boys."

But he suddenly zipped himself back up, turned around. "I can't," he mumbled, blushing angrily. "I haven't got any, cos I went just before."

I told him to sit back down as I went to the water fountain for a paper cup full of water. Sighing, I said, "I am rather pushed for time, Ben. Anyway, we'll get the sample after. I have some questions I need to ask you now."

The boy took the cup from me, nervously spilling some of it, gulping the rest down in one go.

"Ben," I said, taking my seat and looking directly at him, "there's only one thing that can cause a boy to have black urine – it's an infection called 'postillionitis'. Have you heard of it?"

The boy shook his head.

"It can be very serious if not treated early. It starts in the prostate gland. Do you know where your prostate gland is?"

"Um… I think I've heard of it…"

"The main danger, Ben, is that the infection can quickly spread. It can affect your entire reproductive system, and it's very nasty. It can get into your testicles and cause them to shrink, rendering you sterile. If it gets into your penis, it'll cause fistulas and will eventually block your entire urogenital function. Then we have to cut a hole near the base of your penis for you to urinate out of. In extreme cases the penis can become gangrenous and has to be removed."

The boy's cheeks now blanched white – he was a strawberry and ice-cream delight, this one! – horrified by my lurid vision of sexual rot and decay. Ben, a good boy, like all good boys of his era, had grown up comprehensively repressed and ignorant of sexual matters. His own body would be causing him many anxieties by now. The school lectured quite vigorously against self-abuse, and ruthlessly extirpated any signs of homosexual activity. My garish vision had thrust before the boy a demonic new container to pour his fears into – a place for them to put down roots, sprout and grow.

"Hopefully," I continued, "you're only in the early stages of infection. When did you first notice your urine turning black?"

"It – just this morning – I mean, it was totally normal til today. But it was totally black just now."

"And have you noticed any pain or tenderness in your testicles recently?"

"Ah… um… no, no."

"Would you mind checking for me now, Ben? It's important."

"Check…?"

"Yes please."

He shifted a little uneasily on his chair, gave a nervous laugh. "Well… um, they feel alright; nothing hurts…"

"Ben," I said, impatiently, "I need to you to feel your testicles, see if they are tender or painful to touch."

"Oh… right… sorry."

Sucking his tummy in and untucking the front of his shirt, the boy pushed his hand down the front of his school pants.

"Ben!" I said sharply. "Please! You don't need do that."

The kid yanked his hand out as if he'd touched a hotplate. "Uh! Sorry… but, I thought…"

"Stand up," I ordered.

The boy did, flustered.

"Come here – closer." Grabbing him by the elbow, I pulled him close, then put my hand between his legs to fondle him through his pants. The shock registered on his face, glancing down, then away, wincing with embarrassment. I worked at his boy-package, getting the pant-material to close-hug the outline of his boy-bulge, felt the snug shape of him in his cotton and nylon, his warm penis and scrotum one soft boy-mass fitting neatly the cupped palm of my hand.

"Umm…" he breathed, with a slight quaver, but wasn't able to say any more.

"So you can't feel any tenderness there, Ben?"

"Nah… nup." He cleared his throat.

"Good." I continued fondling him, more firmly now, digging my fingers behind his balls, dragging his boy-package forward, making him bulge lewdly in his school pants, and hurting him a bit, so that he shuffled forward a couple of steps, a hint of a protesting noise starting in the back of his throat.

"Alright?" I asked.

"Well, it's… you're… ow! – they're squashing up too much." And he shuffled forward again so that he was almost straddling my knees, his prominent boy-bulge barely a ruler-length from my chin.

Then I relaxed my grip but kept his boy-sex cupped in my hand. He immediately moved back a bit, but I still had hold of his elbow, and he didn't attempt to break away.

"Ben, when did you last have intercourse?"

I felt a little flinch go through him. "Um… how do you mean?" The boys, in PE, were biannually given some basic cold clinical reproductive information. The word 'intercourse' was the word of choice for the dread act. The sudden deepening of Ben's blush showed he knew exactly what I meant.

"I mean, Ben, when did you last have sex with one of the local girls; specifically vaginal penetration." I took my hand from the stricken boy's crotch, but kept him where he was.

There was a strange bit of sexual mythologising going on at St Sebastian's at that time. Three years before, two year nine boys had rolled up one Tuesday morning, drunk and dishevelled. It was a shocking sight. This sort of thing simply didn't happen. The story went round that they'd been out all night having an orgy with six girls from a neighbouring farm. To be honest, I doubt there was any truth to it, but it doesn't really matter.

Over the succeeding years it became a common boast among the younger boys to say that they had snuck out one night to fuck a girl in a paddock. There was an unspoken boy-agreement to 'believe' each others stories of wild sex encounters. And while, at some level, the boys knew they were all speaking fantastical nonsense, it was the only sex life they had, and the stories had a strangely powerful effect on their psyches. Each boy carried with him the private worry that all his buddies were out there fucking girls like men, while he was stuck as the only sissy virgin in the village.

Groups of young lads did sometimes sneak off at night, with the stated intention of finding a local girl to fuck, but, strangely, the actual act of vaginal intercourse never seemed to materialise. The hot spilling of boy-seed certainly took place on these trips, but only to the strains of other hot, panting boys. And how could it be otherwise? The poor repressed, sex-crazed lads had no idea what sex with a girl might entail – how they should go about it, what unspeakable treasure might actually lie between a girl's exciting legs.

So my question had caused Ben no small amount of upset.

"Ben," I said, "This infection you have is too serious for you to be bashful. Curing postillionitis depends almost entirely on you giving me accurate information about yourself. Now I'm well aware you boys regularly sneak off to have sex with the local girls. Everyone knows it happens. The headmaster turns a blind eye because, frankly, it would be unhealthy at your age not to have regular sexual contact with girls. So, I need to know when you last did it."

"Um, not… I can't really remember…"

I sighed impatiently. "I know for a fact, Ben, that a group of boys from your dorm went to O'Reilly's Orchard last Wednesday night to meet some girls for sex. Smith and Edgerton and a few others. Did you go that night?"

The boy seemed to sway on his feet a bit – Smith and Edgerton were the same age as Ben, in a different friendship group, though, and lower down the pecking order. Ben was visibly shocked to hear unequivocal evidence that those boys had done it with a girl. "No…" he croaked.

"Well when, Ben? Come on, I have other patients to see."

He cleared his throat, unsuccessfully. "I, um, haven't…"

"Sorry?"

"Haven't… you know, with a girl…"

I let a pregnant silence draw out. "You've never had sex with a girl?"

Looking at the carpet, he gave his head a small shake.

"Oh, I see… so have you had sex with a boy, then?"

"No! 'Course not."

"Ben, whatever you say here will be kept in strictest confidence. If you tell me about the sex you have with boys, it will not be recorded on your file and I won't inform the headmaster – you won't be expelled."

"Well I haven't ever and that's the truth." The boy was adamant, stony-faced.

"Ben, if you're lying, because you're ashamed or guilty, the consequences for your health could be disastrous. I'm not joking –"

"And I'm not lying! I've never done nuthin' like that with a boy!"

"Okay, Ben, that's fine. Don't get angry. I know it's embarrassing, but I have to ask these questions." I had no doubt the boy was telling the truth, and found it quite arousing, his purity, his chastity.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"Remove your clothes, please, Ben."

The suddenness of the request startled him, with his blood still up, but he stepped back from me a bit and began unbuttoning his school shirt. Second button down, he paused. "Like… take everything off?"

"That's right." I kept my gaze steadily on him, made a point of watching him undress.

As he slipped the shirt of his divine young shoulders, I said, "When did you last ejaculate, Ben?"

"Wha…? I dunno…" barely audible.

"Ben," I said, with a stern note of warning.

As he dropped his shirt on the chair, he mumbled, "Um… is this private?"

"Of course. I won't report you. Because, believe me Ben, if you don't give honest, accurate answers to my questions, I may not be able to treat your condition properly, and your black urine will be followed by a lot worse."

Reminding him of his black water did the trick. "Um, yeah, alright – it was… prob'ly last night."

"Probably? I need to know for certain, Ben."

"Yeah… last night."

"You're certain?"

"Yeah."

"How did it occur?"

The boy shot me a pained, disbelieving look. Very difficult for a lad who would, in normal circumstances, have preferred losing a limb to admitting this sort of stuff. "Geez, I dunno, I just… you know."

"Ben…"

"What? Well, you know, I just did… that self-abuse stuff…"

It was torture for the blushing boy, folding his arms across his naked young chest. You have to remember, back then this was a dreadfully filthy and disgusting thing for a boy to admit.

"Where were you when you masturbated yourself?"

"… in bed."

"Keep undressing, please, Ben."

"… sorry." He squatted down to take his shoes off.

"Would you describe it as a normal masturbation event?" I asked.

Ben, hunched over his shoes, mumbled, "I don't hardly ever do it, though – just last night…"

"Okay, fine, we'll worry about the health problems that masturbation will cause you another time. For now I want you to try and remember very clearly your masturbation last night. I know it's a bit embarrassing, but it's important. As you were stroking yourself and getting more and more excited, did it feel like it normally does, like other times you've done it?"

"I don't hardly ever do it," he protested stubbornly.

"Just answer the question, Ben."

"Um… well, yeah, I s'pose… like normal."

His shoes and socks now under the chair, he stood back up, just in school pants now, his naked upper body showing the sweet subtle hints of early development, the boy-smoothness of him so stark under the bright lights.

"You're sure?"

He nodded.

"It didn't feel slightly more intense, sort of sharper and almost painful as you approached your orgasm?"

"Jesus…" he muttered under his breath. "It was… just normal," he mumbled.

"Take your pants off, please, Ben."

I let him do this in absolute silence, watching him with a level gaze as he unbuckled his belt with nervous boy-fingers, got the zip undone, dropped 'em down to his ankles and stepped out of them. He put them on the chair with his shirt, stood back in front of me, clearing his throat, clasping his hands in front of his boy-package, nice clean neat snug-fitting undies, most awkward and embarrassed. The silence became quite deafening.

"And your underpants."

An imperceptible flinch. "Oh, right," as though it had plum slipped his mind. And the self-conscious lad got a bit clumsy with the job, until he hooked his big boy thumbs under the elastic and pulled his little cotton briefs down. His being so self-conscious, and my unblinking gaze on him, he stumbled and almost fell as he stepped out of his undies – then, still off-balance, chucked them at the chair and missed so that they landed on the corner of my desk!

"Careful Ben!" I admonished him.

"S-sorry," he stammered, his sensitive cheeks flaring with a new blush. The naked lad lunged at the desk and grabbed up his undies, and dropped them on the chair. Then stood awkwardly back in front of me, firmly covering his boy-sex with both hands.

"Is there any tenderness in your testicles now, Ben?"

"No."

"Well you can stop feeling them, please."

He mumbled a denial, reluctantly shifted his hands to his sides and fully exposed himself to me. He had a lovely bit of boy-gear on him, a tightish foreskin, swelling boy-berries in a smooth sack, puberty starting to mongrel him up a bit. The lad's skin was all over preternaturally smooth – chest, thighs, tummy, pubis – with one ticklish little fringe of new hair around the base of his penis, a curly little briar in which to catch and savour his pubescent boy-stink.

I left the lad standing there for a bit, shifting awkwardly in his stance, not able to find a remotely natural or comfortable position. Then I closed the distance between us and gently cupped him, felt his sharp intake of breath, tummy muscles tensing. I felt the weight and warmth of his boyhood in my palm. I began to gently find his testicles with my fingers. He turned his head, looking down, holding his breath.

"Your left testicle…" I said, frowning.

"Huh?"

"The epididymus feels a little swollen. Is it ten –?"

"Ow! Shit!" He dipped sharply, pulling himself from my hand, stepped right back. I'd given his hard testicle a hard squeeze.

"Did that hurt?" I asked, frowning.

He nodded accusingly, pouting, one hand protectively cupping himself.

"Stand back here, please, Ben… Okay? That's it. I'll try to be more careful – move your hand – but I must say, it's not a good sign."

"But you…" he trailed off, again holding his breath, bracing himself as I fondled him and moved his young balls around in the tightening rind of scrotum.

"When you were masturbating last night, Ben, did you feel that sort of pain in your left testicle?"

"Nuh."

"What about just before and during your orgasm?"

"Nuh."

"Well, it's very strange. I think we could have a problem."

"What?" he said, flicking a worried glance down at my hand fondling him.

"What you're telling me doesn't really match with what I can feel. I didn't want to do this, but we may have to book you in for exploratory surgery."

That frightened the boy. "But… I thought you said you could fix it, if it's early."

"You're not giving me enough information to work with, Ben. Without more, I'll have no choice but to book you in for surgery."

"What information? I will give it." A lovely quaver in his adenoidal voice. It was difficult for him, with my hand still between his legs.

"Well," I said, unconvinced, "try giving me an accurate and detailed description of your masturbation session last night. The physical manifestation of your sexuality is really the most effective way to assess how far, if at all, the infection has spread through your reproductive system."

"Ah, um, yeah, alright… but, I mean, tell you what? What do you have to know?"

"Well I won't know what I need to know until I hear you say it, will I?"

"Mm. So…" He swallowed thickly.

I lost patience with him. "Jesus, Ben. Just give me a full and detailed description – from the very start to the end. Is that so difficult? If you can't do it, then we may as well stop this now and I'll check you into the Mercy. We'll have to tell the headmaster everything of course, and –"

"No, no, I can… I'll tell."

I kept a gentle jostling hold on his testicles, deliberately avoiding his penis, occasionally squeezing his young bull balls together, not too painfully, but enough to short circuit any arousal that would otherwise be stirring in his young blood.

"So," I said curtly. "Begin."

"Um, yeah, well it was about, um, 10.30, I think. After lights out. And Jarrod was asleep and –"

"Who's Jarrod?"

"My room mate."

"How did you know he was asleep?"

"Just… his breathing. And I said his name, and he didn't answer."

"Okay. Good."

"And, um, then I was just lying there, and, um… just playing with it a bit."

"Too vague, Ben."

"Geez, well, um…"

"What were you wearing?"

"Ah, my pajamas."

"Did you have an erection, when you first put your hand in your pajamas?"

He shook his head. "Not, um… completely."

"Okay. So you first started playing with yourself to make your penis fully hard – correct?"

"Mm…"

I took my hand from him. His entire body seemed to relax a little. I turned and went to a small cabinet beside the eye-chart.

"Okay. Now, in your own words. From the beginning, from the moment you realised Jarrod was asleep and you felt that you wanted to pleasure yourself."

As I took a large tube of ointment from the second drawer, Ben took a deep breath and started again. "So, um, yeah, I was in my pajamas, lying under just a sheet, cos it was pretty hot, lying on my back, and, um, just, like I said, put my hand inside my pajamas, to play with it a bit."

"Excellent, Ben," I said, coming back across.

"Yeah, and um, then…" he was sweating bullets but being a good boy, trying hard – "… then it was, like, it got stiff, really stiff, and, um, sticking out of my pajamas, and um… Oh yeah, that's right, I put the sheet off, down the side of the mattress against the wall, cos it was so hot in the room, and, um, pushed my pajama bottoms down… and undid the buttons of my pajama top…"

The boy, who'd been doing so well, lost his train of thought watching me. Back in front of him, I'd taken the top off the tube and was squeezing a dollop of water-based personal lubricant onto two fingers. I held the tube up so he could read it. "This is an anti-bacterial gel, Ben. It will help prevent the infection spreading to your penis and testicles. You'll need to apply it three times a day, and after every visit you make to the toilet."

The boy nodded, squinting at but unable to read the label before I returned it to my coat pocket.

"I'll show you how to apply it. It's important you do it the right way." I moved closer and took hold of his penis, which I thought had perhaps grown just the teensiest bit thicker since I'd last fondled him. It can be heart-breaking how quickly they grow up.

"Continue what you saying, Ben."

The boy had totally lost the thread of it now. "Um, I was, um, my pajamas were – ooh, that's – uh!…"

I concentrated on coating the entire length of his soft boy-cock, being careful to finger around the sensitive end of his foreskin. Then got the kid's ball's good and slippery with the stuff.

"Continue please, Ben."

"Um, yeah." He took a breath, trying very hard to ignore the slippery rubbing and stroking. "Ah… um, I pushed my pajamas down and, um, started playing with it, and – ah! – um, then – sheesh…"

But he had no hope, with what I was doing to him. The rude slipperiness of it was too much for a virginal repressed adolescent like Ben. I felt the sudden surging pulse of him, the blood-swell of his roused boyhood… he engorged quickly.

When he reached an obvious level of tumescence – his lengthened penis showing a pink tip, the tightened foreskin pulling up a bit – I let him go with surprised frown, his semi-erect boy-dick sticking out in a vulgar curve from him. "Ben!" I stepped back with a shocked look of disapproval.

The boy was quite mortified, quickly covering himself with his hands. "… sorry," he mumbled. "I… that stuff was too… when it rubbed on… I'll just –" Crouching over, well-covered, he went quickly to his chair and sat down, leant forward, and kept trying to push the rising hardness out of his cock. "Will I get dressed?" he asked pathetically, pleadingly.

I glowered at him. "Ben, I'm afraid this unacceptable." I went back to my desk, opened his file to make some notes.

"I didn't mean it – it was an accident!" His voice cracked badly.

I glared at him. "Ben, why are you sexually excited?"

"I'm not – I mean, it got stiff, but it wasn't like that, it was just…" The boy was getting close to incoherent, blinking back a few stinging tears. He picked up his school shirt, bunched it up and pressed it down into his crotch, like an icepack onto a feverish brow.

"You do realise, Ben," I said, "that until this infection is cleared up you must not, under any circumstances, ejaculate."

The boy nodded earnestly. "Yep. Okay. I won't."

"I could damage you internally if you do. Ejaculation will spread the infection from your prostate to your testicles, along the entire length of your urethra. The anti-bacterial gel won't help you if you ejaculate."

"Yep. Okay."

"It will take two weeks at least to clear the infection. Perhaps as long as a month. Will you be able to stop abusing yourself for that long?"

Nodding with conviction now. "'Course. No worries. I was gunna stop anyway."

Now that was adorable. As he said it, the poor addled lad might even have believed it.

"And you should really try not to become aroused at all, if possible. Try to avoid thinking about having sex with a girl or with Jarrod or whoever."

A dark frown crossed his brow as he again nodded and agreed he would give up sexual excitement completely. Just like that. Everything that Christianity had tried so valiantly, so futilely, to suppress was apparently the work of a finger-click for this red-blooded young colt.

I stood back up, produced the tube of lubricant from my pocket and screwed the top off. "Okay, come over here, Ben. We'll continue."

He made no move to get up. In a tortured, small voice, he said, "But… um, it hasn't gone down."

"You're still erect?" I asked, dismayed.

He nodded.

"Well, in normal circumstances I'd call a halt to the examination. It's really not acceptable, Ben. I really should report you for inappropriate sexual behaviour."

The boy bowed his head.

"And to be frank," I continued, "it makes me suspicious of how you contracted this disease. Now stand up and come here."

He stood, a little crouched over, still with his bunched shirt covering himself.

"Put the shirt down and come here!"

He did, shakily chucked the shirt on the chair behind him. And, oh, he was fully and magnificently erect. His lubed cock stuck up hard and angry, a sweet innocent boy displaying his dirty fuck heat. The pained look he wore, the way he hunched forward, moving his arms awkwardly across in front of himself, he was for all the world a priceless pubescent pieta of staked and shame and misery.

"Here," I motioned him impatiently.

Before he started over, he did a funny thing, almost like he couldn't help it, a habit maybe – he squeezed the end his penis, drawing his tightish foreskin down to fully cover the head, and it did stay in place, as it often will with a boy not yet full-grown, his translucent sheath as delicate as a maidenhead.

Then he walked over, in a stilted fashion, trying to prevent his erection from wagging about – but, oh, the poor boy: as he walked, with the jostling and the lubricant on him – the lad's tight foreskin slid up as he approached me, fully exposing his swollen pink glans – he was like some animal preparing to mount, except this young colt wasn't old enough yet, didn't know what to do with his terrible heat, and he stood before me with head bowed, fists clenched.

"Stand up straight," I said, quite short with him now, nearing the end of my tether.

He did, and it pushed his hard wet cock further out. I squeezed a large dollop of the clear gel onto my hand and brought it to the underside of his stiff penis, and quickly began coating the entire length.

He tried valiantly to stay in position and, despite some dips and twitches, did okay at first.

"You need to rub it completely in… are you watching?" I closed my fist on him and masturbated him quick and hard. "The anti-bacterial gel needs to penetrate the interior lining of your urethra. You know where your urethra is?"

"Ah… um, it's…" He was looking down at me stroking him, bringing his hand in close to my pumping fist, trying to indicate his urethra maybe, but mainly desperate to stop the awful pumping of his boy-cock.

"Put your hand back, please Ben."

He did, and I released him – he breathed an audible sigh of relief – and then I traced his urethra, used two fingers to trace along the soft underside of his fierce erection. "That's it there – feel it?"

"Mm," he nodded vaguely, shifting on his feet a bit.

"So concentrate on rubbing the gel in there, okay?"

"Mm, yep…"

"Particularly just under the head of your penis." I placed my two fingers on his sweet spot and paused. "This is where your semen can pool a little bit after you orgasm, which promotes infection – you need to be careful of this area."

"Yep."

I removed my hand to squeeze another big dollop of lube onto my two fingers. The moment I did, the boy began tensing like Pavlov's dog. His stiff penis and my hands were dripping excess lubricant, and I now brought another sloppy glomp of it to him, this time carefully fingering the sensitive underside of his swollen cock head.

"There, right about there, okay, Ben? Can you feel where I'm touching you?"

He gave a croak, the sweet darling lad.

Between thumb and two fingers I stroked the boy into a quickly unbearable state of excitement. He broke out into little flinches and tremors, his knees dipping, his tight butt pushing back. A pink hue spread down across his tender chest, goose-pimples flared on the sensitive skin, his little nipples hardened to points.

The way the lad girded himself, strained so ferociously against his own rising excitement – it only served to raise his heat even further; like tidal wave hitting cliff-face, the up-swell of it threatened to drown sun and sky.

And right at the boy's core-splitting climax, just as he whimpered and strained toward total annihilation, I grabbed his boy-cock behind the head in an excruciatingly tight death-grip. Squeezed with all my strength as the imploding boy let out a tortured cry, tried to stagger back and away, but I kept him there, holding him by his cock – and I saw one tiny tight spurt of clear juice dribble from him, like a little pre-schooler's dribble with his pants round his ankles at the toilet, but no more, and over a few endless seconds of volcanic thwarting, I brought the boy back down from his desperately close orgasm.

Letting his erection go, I said, in complete ignorance of any difficulties the boy may have been experiencing, "Stand up straight, Ben. I'm not going to tell you again. You need to rub the gel in until it has been completely absorbed." As I reached to again take hold of his penis in my lubed hand, the poor lad just couldn't bear it, moved back a step and brought his hand round to prevent me touching him.

"What's wrong now?" I snapped. "Does your urethra hurt? I'm telling you, Ben, I really don't have time for these games."

The boy was still getting his breath back, not to mention the complete dizzy tumult of his mind. "No… it's… sorry, it's just I… it feels too much, sorta… can't touch it…"

I sighed, walked to my desk to get a tissue and start wiping the lube from my hand. "I'm really not sure I can continue to treat you while you remain in this state."

He gave one his unhappy little mumbles, standing there covering himself.

I turned and asked sharply, "Do you like men looking at your body, Ben? Is that it?"

"No! I don't. I hate it."

"Don't lie to me, Ben. I've warned you about that."

"I'm not," he shot back hotly.

"What about last night?"

"Huh?"

"When you were masturbating. You took all your bedclothes off and you pushed your pajamas down and you undid your top – you fully exposed yourself while Jarrod was lying about three feet [90 cm] away."

"I did not!"

"Ben! You told me you did, just five minutes ago."

The poor lad was stricken. "No… I mean… Jarrod was asleep – it was lights out, pitch black…"

"Why did you throw off your blankets and sheets? Was it so you could imagine Jarrod looking at your penis, watching you stroke yourself?"

"No! No!"

"Do you know if he woke up before you finished?"

He shook his head emphatically. "He didn't."

"How do you know? Did you go over to his bed to check, while you were masturbating?"

"No. I didn't have to. He was asleep, facing the wall. The whole time."

"How do you know that?"

"I saw him."

"So it wasn't pitch dark. You could see him…"

A pained pause. "Well… yeah, a bit…"

"So you watched him the whole time you masturbated yourself?"

"No… but, I would of noticed if he woke up."

"What if he woke up, but stayed staring at the wall, listening to you masturbate, listening to your bed squeak, and the other little noises you make?"

The boy, with jaw clenched shut, refused to answer.

"Do you make much noise when you masturbate, Ben?"

"No."

"You don't make little cries, like" – I imitated the cry he'd made when I'd strangled his orgasm – "when you start to cum?"

The boy stayed mute, beet-red, staring down.

"Ben, if I have to tell you one more time to stop playing with yourself in here…"

Sullenly he removed his hands from his crotch, showing himself still fiercely erect, swollen glans glistening with lube.

I sighed with thinly disguised disgust. "Ben, you really are the dirtiest boy I've ever had to treat. I think you should consider seeing a psychiatrist."

No response from him.

Exasperated, I said, "Why on earth are you sexually aroused right now?"

"I don't… I can't help it."

I walked toward him, inhaling deeply through my nose. "You realise, Ben, that you give off quite a strong odour when you're sexually aroused? Are you aware of that?"

He shook his head with a scowl. "I shower every day."

"Once a boy starts growing hair around the base of his penis –" I reached to dig my fingers into the boy's little beginner's patch – "it means his hormones have started raging, and he starts giving off adolescent pheromones, a specific chemical scent whose biological purpose is to let the adult males of the tribe know that the boy is now sexually available."

The boy, who'd been flinching at my grinding fingers rubbing hard into the little hairy base of his penis, dipped back a step with a muted cry of "ow!"

I sniffed my fingers – going giddy for a sec with the musky scent of him. I held my fingers out to him – he jerked his head aside, scowling – I stepped closer to him, spoke sternly, and he very reluctantly turned his head back, sniffed at my finger tips, burning with humiliation.

"So, Ben, now you know why you masturbate like you do, removing your pajamas and your bedclothes – it's so Jarrod can smell your pubescence and know that are now sexually available. In those small dorm rooms, the smell of you would have been quite strong – like on my fingers" – I sniffed again – "you're really quite strong at the moment, Ben. Anyway, even if Jarrod started off asleep, as you got more and more excited, your smell would have penetrated deep into the limbic system of his brain, and he would have felt a basic instinctual desire to mount you like you were a pretty young doe in heat."

Suddenly the upset boy tried to push past me, to go to his clothes on the chair. I grabbed his arm and swung him back, told him to stand by the examination bed on the opposite side of the room.

"Jarrod's an older boy, isn't he?" I asked him.

"Mm." He again had to fight a very strong urge to cover his aroused sex.

"In the playground, does Jarrod ever grab you from behind, pick you up, crush you against his bigger body?"

The boy started to say No, then stopped, perhaps thinking of the time just a few days ago. "Well… just, we do muck-around fights sometimes."

"That's Jarrod responding to your midnight sex displays, Ben, and the aroused scent you're giving off. He's not conscious of it, but he's responding to a deep down desire to rut with you, like a stag with his doe."

After a moment's silence, watching the boy breathe as he stood awkwardly by the examination bed, I took the tube of lubricant from my pocket and said, "Turn around, please, Ben."

The dear lad seemed almost relieved, finally able to hide his shamefully aroused sex from view, and turn his face away from my verbal assault. Now it was just his tight little butt facing the slings and arrows of my critical gaze.

Oh, yes, it was in St. Sebastian's that I found my true art calling.

"You will also need to apply the anti-bacterial gel to your prostate three times a day."

"Okay," he said, neutrally, blissfully ignorant.

"You know where your prostate is?"

"Um… at the back of your neck? Sort of at the top of the spine…?"

"No. It sits just under your bladder."

"Oh…" The lad's visage clouded over once again.

"It can be rather tricky to put the gel on it – it takes a bit of practice – but it's the seat of your infection, so it's important we treat it with an anti-bacterial ointment."

The dear sweet lad was completely bemused. "But how? – if it's… how can I put it on there?"

With lube coating two fingers, I brought my hand to the boy's clean little bottom, pushed my fingers in between his cheeks, directly feeling for his bud.

He reaction was immediate and extreme. I barely contacted his anus before he leapt aside with a yelp, banging his knee hard into the bed and falling momentarily to his knees, but quickly jumping up, turning to face me in shocked defiance.

"Ben," I said calmly. "The only way to reach your prostate is by pushing your fingers up inside your anus."

He shook his head, disgusted, not wanting even to hear such things.

"Come back here," I said.

"But…" Short of breath, eyes quite fiery.

"There may be some discomfort, Ben, but would you really rather let the infection destroy your reproductive system?"

A long pause. He really needed some time to adjust, process the enormity of it. "But… will it hurt?"

"A bit. Not much if you relax. Now are you coming back over here or are we going to see the headmaster, book you into the Mercy?"

He came back over, a hand loosely shielding his sex. I could see the lad had finally lost the edge off his hard-on – but his nude boy-dick still curved out biggish on him, protruding rudely, pink-tipped, bobbing lewdly.

"You've finished being sexually aroused?" I asked as he stopped beside the bed. I grabbed his wrist, yanked it aside to properly look at him.

"Mm."

"Good." I produced the lube, was about to squeeze some onto my fingers when I stopped. I held the tube out toward the boy. "Actually, before we do your bottom, you can finish doing your penis."

The boy wasn't really happy about that, produced a bit of a bottom-lip pout, was very slow in reaching for the tube. The moment he had the tube, I turned and headed for the cabinet.

"But…" he mumbled. "It's already got the stuff all on it."

Fossicking in the cabinet, I said, "Hm? What's got stuff on it?"

"My…" I think he mumbled the word 'penis' but it certainly wasn't comprehensible.

"What?"

"On my… penis," the word a little glottal in his throat.

"Yes, that's right," I said, returning as I pocketed the implement I'd been looking for. "You need to rub the gel into your penis – like I did before. Come on."

I stood watching him, waiting for him to do it.

"But there's stuff already on it," he mumbled again. "It's all covered."

The lubricant was glistening on the boy, making his genitals look glazed and edible, like a little boy-parfait for dessert. "Yes," I said, "and that's the problem. Unless you rub the ointment right in, it's useless. That gel visible on your skin will no longer have any anti-bacterial properties. You need to rub some more in from the tube, like a I showed you before."

And so, with the heaviness of a murderer mounting the scaffold, Ben slowly undid the cap from the tube, fumbled it, dropped it, had to crouch and pick it up; put it on the foot of the bed beside him. Squeezed a small dab onto his forefinger – then tripled the amount after I'd had words with him – then placed the tube on the bed.

All this delaying had allowed the boy's penis to become respectably flaccid, his pink glans modestly hooded, a good boy once again who'd simply lowered his pants for the doctor.

I stepped forward to retrieve the tube from the bed, almost brushing against the naked lad, causing him to flinch away.

"Come on," I said impatiently, moving back a step to watch him, "get on with it, Ben. You need to rub it in quickly for it to work properly."

So finally he did. Splodged the lube on the back of his soft cock and sort of nudged it around a bit, jostling his fat little ball bag, but not getting anywhere near full coverage.

"Come on, Ben – use both hands – were you watching me before? Coat the entire length of your penis – pull your foreskin back… you need to do it properly – if you can't, I'll have to organise one of the house masters to do it for you."

He managed to lift his game a little, although it was funny to see his rather contorted attempts to rub himself in a non-masturbatory manner, using his palm in a flat shoe-shine technique on his exposed glans, rubbing his fingers cross-wise on the shaft of his penis rather than up and down. A fine effort from the boy, but ultimately unsuccessful, his penis soon starting to re-thicken. The blood having just ebbed from him now re-flooded the portals of his cock, swelling him full up with damned arousal.

"Good boy," I said, getting the tube from my pocket once more. "Now I want you to lie on the bed, please, Ben – no, no, don't stop rubbing the gel in – you're doing good, but you have to get it completely rubbed in. But while you're doing that, pop up on the bed for me."

So the boy, rather clumsily, one hand dutifully staying clamped to his penis, clambered up onto the white-sheeted examination bed, on his hands and knees, a little uncertain how to arrange himself once up there. I took a moment to admire him, his naked boy-movements so cramped and awkward and yet every little flex of him a scintillation worthy of Venetian adoration.

"On your back, please Ben… just… roll over – no, no, careful… yes, that's right… "

Finally the boy made it onto his back, his knees bent protectively up a bit, holding but no longer rubbing at his penis. "Now bend your legs right up, Ben." He did so, getting his feet flat on the bed. "Good boy, now spread your feet apart… nice and wide, to the edges of the bed… that's it." He didn't like this, his pinkish anus now showing, and he tightened his protective grip on his boyhood.

I gave the hand between his legs a light smack – making him flinch, his exposed anus showing a contraction. "Come on, Ben, you're supposed to be rubbing the gel in – not holding onto yourself like some little boy lost."

The poor kid was on the wrack now, occasionally lifting his head to look at his predicament. He put both hands to his lubed cock, making a pretence of rubbing, but mostly taking pains to keep his erection covered up. His growing teen cock was once again fully, magnificently erect. Not a forest of eager hands could have kept that blazon hidden. But, from the way he flicked searching glances at me – he obviously believed he was keeping his dirty stiff dick a secret. Boys! What a dull muddy plane this life would be without 'em!

I pulled the white anal vibrator from my pocket and started to lubricate it. "This," I said, waving it casually over the boy, "is the applicator you'll use to put the gel on your prostate."

The boy stared at the gleaming white device quite blankly. I'm not sure he was fully cognizant of what was about to take place here. Although his hands did go still again between his legs.

I squeezed another generous splodge of lube onto the vibrator's tip. "One important thing, Ben. As I push the applicator up inside your anus, you must stay relaxed. If you clench your sphincter at all the infection will spurt from prostate down your seminal tube into your penis. Understand?"

The boy's eyes widened as it dawned exactly what the gleaming white device was going to do. He started to raise himself from the bed. "That…? But it can't… it'll… it won't… it's too…"

"Lie down, Ben!" I said, raising my voice threateningly. He did, but wasn't finished protesting. I cut across him. "Now, see this switch here. This turns it on." I flicked it and a nice low hum started up. "It's important you turn it on before you begin. This will ensure the gel gets rubbed in properly. Okay?"

I took my position beside the boy's up-raised knees, placed one hand on his smooth inner thigh, eased his spread legs just a little wider. I brought the tip of the vibrator toward his tight anus – he was still entirely hairless and smooth, his pink rosebud squeaky clean, such a good boy – and I touched him with it, just the vibrating tip, wiggled it in the soft wrinkle of his entrance – and the kid made a glorious gasping up-buck of his slender hips, right up off the bed, squealing, "Ahhg! Ooh, shit, no, no, it'll hurt – it feels too… !"

Arched up high, he'd let go of his hard cock to grab the bed for up-thrust support. I kept the vibrator at him, pushed it in between his tight butt cheeks, slid the slippery probe about to find his little soft-spot, nudge at it, prod the tip in, tease his tight bud with vibrating pulses, sending further bucks and tremors through the kid's arched, straining slip of a body.

I put my free hand on his mid-riff – his boy-tummy straining harder than sheet metal under the smooth skin, his little outie-belly-button seeming to bulge with the strain of him.

"Ben, lie back down. You can't relax properly in that position. You're way too tense. Lie down."

He came down in fits and starts, bucking back up high with sharp intakes of breath whenever I nudged at him. So that I had to remove the vibrator from him. He was able to quickly comply then. And just as quickly moved to cover his furious hard-on with both hands.

"I know the feeling can be a bit uncomfortable, Ben," I said to him, firmly but not without understanding. "And at your age, in the early stages of pubescence, a boy's skin has a heightened sensitivity, and the mucus membranes of your anus are particularly sensitive to touch… like with the pheromones you give off, it's part of a young lad's becoming sexually available. But you're just going to have to be a bit tougher, I'm afraid. Fight it. And Relax. And Lie still. Okay?"

He didn't answer, just lay there with his face a mask of hot, flustered despair.

I brought the humming vibrator close to his wet little pucker. His eyes closed as he screwed up his face, bracing for the unbearable slippery prod. I let the seconds drag out interminably, a slight moan of agonised dread escaping him.

Then I did him. With one brutal shove, pushed the slippery vibrator hard up him, felt his bud split open, tore his resistance, slid in swift, too deep, terrified him, rent the soft inner pulp of him… He let out a shriek, twisting to one side, grabbing down between his legs at the white agony splitting his core, so that I had to smack his hand away, wrench him hard back down on the bed, shout harshly at him to lie still. Just as suddenly pulled the vibrator out of him – boy gasping, a fish out of water – put the tip gently back to nudge his soft entrance – confused moan from him, rolling a little side to side, one hand up to his forehead, the other grabbing at his own slender hip, pinching fistfuls of skin. I started to very gently force the vibrator in… the boy tensing with a fearful whimper – the hard slick rod pushing gently into his throbbing rape pain – no, no, no – gentle in-out on the protesting boy, a little deeper, then a little more, opening him up with tender gradualness, his knees pressing inwards then out wide – his engorged cock poised between two tides – he hated it and couldn't bear it and then I gently found his prostate.

"Naawwggh…" The boy's moan turned deep in his gullet as the vibrator made sick burring contact with him. It was too much for the poor kid. He kept trying to hump his swollen sickness away from the scary hardness forcing into him. I worked him, kept the sex tool sliding in and out, constantly nuzzling his inner boy-berry, making him squeal and whimper at the unbearable waves of degrading fuck-heat. I put my hand on his straining boy-belly, stroked him, felt his taut boy-torso, the little flint nipples and hot smooth sweating pits and the tender form of his young chest. Until, with twisting strains and grunts he grabbed at his own hard cock, grabbed it roughly and angrily, 'cos it leaked a bit, the swollen pink knob bulging through the cracks in his fingers. As I kept working him, kept nudging into his hot sluice of fuck agony, making him groan with it, he started squeezing and pinching his foreskin up over his swollen pink knob, did it quite savagely, hurting himself as his toes started curling into the bed and he let out a rising whimper, "… fuck, fuck! Fuck!"

I smacked his clawing hand from his cock. "Let it go!" I yelled at the stricken lad. He grabbed at the bed with hands either side of his hard straining self and as I prodded his swollen boy-berry with one last gentle, interminable, unbearable nuzzle, his wet pink glans flared painfully big on him and the first grunting rip of his orgasm shot a bolt of his seed the length of his arching boy-torso, a blob landing under his chin and a searing line along the breastbone of his tender chest. As he strained the last of his rent essence onto his little tummy, a film of sweat seemed suddenly to break out on his naked body, for all the world as though a fever might just have broken in him.

The End