It occurred to me that my last story, Depunker Depunked! raised as many difficulties as it attempted to resolve: yes, the nasty jealous punk Ronny got his comeupance for his cruel humiliations of other guys, but the new character, Mr. Alan Stroker, became problematic in his barely justified and self-serving involvement. And just how realistic was his incredible triumph after all?
Let's start with the last paragraph of that story and explore an alternate reality:
Al laughed and looked over at the suspended Ronny, spanked, shaved, bawling. _d_a_m_n_, revenge was sweet he'd wanted to either yank those _f_u_c_k_in jeans of Ronny's up or down since the day he'd seen him slinking sullenly down the hall And now the King Punk was depunked at last! Victory was SWEET!
Sweet! Not bitter.
Not like some stuff. Not sticky and penisy and making his stomach queasy thinking about all those little millions of crawly things that were floating in his gut and still dripping down his throat. He wiped his dripping chin and looked at the side of his hand, coated in milky eggwhitey overflow from....Bob's dick.....what the _f_u_c_k_?
Al looked past the now shrinking teen dick that had plopped meatily from his swollen, bruised lips, towards the doorway--his office doorway--and beheld the figure who was standing in it watching him. There stood the one person, as far as Mr. Stroker was concerned, who was the source of all the school's worst trouble: Ronny.
Strutting in his saggin jeans, and smirking at the totally gay scene he'd burst in on, Ronny jeered, "Wow! So you're both a 'Stroker' AND a _c_o_c_k_sucker TOO!"
The counselor gaped in disbelief. "But...but...but we just spanked and depunked you!" Alan Stroker spluttered, trying to figure out what he was suddenly doing kneeling back in his office instead of standing triumphantly in the barn.
"Spanked? ME? Depunked? ME?" Ronny laughed, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. "In your DREAMS! Stroker! In your DREAMS!"
With dawning horror, the stunned counselor realized that Ronny's words were literally true. During the rough face-_f_u_c_k_ing, his mind must have escaped to an alternate reality of wish fulfilment while his body had been left behind to take the brutal thrusts. The punk was NO LONGER depunked, and in fact, NEVER HAD BEEN!
On the other hand, Ronny WAS strutting across the office towards the kneeling figure of Al's debauched authority, and he was very possibly armed with the knowledge that Stroker had been out to ruin him. The counselor stood up, but his knees were weak from the quarter hour he'd just had to spend giving Bob head, and he staggered dizzily.
"Speaking of dreams," Ronny guffawed, pointing at the front of Al's Dockers, "looks like you've been having a WET one! Was I in it?" he teased, cruelly.
Al just looked down dumbly at the quarter-sized spot of pre-cum soaked khaki that had formed right where the head of his still stiff dick nestled.
"Or was it all about BOB?" hooted Ronny, turning to his one-time friend, who was struggling to pull up his pants to cover his obviously spanked butt.
"Th-this was all h-his idea! stuttered Bob, mortified that Ronny had caught him naked and red-assed with Mr. Stroker. "H-he wanted me to f-_f_u_c_k_ his face!"
"Don't listen to Bob," Al countered, moving closer to Ronny as he gathered his balance. "He's been traumatized by what you did to him at the barn. The therapy I was offering him when you BURST IN without an appointment was COMPLETELY appropriate and would have worked fine IF he hadn't suddenly remembered YOU and your punk brutality!"
"Bob, what are you DOING!" Ronny shouted suddenly.
As he expected, Stroker automatically turned to look over at Bob, who wasn't doing anything other than buttoning his jeans. But it gave Ronny what he guessed might be his last chance to gain control over the situation. He grabbed the distracted Al's necktie and yanked him hard to the left, towards his desk. Al was stunned by the suddenness of the move, but also was forced by the pain of the tie around his recently _f_u_c_k_ed throat to follow in the direction Ronny was pulling him.
Ronny bounded around the side of Stroker's desk and pulled the choking counselor by the necktie forward across its surface. He loved how these squares just SUPPLIED the handles to jerk them around with!
"Grab the paddle, Bob." shouted Ronny. "It's payback time!"
He 'reeled in' his thrashing 'catch of the day' with both hands, as he settled into the big, comfy office chair--the chair from which he had been lectured by this pathetic bogus authority figure so many times--and smiled evily at the red face and upturned eyes of the man sprawled across the desk in front of him.
"That's right, Bob," he urged, conspiratorily, as Bob moved towards the wooden paddle. "You take care of THAT end of him, and up at this end I'll get me some of what he was giving you!"
"No..." Mr. Stroker sputtered, glaring at Ronny, but not really seeming to struggle for his life. Either he was still under the delusion of control, or, as Ronny suspected, he was loving every second of it.
"You....are.....expelled...as of ...this....moment..." Al huffed and puffed. "Bob, get the others....Karl, Donny,....down the hall in the counseling office."
"Oh no, Mr. Stroker," countered Ronny. "We can get those guys to help us later. Bob gets first crack at the paddle--dontcha, Bob?"
Bob's hesitation evaporated with Ronny's concillatory words and the sight of Mr. Stroker's big squirming ass bent over his own desk. Ronny _f_u_c_k_in' ruled, not this failed yuppie loser in a necktie! "Yeah, Dude! Hold him down!" he cried, and scrambled across the room to retrieve Al's wooden paddle, still warm from the thrashing of his own sore ass.
"Don't ...do it,... Bob!" coughed Stroker, struggling a little harder. "You can still... get out of this....with... suspension."
"Haw! Haw!" laughed Ronny, unbuckling his eagle belt with one hand while keeping Al's chin to the wood with the other. "Suspension! Hear that bluffing bull_s_h_i_t_, Bob? Time to plug that _c_o_c_k_suckin' cakehole up!"
Alan Stroker had never taken the time to imagine what it would be like to appear before him at his desk, as so many students had, listening to reprimands, lectures, threats, orders, so it was sort of amusing that now being essentially in that position, he started the same kind of futile pleading and begging and bargaining that he had dissmissed coming from the students. Was this how he looked, like Ronny now, looking so smug and superior in Mr. Stroker's chair as he lifted his stiff teen bone from the opening of his silky boxers and wagged it in the counselor's face? So it had finally come to this: forced to give head to the head troublemaker in the school--and at his own desk!
Al's complete failure with Bob, who now, by unbuckling the counselor's belt and opening his pants, was going DIRECTLY for a bare-assed paddling, was a further cause for Stroker's utter disillusionment. Ronny had turned this potential weapon against him, and it was as devastating a humiliation as anything else that had come up in his miserable job. In effect, Ronny was going to be giving it to him from both ends.
"Look at his hairy ass!" gufawed Bob, as he yanked Al's dockers and boxers down around his ankles and hiked the counselor's white dress shirt halfway up his back for an unimpeded target.
"Like an ape!" laughed Ronny, who had drawn up his legs into a kneeling position on the soft chair seat to give his defeated enemy an easier angle at which to perform his reparations. "Here, ape-man, have a nice big banana!" he teased, pulling Al's head down towards his punk dickhead. "and no biting!" he added.
At the same moment, Bob had aligned the wooden surface of the paddle flush with Mr. Stroker's now trembling butt cheeks, and then swung the paddle back for the wind up. Neither boy seemed to notice Al's right hand disappearing under his hairy belly to encircle his engorged, excited _c_o_c_k_. If nothing else, it would be something to hang on to for comfort during the front and rear assaults he would be enduring under this pair of delinquent students.
SLLLLLLAPPPPPPPPPPP!!!! came the first blow of Mr. Stroker's own wooden paddle across his sorry ass. "OW!" he cried out involuntarily, at which moment Ronny dunked his latest victim's head down to insert his erection deep into the counselor's open mouth. "Ahh!" sighed Ronny, enjoying the wet, pussy-like tightness of Al's swollen throat as it wrapped around the triumphant punk's pre-cum leaking meat. As Bob geared up for his next swing, Ronny considerately dragged Mr. Stroker's head back upwards for a gasp of air.
SLapppppppppp!!!!! went the paddle again across Al's beefy butt, accompanied by Bob's delighted giggling over the new situation. "UHHH!" grunted Stroker, as he struggled to keep the hard, punk penis from penetrating his lecture hole again, but found it to be futile. Ronny jerked his necktie hard, and slapped his meaty pole across the reluctant _c_o_c_k_sucker's blistered lips.
"I know you can give a better blow job than THAT, counselor!" Ronny urged. "I watched you suck off Bob! Now start givin me some decent head, or Bob and I will see to it you'll be goin down on your prison cell mates for the next twenty years."
"You tell him, Ronny!" laughed Bob, and smacked AL hard on the ass again and again. SLAAAAPPPPPPPPP!!!! SLLLLAPPPPPPPP!!!!
Alan Stroker, who at 35 was respected by all as the school's most successful guidance counselor, realized at that moment just how much he hated his job. Could prison be much worse? Probably not. But the sad truth he had to acknowledge to himself was that in order to get this pathetic job he'd already had to hand over his balls to the same administration that had demanded he shave off his goatee. It would have taken a real man to stand up to the sleazy threats of these lowlife punk scumbags, and to weather the agonizing scandal and disgrace of having his reputation attacked and scruitinized, and just like the bastard little longhaired punk had guessed, Al Stroker just wasn't that man. He was just a guy with a hard on, taking the easier way out.
He opened his mouth as if to say something, but then just leaned forward and took the grinning little punk Ronny's erect penis into his mouth. For all the throat pounding and ear twisting Bob had given Al, the counselor found sucking off the maddening punk Ronny much more painful--to his pride. That a grown, accomplished, educated man would have to orally service an ignorant, totally disrespectful, disobedient, disruptive, slovenly, ill-bred bastard like Ronny just made him seethe with humiliation. Ronny thought his heavy breathing meant that he was just getting into his dick, not that the indignity of his situation was practically making him hyperventilate.
"Yeah, Al, that's it. Suck my dick, man." Ronny cooed.
As his wet tongue slicked the way for Ronny's leaky bone down his throat, Stroker wondered how many wads of spermy kleenex were under the punk's bed at home, and tried not to think about how little difference there was between those sticky pink fluffballs and his conquered, used self.
SMMMMMMMACKKKK!!!! SMMMMMAAAACKKKK!!!! continued Bob with the Paddle, watching Mr. Stroker's ass turning redder and redder with every blow. _f_u_c_k_, that paddle hurts my ass, Stroker grunted to himself, and found himself swallowing Ronny's _c_o_c_k_ deeper and deeper just to quiet that howl that he was afraid was going to escape his throat as the bare-assed blows continued, THIRTY, FOURTY and eventually FIFTY times.
Ronny knew the groans Stroker emitted around his _c_o_c_k_ were from the spankings, but he loved to tease the poor _f_u_c_k_er by increasing the taunts. "You love my dick, doncha Stroker? Yeah, you love sucking my _f_u_c_k_in' punk prick!" He would lean forward and drag his long hair all over the back of Mr. Stoker's head and and neck, where his hair was the shortest, just to remind him which longhaired punk's dick he was sucking.
'Love' was a pretty strong word, but giving Ronny head sure felt better than getting paddled, and Stroker was stroking himself as he sucked the bratty teen's bone, a fact that soon became obvious to his tormentors.
"Lookit him jackin himself off under there!" giggled Bob, as he paused to pat his red rounded handiwork with the palm of his hand.
Ronny laughed and opened a slim flat volume that was lying on the right side of the desk surface. He turned to the current page, which contained the appointments Stroker had made for all four boys, and then he slid it under the straining counselor's stomach and jerking hand. If Al noticed, he didn't acknowledge that his appointment book, which had to be cosigned and approved by the principal and two schoolboard members every month, was in the line of potential fire.
Soon Bob grew tired of paddling Stroker's ass, to the counselor's great relief. He rubbed the older man's sore ass, which was beet red now, and the spanked man moaned. Bob watched AL sucking Ronny's dick and stroking himself, and it gave him a boner again. "I want another turn with that _c_o_c_k_sucker," Bobwhined, but Ronny just gave him a dirty dismissive look and went back to enjoying the sloppy sensations of Al's oral attentions.
Bob sighed and started playing around with Al's big hairy ass, dragging his finger up and down the guy's buttcrack. Each time he grazed the counselor's tight pucker, he would jolt slightly and pause in mid suck to let out a moan. Bob spit on his finger and started working it around Al's twitchy hole. To his delight, the big manly counselor started grinding his ass back to meet the tip of Bob's probing finger. The teen whipped out his own rod and stroked it as he worked his finger deep into Al's hairy hole.
"You said I get first CRACK, Right Ronny?" Bob grinned. Ronny opened his eyes that had narrowed in satisfaction and gaped surprised at Bob's dirty little mind. Al suddenly made an alarmed sound around Ronny's dick and tried to cover his ass crack with his hands, but Bob just pushed them away and leaned in against the man's ass, spitting down into the dark crevice between his butt cheeks. Stroker's head shot up from Ronny's _c_o_c_k_ and he turned back to face Bob. There was a click of a button being pushed, but Al didn't register what it was.
"Listen, you can't _f_u_c_k_ me," he gasped. "Ronny, tell him _f_u_c_k_ing's out of the question." As the hapless counselor turned back to Ronny, he beheld the teen grinning through his god_d_a_m_n_ed long blonde hair as he held the call button down on the intercom. It was the call button for the main counseling office. "Oh, _f_u_c_k_!" groaned Al, and collapsed forward onto the desk.
"If you say so," quipped Bob, and he pushed his slender rod into Mr. Stroker's tight, hairy pucker. AL gasped from the penetration of his ass just before Ronny directed his head back to _c_o_c_k_sucking. Shortly, fast scrambling footsteps in heavy boots were suddenly audible coming towards them from down the hall, and seconds later, in burst Karl and Donny. Bob and Ronny pretended to ignore them, so intent were they on their activities, yet completely aware of the effect the sight of two delinquents _f_u_c_k_ing the guidance counselor from either end over his own desk would have on the two boys. THe new arrivals looked at each other and burst out laughing.
"So, is this your idea of REVENGE, Stroker Al?" taunted Karl, coming up behind Ronny in the chair to watch the Big Man blowing his enemy instead of blowing him away, as he'd promised. It certainly gave him more reason to admire the _c_o_c_k_y Ronny than to respect the degraded counselor. Donny was drawn to Bob's end of the desk where he watched in arousing interest the skinny kid nailing the chunky butt of the full grown faculty man. "Bet he's tighter than a pussy," Donny winked amicably at the somewhat nervous but frantically thrusting Bob. After all, Bob had helped depunk this guy who was acting so friendly, so he was wary of his lack of antagonism.
At the entrance of his last two hopes for defeating Ronny--and hearing of their change of heart--Stroker Al proceeded to sob and stroke his meat madly in utter, double-_f_u_c_k_ed defeat. Embarassed to new heights of _s_e_x_ual humiliation, he felt his approaching orgasm, which even got a little boost from Bob's dickhead banging against his prostrate as hard as it had his throat earlier. His quickening breathing and speeding strokes led Ronny to withdraw his penis just long enough to let his totally pussified enemy to cry out as he ejaculated
sticky rope after rope of hot semen across the pages of his appointment book. The boys all laughed and pointed at this phenomenon, which they let Stroker off duty just long enough to notice and react in horror. Then they continued to _f_u_c_k_ his face and ass in earnest. As Ronny's climax drew near, and his breath quickened, He was shocked to feel Karl gently pulling his long locks back away from his face and stroking his hair in seeming admiration and congratulations at his triumph. The gentle power that Karl held over Ronny at that moment--in its very restraint--was enough to drive the superpunk over the edge of orgasm, and as he gasped from the first spurt of hot cum that he pumped down Alan Stroker's used and abused throat, the goateed mouth of the shaven-headed Karl suddenly leaned over and muffled Ronny's cries with a deep, warm kiss.
Bob, on the other hand was experiencing a different kind of intimacy and assistance from Donny. The tall, clever youth had worked Bob's briefs down his ass and spit slicked his ass crack, even as he continued _f_u_c_k_ing the sperm bank formerly known as Al Stroker. Bob was panicking a little at this strange revenge, but his nut was so close to busting in the counselor's ass that he dared not stop _f_u_c_k_ing just to protect his own virgin ass. So a minute later, Donny was _f_u_c_k_ing Bob's ass to help him _f_u_c_k_ Stroker's ass harder: it was a tandem _f_u_c_k_.
Ronny pulled out of Stroker's mouth and relinquished Al (and his desk chair) immediately to the control of his new best friend, Karl, who with dick already whipped out of his tight jeans and stroked to hardness, put Stroker right to work sucking his next dick. Ronny hung his blonde locks down over the back of the chair to tickle Karl's shaved head and planted kisses on his hot dome. Karl would look up from his pleasure at getting expertly sucked, and Ronny could see mischief in his eyes, mixed with the sudden new attraction. Ronny's hair wasn't going to be safe from this guy, that was for sure. But somehow he didn't care. And however it would happen, he had a feeling that it was going to be a _f_u_c_k_ing hot experience.
When Bob came in gushes deep inside Al Stroker's battered ass, Donny was twisting his little tits hard and biting his neck, and thrusting his own dick into Bob's tight warm butt. He pulled out as soon as Bob stopped thrusting in the waning throes of his orgasm, and proceeded to jack off the rest of the way all over Stroker's hairy ass. He did this with his arm around the exhausted, but happy Bob's shoulders as they both watched Donny's hot, spermy spunk splatter the _f_u_c_k_ed-over faculty member's bruised butt.
Bob and Donny mashed for a while, ignoring the others, as Karl reached orgasm and pumped a huge load of jizz down Stroker's throat and into his stomach. Ronny, of course, was returning Karl's kiss as this occurred. The four boys sat around the office and talked and laughed, ignoring the coughing, aching, humiliated Alan Stroker, who just lay exhausted across his desk, his pants and boxers still around his ankles, and his shirt and tie and spermy and wrinkled from being hiked up. His lips were so puffed up from sucking _c_o_c_k_ that he looked like he had collagen implants! The boys got ready to go, but Ronny suddenly had an idea.
"Can I borrow your cigarette lighter?" he asked Karl. Sure, his new hot bud said, handing him the silver metal classic lighter from his leather jacket. Ronny whispered something to him and he grinned and nodded.
"Total justice, dude. Go for it."
While Ronny unbuckled his Eagle belt and worked with the lighter, Karl whispered to the others and they all nodded in agreement to the plan for their parting gift to their favorite guidance counselor. Stroker was standing up and trying to pull his pants up, but the other three boys stopped him. "Not so fast, counselor." Karl said, as he and Donny stood on opposite sides of Al and gently led him back to face the desk in the same spot he had been sprawled across all this time.
"Now whaddd,?" muttered Al, through his dried semen-glazed lips.
"The bruises on your ass will eventually fade," began Ronny speaking from the desk chair, which he had swiveled around to face away from the others. "Bob's load will drip out of your ass, Donny's will shower off, and Karl's and mine you'll digest." The other guys giggled during this, but Al stared at the back of Ronny's head in total rapt, if blurry, attention as he was reminded of tthat he had millions of sperm cells from four different guys inside or on him.
"Your bruised lips and blackened eyes will go back to normal. And after a while there will be no evidence that we PUSSIFIED you for trying to turn the punks against each other and punishing us for being ourselves. So we want to make sure that you never forget these hot, hard, spunky lessons, even though no one else is ever gonna know they were taught to you."
"So," continued Ronny, Rising from the chair and turning to show Stroker what he had been doing with the lighter and the belt. "Bend Over, Pussy boy!"
Stroker's jaw dropped open and he cried out, "NO!" but the other three guys grabbed him and bent him, still bare-assed over his desk again, holding him down. Ronny walked around the desk and came up behind poor Mr. Stroker, respected guidance counselor. The leather of his eagle belt was lashed around his knuckles so that the buckle, which he had been steadily heating up over the flame of the cigarette lighter, would not burn his own hands. Stroker was bawling and begging and struggling, but Ronny was merciless. At a nod from him, Karl pushed the All Call button on Mr. Stroker's intercom.
"Who rules the school as Super Punk?" he asked the counselor as he held the hot metal buckle just close enough to singe a few of Al's ass hairs.
Twelve hundred students and faculty all over the school stopped their activities in puzzlement at the surprise broadcast of this question. Then came the bloodcurdling screamed answer, which seared the Super Punk's name and reputation into their brains as permanently as the superheated Eagle belt buckle branded the squirming, hairy bottom of their top guidance counselor, Alan Stroker:
"RONNEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"