A passle of letters from school

Hi Mom,

Bet you didn’t expect to hear from me so soon, but I just have to thank you for everything.

Why? I guess you want to know.

Here it is: I was named “Best Prepared New Student.”

I owe it all to you.

Remember, since I was little, how you trained me spread out up against your wall of pegboard and you hooked my legs wide apart and my arms up higher than my head?

As I got used to it and grew, and you’d pat my boy pouch from underneath to stimulate it? And when you hooked me up facing the wall and patted my butt for encouragement? Harder and harder?

Gosh, there’s so much you did for me.

Like the times when, with those big, heavy duty hooks, you’d suspend me, arms high, facing front with my legs completely out to each side – so my parts were right there for you to scratch and squeeze and torment? And my bottom had to let you probe it with kitchen utensils and screwdriver handles?

Then you started in on my nipples. They were nothing when I was a little kid. You pinched them until they smarted. You put little mouth-moistened suction cups on them. When adolescence hit, you bought me my first tit-clamps, rubber tipped. And later, the ones that screwed tight.

And my first dildo and plug – cute, pink. Fit just right. You let me play video games sitting upright with one of them in me. That’s why I have such good posture. I get compliments on that.

You did everything to prepare me.

Wait, I almost forgot my spankings! The way you conditioned me from bare hands and hard rulers to switches and tawses – it was great! We didn’t even have a proper bench for me but you managed just over your lap and on some of the furniture.

Best of all, you taught me how not to cry – and kissed me every time I didn’t. Oh, and you showed me how to kiss properly with my tongue. I’ll always remember that.

The reason I’m reminding you of all this is, like I said, that I’m the “Best Prepared New Student.”

My assigned Older Guy, his name is Trevor Highgrove (from England), says my wide-eyed innocence is “disarming.” Isn’t that nice?

Right off, he trussed me with pretty, light green, soft rope. Good with knots, he explained while tying my knees to my chest and my arms behind my back that I was going to be excellent. He had a long, actual leather thong that he used to secure my balls as far as possible from the base of my cock. Said that made them tight, and shiny like a Christmas ornament.

Then – you know what? – I was spun around so my head fell back off the side of the table. It was sudden. My mouth opened – just right, he said, for his cock. I thought I was supposed to kiss it with my tongue.

That’s when he found out I had no throat training. I’ll be sent to Oral Training Workshop for a week, so you won’t hear from me until after that.

Have to close now. Trevor’s greasing up.

Love you,

Your Bunnyboi

* * *

Hi Mom,

It’s good that I’m writing because I can’t talk. My pharynx had a lot to learn!

But thanks to the Oral Training Workshop’s instructor, Older Guy Rourke Smithy, it did. I hardly choke at all now. Rourke showed me a Zen technique called Self Abnegation.

Now I don’t panic because I don't need to. Here, all Older Guys here know exactly when a student must have oxygen.

We have breathing exercises, too. There’s a clock in the pool for us to see when our heads are being held under. First few dozen times, five seconds. Then eight, ten, twelve. I’m at fifteen now.

Some of the Older Guys dunk their students’ face first and hold them there like they were mad or something. Not my Trevor. He cares so much that he slides his cock up my bunny butt the moment we are in the pool – to stabilize me.

We were there an hour last time, me being dunked for fifteen seconds by the clock every forty-five seconds. Sixty times – a school record for a new student.

I got a lot of kisses for that.

And you know what? – If I progress steadily, Rourke says, by the time I receive my diploma, I’ll be able to hold my breath for two whole minutes!

With any Older Guy’s cock in my throat. Won’t that be something?

Love,

Bunnyboi

P.S. I guess you’ve noticed how my vocabulary’s growing since I’ve been enrolled here.

* * *

Dear Mom,

Did you know there are Older Gals here – for students inclined to females? Just a few. Tough too. Always looking for an excuse to find fault with their boys.

Tongues and lips on clits or tits for hours. Few breaks for other exercise, no matter how tired young facial muscles get.

Their boys’ collars have hand grips on either side so the Gals can pull faces into their snatches, I mean pussies.

Oh, sore butts? Lots of sore butts.

Their boys get it back there from real thin, springy whips. Sometimes when a boy being held in place by his Gal is slurping away between her legs, two other Gals with take turns striping his bottom to make him do a better job.

“Spit and tears, spit and tears,” the Gals call for.

Students like me aren’t supposed to speak up, but I whispered to Trevor that I wondered why the Gals’ boys didn’t get a kiss now and then. Why they didn’t tell the boys that the more they cried the more the kisses they’d receive.

He fucked me real nice, kissing my ears and neck and telling me that, “Gals think to kiss a boy is disgusting.”

I bronco-bucked up and back on his big cock which streamed its good stuff into me in no time.

Better than your turkey baster.

 Do you think he let me get away with that? Nope, next I knew, he had me skewed on my side while twisting my shoulders in a way to force my face to his for breath-smothering kisses.

Your bragging Bunnyboi

* * *

Mom, WOW!

Got your letter. You were bragging about me and the school to Mrs. Morash?

I’m flattered.

Her boy Troy’s about to sprout and she wants you to help her with him?

OK, so he’s starting late, but your pegboard wall and all the equipment you’ve got left from my conditioning and your experience with me will get him going. I laughed when you described his resistance and belligerence. You’ll soften the brat up in no time.

Wish I could see you teaching Mrs. Morash how to deal with him at the same time you’ve teaching the little prick how to behave.

Trev – he lets me call him that now – says to belittle Troy from the start. Don’t let him have any pants on at all.

You and Mrs. Morash should watch him poop and wash his bottom afterward, then spank him, he says. You don’t have to give a reason. Just say, “It’s for your own good.”

And get out some of that fuzzy pink yarn from your knitting basket to wrap around his ballbag and tie enough of it to each wrist that it’s decorative, sissifying, and can be used to  secure his arms behind his back so he can’t cover up in front.

There’s more from Trev, who likes to organize: 1.) When Troy gets a hardon, rub an ice cube on his taint (that’s behind his nuts and before his hole); 2.) If he doesn’t have a hardon when you want him to, spit on your little finger and go into his hole and wiggle there. Then poke him with your index finger and do the same. Last, your middle finger. Whichever lets you feel the little button inside, rub there. He will get hard. Then you can ice him and start over. 3.) Tell Troy he has to say whose fingers he prefers – yours or his Mom’s. Whichever his choice, the other should spank him. If he won’t choose, you both must spank him and repeat the fingering process until he does.

Let us know how it works.

Did I ever tell you how deep Trev can now get into me when I’m bound up like a ball?

Next time, hee-hee, maybe –

BB

* * *

Dear Mom,

I guess you’re too busy with Mrs. Morash and little Troy to write, so I will write again to you. Amazing things go on at this school.

Like only yesterday, one of the Older Gals had had it with her weak-jawed, lazy-tongue boy and used her whip on the soles of his feet. Now he has to crawl everywhere. With a difference.

Trevor mentioned to her the effectiveness to having him naked on the floor. Our floors are spotless, so knees and hands don’t get rug burn. Anyhow, nobody has to go very far that way.

He has so many ideas. Enjoys sharing them. Why, I was his demonstrator for the Older Gals. Isn’t that something – me?

He unbound me, let me stretch a bit, took off my ball separator, put me on the floor to crawl then showed how with his skill he could flick my hole into closing tight and pop my taint (perineum – I knew there was a special word for it) and individual balls to steer me forward, left, or right. We put on a show.

Only I wasn’t counting on his letting them practice on me!

Really sore today. They hit all around – on my buns, on my upper legs as often as what they were supposed to be aiming for. I’m on my stomach so the medication will soak through my skin layers. They have nice names which I’ve learned from the doctor - epidermis, dermis, and subcutaneous.

 My butthole’s off limits also while its aloe-based ointment can be absorbed.

Trev said I’d served him well and, when I healed, he’d treat me to an afternoon on our St. Andrew’s cross.

Your Bunnyboi

* * *

Dear Mom,

Your letter about Troy has been read by everybody here (including the Older Gals) and the photos are making the rounds, too. The list of his measurements has given our woodshop the idea for a gift from the school.

Now that Troy’s balls have dropped as far as we see and know about, you and Mrs. Morash can install him in the beautifully hand-rubbed walnut humbler which is sent with this letter from me.

With him bent over, you follow the instruction sheet. Bind his balls between the two fitted forms and screw them together. When he’s in it, he’s totally tamed – can’t stand up, can’t run off, is helpless. Video instructions are on the school’s website.

After some time spent in it, he’ll wear the garments you want him to wear when you and Mrs. Morash want to take him somewhere.

Those shorty shorts with two-inch pink fringe at the legs. Neat idea! Should draw eyes in the grocery store or at the barbeque place where you stand in line.

Take pictures for us of Troy with his balls in the humbler.

BTW, the Gals have ordered humblers for their boys – to keep them bent over face forward for cunnilingus. Talk about popular!

Rumors are flying about something big that’s going to be announced here.

I’ll be sure to let you know.

Love,

Bunnyboi

* * *

Hi Mom,

So you got the invitation to come for Prospective Parents’ Day?

People will want to meet you. Because of my award, “Best Prepared New Student,” I expect you’ll be asked to be on a panel called “Starting Early – Techniques to Successful Admission.”

If Mrs. Morath ever wants her Troy to get in here, she should attend.

There will be demonstrations and everything. The Gals will be showing off two sizes of the new electro-plugs for their boys. They won’t need the whips, not when each Gal has a remote control to zap their asses when they slack off at their duties.

Some of those Gals are insatiable.

Their best boys have developed amazingly long tongues now.

Older Guy Rourke has a presentation to make on “Throat-Work Preparedness” that single moms can do for their father-less (or uncle-less) sons using graduated-in-length, flexible dildoes.

Older Guy Trevor, my favorite, initially chose me for his demo on “Setting Up the Anus for College.” How great was that! – only, he has another student now for that and will use me for “Tricks With Ropes and Knots the Boy Scouts Keep Secret.”

Remember how you used to hang me on your pegboard wall with my legs wide apart and my hands up high? That was a real invention of yours.

Well, there’s going to be a workshop offered by the school to prospective students and parents for something special, “The Affordable Home Suspension Frame.”

They come from New Zealand. Easy to assemble inside an attic or basement or even in a backyard.

We have an advanced suspension system here for routine training and body sensitivity maintenance, with motors in the ceiling and everything. When hanging from arms or feet (durable leather things for wrists and ankles) or from all four, the student’s body can be dealt with in myriad ways. And completely off the floor.

A few times I’ve been suspended from my feet and spun around until I’m dizzy, then flogged. But other times my flogger stands in one place to flog me as I’m rotated. What a trip!

Reminder, those are the satin whips with little knots on the strands’ ends. They sting a little. Mostly, they are for fantasy scenes. Hot, hot, hot.

See you soon!

Big hug,

BB

P.S. You and Mrs. Morath can pick up one of those satin floggers when you are here. They will be for sale, along with a lot of other training implements. Think of Troy.

* * *

Dear Reader,

Prospective Parents Day – Mom won’t be writing about it, so I will.

Moms and Dads flocked here.

You’re most likely interested in my Mom and Mrs. Morath and – now let this register – Troy. They brought him in a lilac shift with pink satin bows on his wrists, ankles, in his raven-black hair (grown long) and, as everyone soon saw, on his genitals.

He didn’t like it. What he didn’t like a lot more was being stripped of his shift, applauded and whistled at, appropriated by two of the Older Guys, fastened to a leather topped bench, and subjected to the Guys lubing him with their adult fingers while being watched.

The one Older Guy rubbed his balls while fingering him, the other smacked them lightly the whole time he drove his finger back and forth. When Troy squawked his protest, my Trevor fitted an open-mouth spider gag in place – which left him gaping – and invited volunteers with small cocks to “fuck his face.”

Both Moms were thrilled at the terrible racket he made. Slobber dripped!

“We should get one of those,” Mrs. Morath observed.

“Yes but then what? Where will you get young guys to use him that way?”

My Mom, ever practical.

She didn’t answer her own questions right away because the same two Older Guys refastened Troy on his back without removing the spider-gag. His head and aureole of ebon hair fell back and boys lined up again to give it to him in that position.

He was going crazy so couldn’t be aware that a loop from the ceiling hoisted his ankles and our custom-made junior fucking machine was wheeled into place. A pink dildo just the right size was set to penetrate his already lubed little butthole and turned on (slow speed).

About ten minutes of that was what it took. All the fight in little Troy left him.

Set to his feet, Troy blinked numbly as the pink ribbons and spider gag were taken away.

Trev said, “Troy, go lie across your Mom’s lap. She has something for you.”

I got up to help him. Things went quicker than I did.

He was hauled over by Mrs. Morath.

Seated on an ottoman, she fitted a plug in him. Not a plain one, but one tipped on the end with a Playboy Bunny white rabbit tail. “It looks adorable,” she said, patting him to stand up. “Show it to the others and be sweet about it.”

She looked at me. I took one of his small hands, “Come along, Troy, you’re making progress” – and I blew him a kiss.

We walked. The chagrined twerp whispered, “This thing in my butt is making me get a hardon.”

“I see. Looks cute.”

“Mom doesn’t like that. She’ll put ice on it.”

“Not now, she won’t. I’ve got an idea.”

Actually, two ideas. I’ll tell you readers the other one in a moment.

I turned his tail toward a leering Older Gal.

To the room, I said, “I’m borrowing Troy for a brief spell. Stay put. You’ll see why when we get back – and you’ll like the result.” That was idea number one.

When I was Troy’s size, I’d worn it – an ‘apron’ crocheted as two tiny doilies (my nipple covers which connected by some crocheted bands that left my navel exposed, and a large doily to hide my privates. It had ties to be bow-tied around my waist in the back – leaving my bubbly butt exposed. In Troy’s case, his bunny tail.

Once in the outfit, I dabbed some rouge to his smooth cheeks and lipsticked his pouty mouth day-glo pink. Idea number two was becoming reality. His appearance in the mirror appalled him.

“Hush up, you little fool. We’re going out there and you’re to prance around like a girl, pretending you like this. Swish all over the place. Say thanks to your Mom for helping you find your true self. Then let me take over.”

He looked shellshocked but, after his fashion, he did it.

The women’s incentive to torment him taken away (thanks to me), they weren’t pleased. Even less so when I informed them how happy Troy’d be with the injections we had to enlarge a boy’s breasts. “He’s going to be a girl, the way you wanted.”

Mrs. Morash, her readied ice melting, blurted, “Then keep him. I’ll sign the papers – loco-parents-whatnot.”

“In loco parentis,” I corrected.

* * *

My doily-thing lay discarded on the tile floor.

Troy tolerated my washing off his makeup and scrubbing his body next to mine in my room’s shower. Our contact, especially my attentive fingers in and around his now constricted butthole, resulted in two erections.

Mine frightened him. He was scared to touch it. It dawned that he’d never seen a grownup’s in any condition.

His smaller peter and balls, jumped at my clasp. “You don’t have any ice,” he said half as a question.

“For these,” I wriggled my fingertips under his balls, “there’ll never be ice again.”

He cringed, “What are you going to do instead?”

Stupid? Ignorant? Or…has he no idea how his developing package can be useful for pleasure?

That’s it. He’s actually virgin. Good god! Maybe never touched himself – others did and staunched his heat with icy cold.  

Acts as if never hit by an orgasm. I won’t ask. He won’t know what one is..

“That’s for me to know and for you to find out. I rescued you, Troy, so you want to let me do wondrous things to you.”

Out of the shower, he stood still while I toweled his girl-long tresses and dried his body, rubbing here, daubing there.

A child of nature much damaged. My heart panged for the joy he’s never known.

He didn’t spring a hardon until I lifted him in my arms like a big baby and took him to my bed.

The damp bath towel rolled up nicely as a support for his tummy.

“It’s better for you not to see what I’m going to do for you. Close your eyes. Let your arms lie flat. It’ll only hurt a little at first. It’s for your own good.”

I suspected he’d remember his Mom’s stabbing entries and other meanesses. However, my vaselined fingers didn’t cause him trouble.

The excess I rubbed on my prong’s tip before pointing it home. I think, because of the dildo machine earlier, his hole knew not to attempt to bar my entry.

His small, immature voice said, “It didn’t really hurt, but it’s so far in it’s making me feel strange.”

“How, Troy?” I began retracting and advancing – no more than a fraction of an inch.

“You’re – I don’t know what – budging something. What is that? What’s happening? I think I’m going to be sick. Oh.”

With a hand’s probe under his middle, the scrawny boy’s balls were confirmed as drawn up in a knot and his prick harder than he’d ever experienced. I manipulated the lot amorously, licked his ear, and revved his ass with my cock.

Troy’s innocent prostate paroxysmed, his body locked into seizure, he ground his teeth with a terrible sound, and flailed at the bed with arms and legs. His ass tore at my jetting cock as he jetted his first load ever into my hand.

Almost solid gobbets of goo landed in my palm. Must have been stewing in there!

Encased behind, I fed the hot mess to his unknowing mouth. “Eat your essence. Swallow. It’s an imperative. Now, Troy. Learn how you taste – and look forward to better tastes to come.”  I chuckled to add, “From better nutrition.”

Although he shook his head, he obeyed me. “That’s the way. You’ve earned the chance to learn something else.”

The something else was to turn his limp body to its back. My knees parted his. Troy bugged at my sopping cock. It had been in him! He had almost died from what it did!

I was very much a man at that moment. Hard to fathom, but I was – and no one was around to contradict.

“Use your hands. Lift your legs. While you’re still open, I’m going in, this time so you can appreciate the sight of the man who’s caring enough to fuck you.”

A prickle of attraction, or perhaps shame invaded the boy’s nerves. Unable to verbalize a thought, he swallowed, eyes unblinking, as I occupied his bottom.

“Your legs, put them around me, Troy, and hold on tight. I’m going to ride you through another experience.”

That boy responded to being manhandled by springing another erection just after I slid – or skidded – back to mate with his prostate. The more mauling it took, the more intense his stare at me.

Shudders of desire welled in me as his balls, sluggish at first, drew up and his questing vision seemed to cloud over. I knew that sensation.

It blocks out everything else when a fuck takes possession.

My orgasm barreled into Troy and seemed to flash through his legs and maybe even up his spine. He ignited in a bright flush up to his shoulders, his neck, his face. He seemed to be burning under my grip, a boy on fire.

My kisses, born of enthusiasm, nearly drowned him.

Fucked and kissed, too!

* * *

I believe he didn’t know what a man’s kiss was until those inescapable moments. Much less kisses everywhere on his face while I kept fucking at him however flaccidly.

His ankles kneaded my buttocks. A reflex, I supposed, of ownership. He had me. I was his.

* * *

Older Guy Trevor and some of his buddies took Troy but, as they saw to my being properly re-trussed with even more ropes than before and my deep throat and rapacious ass put back on duty, Trev said that, once a week, I’d be unfastened and given Troy for a day of mascot duty.

My personal plaything.

My parts are in a tizzy and I can’t reach them. The Guys like me that way.

It was mentioned that, come next Prospective Parents Day, I might be honored by getting to display my work results with teen Troy Morash.

Why? You’ve surely guessed. Under discussion is to launch a new program for boys twelve and up with his psychological qualifications.

Did I mention being freed for good behavior to write this letter?

Bunnyboi

* * *

For another student-based hot story, read Douglas in Residence.