Faversham Popplethorn and and his best friend, Courtenay Pymme lived near by one another in Porthewing, South West England. Faversham was a streaky blonde. His slinky, straight hung hair went down past his collar, whilst Courtenay's was similar but tended to a darker shade. They were almost the same slender height of 5 feet and each thought the other cute and pretty, for they were intimate young poofs. In fact they both were pansy pretty, even for pretty schoolboys, though Faversham was the prettier, with a more babyish face, having long lashed hazel eyes and a pretty mouth.

They had been close friends with one another from primary school, now, as their puberty hormones invade their bodies, their physical intimacy with one another now consumes them utterly and they cannot leave each other alone, their own pricks and each others. Being in a highly sexual relationship with one another now meant hardly separating from close physical proximity, for any reason. They were so close and intimate that often no words were spoken. Each knew the other's thoughts and feelings, though at other times they might chatter each other's heads off. They learned about wanking and fapping, how to do it best, using their own fingers and hands, then giving themselves to each other also. That was best. So they began to wank, and wank, and wank at every opportunity and still do.

Though both of just 11¾ years old, they both very much doubted they'd ever like girls 'that way'. Girls behaved girly, yes, like they themselves did, but how could they feel sexy about themselves without a cock in their knickers that stuck out beautiful and rigid stiff at the least thought of being in bed with another boy. And nipples, okay, but tits, too? How could girls nipples feel like theirs did anyway, when another boys mouth sucked on them and make them cum off through their pricks.

During the school holidays from ten years old they had played in the park on their skate boards and BMX bikes and met other nice boys around their age to play with. And as with most pretty boys in nearing adolescence, they were attracted and aroused by one another. Just looking at other nice pretty boys, their pricks came up so stiff and achy. What to do. They didn't know what was for the best, so they stood and gawped at each other's pronged crotches, that likewise pronged for the other. And the next time you played, it was without underwear on, cos hey, that's how you can show your prong off to him and who needs them anyway. 'But what to do now with my achy prick,' except wank it.

But in play now, each made sure their tent prongs got pushed and rubbed together on the other boy's crotch. Then 'Ohmyword, ohmyword, ohmyword, the feelings from that and the delight were intense and so fantastic and you wanted to kiss him as well because just like you he was so pretty. So the next time you played in the park, you held and kissed him. He pretended to struggle at first, that was the boy thing cutting in. But then oohlala, he likes it just as much as you. So you tasted each other's mouths and then tongues.

When you went to the park, you didn't pretend to play games, you held cuddled held and rubbed your prick tents together and kissed. And the next time, you lied down for more comfort and better to enjoy each other, and you didn't hold back, but rubbed and rubbed, snogging for the feelings of intense joy you couldn't describe. It made you pee your shorts too and that was fantastic fun, too. But it got better the more you rubbed. It was unbelievable and is was the best thing in both your young lives. And so that was how Faversham and Courtenay got together.

They soon couldn't get enough of each other, but the park was no good for what you both really wanted and that was to be in bed with each other. If the boy was nice and cute and liked you 'that way' too, you had sleepovers at his house, or at yours with him. Then you could decide if you were going to like girls, and you didn't, and they didn't like you. You were young poofters is what you were and wanted relationships with other young poofter boys, not girls.

Once you'd both learned cocksucking, and how good that was, another milestone turned of joy and thrill. Now you cocksucked half the night, each mouth prick to prick in sixty nine.

Now you also wanked and fapped at every opportunity together or alone and then your adolescent jizz came, another milestone, a big one. You fapped even more and wanted each other more.

And now because you could jizz out spunk, you had each other's holes every day and night and fucked. Soon, it was rampant naked all night fucking there. So you fucked and cocksucked as much as you could, bliss upon bliss in waves that lasted forever. Young homosexual poofters, you tried the different positions, sat up straight, shafting on it, legs up in the air and bottom up. You both kept getting rigid so you fucked, and fucked, and fucked, again and again. And with something that's constantly so brilliantly delicious, there were worries. Could a boy get knocked up with a baby belly like that. Double joy, no you couldn't. But you could try for it.

In any case your holes itched for the other's cock the moment your eyes met. It was so horny being 11¾, and your 4½ inch young prick lifted up for the slightest little reason, and stayed up. Then you couldn't leave each other alone. Eyes gazed into eyes, tongue to tongue and prong to prong.

Cock was hardly ever off their minds all the time, and with Faversham and Courtenay smitten with one another, they were both in almost constant arousal. Each thought the other the nicest, sexiest boy they would ever want to be with, and the prettiest. From the sexual pressure of their young adolescent hormones, they now bummed one another after school every day and crept into each other's beds every night.

Their parents had to know about how they felt about each other, because being secretive made them feel uncomfortable, so they told them. They also asked if they could 'kiss' downstairs too, in the TV lounge. Otherwise it was a strain being scantily dressed, seated side by side, with a hard pricks you couldn't control, as you pretended watching a movie. You kissed together, hands in his shorts, but his rosebud itched for your hard willy. It wasn't fair, you wanted extra freedom.

It wasn't too much to ask and their parents gave in to their modern children, but with a concession respecting friends and visitors.

No need now to stay upstairs after school, they could fuck in the sitting room and the media lounge on chairs and sofas. Courtenay liked it on a chair with Faversham sat up on his lap and with their legs up on the sofa. That way you could tongue kiss while you rocked and bounced. It felt deeper too and kept Faversham climaxing again and again, one after the other. Afterwards, Faversham liked Courtenay lying on a heap of pillows and cushions; it was nice to be stuck like that, rigid, but relaxed, while you sex chatted and baby talked with each other. But it was still bed that was the best place, either at his house or yours.

They knew now at 12 that they were in love, but both felt they wanted more and different sex and their pussies itched for teenage cock. In the park and elsewhere, they met other boys who also liked teenage lads 'that way', and the boys told them what it was like being with an older boy. Why not show off and flirt with them a bit, they said, to see if they liked them too. Once they'd sashayed about near them, in little shorts, wiggling about and showing off their young sexy bare adolescent legs, they were soon being chased after, and courted as though they were girls.

They revelled in the lads attentions and very much liked their sexy hunkiness and cologne and the way they got so up front and pushy. The lads flattery was so amusing too, telling them they were such dollies, it was making the poor lads ache. And to prove it, to the delight of Faversham and Courtenay they brought out their swollen teen penises, showing off, making the boys giggly and woozy.

Their attentions were very flattering to the lads, too. For the adolescents it was like being with another boy, only much better cos he was sexier with you and forward. Teen lads were stronger and their hands bigger too. They lifted you up off the ground, and sat you on their laps, and then they had their hands everywhere on you, if they fancied you. And necking with a lad was so intense, it took your breath away and you repeatedly climaxed. Afterwards you just wanted more and more, and were soon able to give their mouths what they gave yours.

But Faversham and Courtenay were wary of lads also. A lot could go wrong with them when you weren't even 12 yet. They knew already at 11¾ how gay they both were; each continually reinforced it in the other, and knew all the names they got called. And the approach of some lads was coarse and rough, and the boys knowing what cute eye candy they were, they had no need of seeming to behave like little sluts to please lads, so they were choosy and gave many a wide berth.

There were two lads, though, who they knew had been eyeing them up in the park for ages, but only looked and didn't say hi. They always sat together on a bench after school to eye up the youngsters and the young tarts. The boys were curious. Where they too shy to say hi to them? So it was the boys who decided to make the first move and weighed them up between themselves.

"I will if you will. Lets mess about nearer to them and you trip me up or something. Then I kiss you and you show you like it a lot.

What the boys normally did in this situation was to fool and mess about with each other, nearby, wrestling and giggling. That got the connection activated and they began to get chatted up. It turned out the lads were 15 and best friends. To the tweens a lad was a teen of 15 or more.

"Why did you just keep looking at us then?" said Faversham. You can speak and say hi."

"Yeah, but we wanted to touch you too, but saw you're both only about 12," said the other. My mate thought you might get all huffy with us and tell mummy and daddy.

"So how come we're talking to you two now then, if your 15, and we're not even twelve yet," asked Courtenay.

The chit-chat progressed – and one lad was Vaughan and the other, Beaumont, both 15. The ice broke, then things heated up when both boys, one after the other, accepted without comment the lads hands on their bottoms, stroking them up – for a while.

Beaumont patted the bench for Courtenay's behind on it, but Vaughan patted his lap. The lads then pulled the boys, one each, onto his lap. Apart from being sexy and good looking, these lads were polite and their manners nice. The boys let down their guard with them because they made them feel sexy and special. The lads were lookers too, and sexy to chat with, so the boys told them all about what they did together and how they'd started out. And that they had pet names for each other, Faversham was Poppy, and Courtenay was Pymmey, which before they'd only shared between themselves.

Now that the lads had what they'd both wanted in a long while, the two slender pretty blonde darlings, that they'd ogled for weeks – one thing led to another. Hands on bare thighs, neck kissing, that the boys didn't seem to mind, while the lads listened to their chitter chat and effeminate giggles. Now dizzy and giddy, eyes stared into eyes, lips caressed and pecked then went into full blown french snogging.

Just as hands wanted to wander up their shorts, the boys broke off, wanting to show off how they kissed in bed. They pulled the lads from the bench and found a nice secluded place, hidden from view. The lads got into a huddle with them, and off came the boys shorts. Now the young sweeties in breathless arousal ground into each other's pubes, necking, rolling about.

The lads just helped themselves to all that was on offer, and pulled them about for bare legs, necks, nipples, crotches and 4½ inch rigid willies, to have their hands and mouths on. The romping youngsters came and came, from one intense climax to another and liked being mauled about and having their bare bottoms kissed and stroked.

"Yeah we can tell how pansy gay you are, can't we Vaughan. I like how you're not wearing undies either. You ought to keep that pretty young cock inside a nice pair of pretty panties, though."

They blushed at that, but the truth was that the boys just found it so sexy and convenient going without briefs, which they'd done, since they became sexually interested in each other, at eleven. Their young pricks swelled quicker without that encumbrance and ticklishly felt better. Of course it also made them tent more, too, which when eyeing them, got them rigid – and nice for showing off in that state and appearance.

"So do you only do it with each other in bed, or with other pansy chicks your age?"

"What're you up to now, are you sick of us?" giggled Poppy, eyeing their confab.

Both lads pulled open their pants and shuffling, twanged their briefs off over their hard teen poles.

"Woo, yeah, bloody nice. We call them johnsons at school, when they're that big."

Which indeed they did, when an older teen's prick looked at least 6½ inches. And at St Gwyneth's school there were plenty of opportunities.

"Fuck, no," said Poppy. "We only fuck each other, you're too big, aren't they Pymmey."

"But you're two fairy pansies. Can we use our fingers up you, then, and cum on you, instead? Fair's fair if you like us." said Beaumont.

Now there was a little confab between the boys. There were frowns and gasps then smiles, and shrugs and giggles.

"We can go on your fingers but only with gel and we want to see them first. But we will tell on you if you don't pinky promise to not put your johnsons up us or even try," Pymmey chirruped out, pulling a tube of gel out of his discarded shorts, causing much laughter and nodding.

Their fingers checked out okay, were longish, but not fat,but had to be washed and nails checked out. The boys had finger fucked each other occasionally in experimentation, but their stiff young pricks in each other's holes were far superior, lots times a day.

Finding a clean secluded bench within the nearby area, the boys allowed their tee tops to be pulled off, leaving on only their socks and sneakers. The lads pinky promised, too.

It was a beautiful sight to see. Blonde hair fluttered to a rhythm as though they were on trotting horses. Lissom, slender and androgynous, each naked pretty pansy sat astride his lad's thighs. Lads pants were let down, then off and two johnson poles, rigid and leaky pretended at first, to joust with two rigid young fairy pricks. Kissing and giggling, then squealing, as finger ends fingered, then whole fingers frigged pretty rosebuds, simpering and whining with emphatic nods for more rapid rubbing and deeper. Cumming young fairy pricks spunked out driblets of watery jizz. Sunlight caught and glinted off blonde downy young firmed legs and thighs that looked so gorgeously sexy.

The pace, the gasping and the wanking increased. Tongues jousted inside lip-locked mouths. Beaumont came spending first, wanking his balls off, grasping Courtenay to him, spunking and spunking out jizz between them, squeezed together. His boy was no good at wanking a fifteen year old teen. Why couldn't they see sense, thought Beaumont, they know they really want teen cock up where it belongs. Still they're letting us have everything else, but I want his pussy. It aches in my life, like a black hole. An unfortunate choice of metaphors for such as their, pink, tight and pretty holes.

Poppy had a first climax at entry as Vaughan penetrated in his finger tip. Then Vaughan orgasmed and clutched him violently with his full finger up Poppy who went into one shuddering orgasm, then another – with young firm, soft arse riding like an express. Crying boys wracked in joy, sobbing in bliss. Lads, every crotch sinew an aching dying ecstasy, pulses dying away.

"Phwaar, that was ace dee-lish," said someone and each expressed his own superlative.

What the lads had liked best was feeling young fairy arses writhing like horny young rabbits, as they deliriously shafted their holes on their fingers. Much giggling and squealing in the aftermath. Two happy teen lads, now teasing and kissing the boys, swiped up clothing. They want our cocks, thought both lads together, and nodded, leering from one to the other boy and each other.

"We better go, I suppose," to one another and the boys. "Are you sure you don't want it in bed, you sweeties?"

"You wannit.... Don't give us that rubbish. You want stuffin'. You came on to us for it, first."

"Nah, leave 'em Vaugny. Maybe next year. There's tons of queer little tarts there age that come looking for it here."

The boys didn't say much after that, but merely cast meaningful looks at one another while getting dressed. For Poppy Popplethorn and Pymmey Pymme, the truth was that they did want exactly what Vaughan and Beaumont both had – glistening johnson poles, slender, not too fat, that when rigid, measured 6¾ inches or maybe plus, and they wanted them now. It was nice and sexy being messed with in the park but that wasn't enough. They'd discussed it in bed and the more they fucked, the more their rosebuds itched and ached for a bigger pricks – pricks that strong healthy teen lads had.

So what went wrong? Mainly first time nerves and that if they gave in, where would it lead to? And these lads they did want so much. So they decided to play it by ear, give them hope, maybe dangle their favours a bit, then give in. Poppy ventured, and Pymmey followed his example. In saying 'farewell for now', cell numbers exchanged. They let themselves be lewdly fondled and kissed some more, made jokes, gave encouraging smiles, then got asked to date the boys, which got encouraging nods and yeses.

At home in bed now the pansy young homos fucked one other, more and for longer. They experimented with big carrots and vibrators, but it hardly helped. Although keeping the things in their holes, as they fucked, made them feel comfortably nice, too. They then daydreamed about being fucked with johnsons in their holes, as they fucked each other. That thought gave biting hard climaxes, adding to their joy. For every thought and feeling in their hormone wracked bodies now, cock, cock, cock, and more cock from all angles, eclipsed all else.

The downside was that, though still at primary school, their marks began to drop off, and their dads wanted to know why. So Mr Popplethorn and Mr Pymme discussed the issue with them, separately. Then, putting two and two together. it all came out.

What the fathers objected to, deep down, was the idea of them being ravished by common lads from coarse households. They deserved more than that. They weren't averse to the sex so much, they'd never shielded their boys and neither did they discourage their boys close relationship – young homosexual boyfriends. And now the pansies wanted older lads in their anuses, too.

"They're every lads wet dream I suppose, at their age," said Mr Popplethorn to Mr Pymme over pints at the local. Mr Pymme, more of a practical man, suggested they shouldn't have more than 7 inches of lad cock in their holes though, at least for a year."

"I wouldn't mind that for them, on a nice cultured and caring boy," added Mr Pymme.

"Aye", said Mr Popplethorn, and added "Of course they'd have be really good looking and handsome as well. Also mature enough to romance them, and be responsible on dates. "The lad would have to be able to splash cash about, for that too, as there's no way my boy is going to be seen kissing on a lad's lap, in a cheesy Mac's."

"Aye to that," said Mr Pymme. "And I don't touch my boy, that way, Popplethorn, in case you're wondering.

The matter got discussed with the mothers now, who reminded the fathers that there was now the upcoming new school year to think about for high school. Where were they to send them?

St Gwyneth's School, or Gwyn's as it is known, was a small independent day school for 126 boys, aged 11 to 16, and it had one of the highest academic reputations in the west country. The fees were high, but so was demand, and only 42 new places for 11 to 12 year olds were offered annually. Gwyn's school was split into three age groups, and there are two classes each, sharing a joint curriculum. It did not offer boarding, due to it's situation in a hamlet, between the small market town of Porthewing on one side, and the larger conurbation of Tharlscombe on the other, both of which amply served St Gwyneth's School within easy commuting distance.

The school motto is 'per libertatem, sapientiam', 'by liberty, wisdom', and this is reflected in the ethos of the school, which has a relaxed and easy going atmosphere. There is for instance the school uniform: a pale blue hoodie over a white blouse-shirt, and tie in school colours; but its grey pants or shorts can be of any material, and are worn fashionably tight if wished.

However, for their first six months beginning school, the 11 and 12 year olds had the option to wear casual clothing instead of the uniform, as the school viewed it being helpful for them to settle down quicker. The staff were ever unsure about the intrinsic merit of this policy though, as it was totally eclipsed by its main outcome.

If you were sexy and pretty and liked other boys and teenage lads, 'that way', then Gwyn's was your best choice for school. Many of the 11 to 12 year olds were outrageous little tarts, and took full advantage of 'libertatem'. If you started at Gwyn's on your first day, in mini shorts showing lots of leg, and perhaps bare midriff too – you wanted a school boyfriend, and were offering. You could do this because the school had never defined 'casual'. Staff turned a blind eye, finding it impossible to regulate, taking the view that boys and sex was an indivisible dichotomy.

The parents felt that this was the one solution to suit both parents and boys and by pulling a few strings and with some luck, Mr Popplethorn was able to get them places there, in the upcoming new school year.

Now, Poppy and Pymmey chattered continually about their new school to be. One afternoon, lying naked, end to end on a sofa, propped up on cushions, playing willy-footsie, they chitchatted, wondering about how it would be.

"Do you think we will be dated," said Pymmey, trying to lift Poppy's chin with his toes.

"Who's we?" teased Poppy, fapping his fritzie and received a tummy poke for his cheek.

"Dunno, I was too dazed. I can only remember what was happening inside my body with his fingers up me," laughed Pymmey, and they laughed together.

"Who's we?" said Pymmey, getting his own back, then shrieked as Poppy took some revenge.

At Gwyn's, if you hadn't been bagsed after three days, you weren't going to be, but the cuter you were the more you were pestered. So you could pick and choose, but you couldn't keep them dangling. The really pretty ones could though, which sometimes led to fights, so the quicker the sweetheart made up his mind the better. In any case there was an unwritten hierarchy rule that the 16 and 15 year olds had first choice. Having a pretty 12 year old boyfriend at school was 'nè plus ultra', it just didn't get any better.

Once you'd decided to give yourself to him and were claimed, you were owned and belonged to him, and often got called female names like 'he' and 'his' instead of 'he' and 'him', because you were a damsel. You were his damsel, there to enjoy, and you him, with his big hands, strong arms, a sexy persistent mouth and often a johnson of 5 to7 inches plus. Then he wanted to enjoy your lovely young adolescent body and pretty ways, and you wanted to enjoy his gorgeous teen body, strength and prowess. He then put a loose bracelet on your left ankle that was often either silver or gold chain links, or something of pretty colours. Fastened onto the bracelet was a disc of his house colour with his initials on it and your first name. It looked so sexy on your ankle, showing you were owned like that. Then afterwards you'd probably have your legs in the air or wrapped round him, being well rogered.

It didn't stop other lads pestering you though, but they saw you were taken and didn't press their cause. Outside school, when your local friends found out you'd let a teen lad of maybe 15 or 16 own you as his property, they often teased you rotten, so you told them what he did with you, and where you went on dates, then they drooled with envy.

You'd now pledged yourselves to each other for a year, in a bond you didn't break lightly. At Gwyn's the teen lads were known as lords and the tweens were known as damsels and that's how they were referred to.

Unless you badly hurt him, the lord never took his disc off you, till you wanted to give him it back. But the rule for the adolescent damsel was that you broke with him first, before you sought another. If you did, but then changed your mind, he usually took you back, though not always, but you could only do that once. But what mostly happened was that you fell deeply in love, especially him with you.

Once bonded, unless you were miles apart, such as he in Porthewing and you on the other side of Tharlscombe, he'd want to date you every day after school, at least to start with. Naturally of course dating meant having his jake in you, not just a movie and Macs. This might be at his house, being older with more liberty, or yours. That depended on their parents, of course. If your parents were bog standard and you had to be sneaky, you had to be well organised, too.

The parents of St Gwyneth's boys were rarely standard though. There were straight laced ones, and not every newbie was a sexy little pansy, seeking a boyfriend. It was just a good school, regardless of its relaxed or enlightened policy, and of course, lots of schools have sexy little fairies in them, no matter the the school's status. None were more freer though than at Gwyn's, to enjoy themselves and be enjoyed.

For the Gwyn's community, it was the normal case that when you started there, 11 to 12 years old, you were a cute looking, burgeoning homosexual, often a pretty one, and at twelve, of course horny. You wanted a boyfriend and easily got one if you were pretty, and your parents didn't mind, object, or interfere. They let you bring your boyfriend 'lord' home and made space for you because it was your home too. You could neck sat on his lap, undisturbed anywhere in the house, when mum and dad were okay with it. When they saw his hands roaming everywhere over your body, or even if fully impregnated and bouncing, if you were discreet about it, they didn't cough or comment. You didn't have to wait till bedtime to be bummed, either. The same went when you were at the lads house too. Similarly, it wasn't the ethos of the school to set moral standards, but the motto, 'by liberty, wisdom' had it's virtues.

The lad was also supposed to treat his damsel and take him places at weekends, which they did, and it was usually a lot more than just Macs. Sure, at the movies, you necked throughout it on his lap with your legs splayed open for him, thereby offering your prick, but it was leisurely and you remembered the movie afterwards. The serious stuff came later with you both on your bed, or his, being undressed. You soon got to like everything about him and what he did with you, and were practically hanging your tongue out for him, come morning break at school, the following day.

The lords liked you to show appreciation though, but the teen lad usually didn't like looking as though he were courting you. So at school, they liked their damsels to be available when not in lessons and at break and lunch, and be sexy and forward with them, even clingy. And you were usually the lunch. Best of all, they liked you being indecent and even lewd, with your jake stiff and tenting, being offered to him, seated, as you stood in front of him between his knees. You were offering to be felt and stroked up first, which he might do, or just pull you onto his lap to enjoy, and eat your mouth while he enjoyed you with his hand up your shorts and you, him, bringing you off in his fingers. Being brought off at school every day , rather than wanking it, was a status symbol., you'd arrived and were living the life. And it was gentlemanly. It was hard to get into Gwyn's and no ruffians succeeded, so gentlemanly behaviour, however sexy, was the pervasive norm throughout the school.

In theory you could shag at school; to the staff it was just another activity of boy lust, pairs necked and groped with each other in school, albeit not openly. But in practice, actually being bummed at school was quite impractical, and only the desperate tried it. You only had the choice of dirty store rooms and cupboards, or the cleaners room, but all of them were also very cramped and uncomfortable. There was the spacious gym with soft mats, but the door, you couldn't lock and it had a usage timetable you'd never keep track of. The school might turn a blind eye to sex, but never facilitated it.

There was one incidental exception to this though, for the School Head Boy, or the 'Hi Lord' as he was sometimes called, also. He was a 16 year old, elected to that position every school year by staff and Headmaster. The position had one official perk, and several unofficial ones. His official one was a little private study room, carpeted, with a desk, bits and pieces and a modest couch. It was to allow not only private study in peace and quiet, during free periods, but any additional writing and PC usage that went with his role. It was also useful for private chats and confabs with boys and or masters, when he was needed as an intermediary. All this was incidental to him though, when compared with what it also facilitated.

Here, in private comfort, he enjoyed his additional perks, behind a locked door. Here he could enjoy his damsel in privacy – have him naked on his lap, fuck on the couch, or in the chair, and where, unheard outside, the darling's treble voice could moan and squeal out in lust without being heard. Also, providing he accompanied him, and kept him close by him, such as on his lap, he could have him in the dining hall or anywhere else as wished. That was theoretically possible, for he was a virtual deity in status and was only answerable to the Headmaster. Status by association also ruled, too. The Head Boy's chosen damsel, you were careful not to upset.

Hi Lord had first dibs of available talent at the start of the school year, from amongst the freshest and prettiest damsels of the crème-de-la-crème. Of course you didn't have to have a damsel for sexual reasons for they performed useful if tiresome duties and tasks you hated, though it was unheard of for a damsel to hold his head aloof of sex. His Lordship's damsel was always a perfect young beauty who rarely had any qualms about showing off his body and special status, for Head Boy hardly ever picked a shrinking violet.

The whole school was well aware of who Head Boy's damsel was, or would be, at the beginning of the school year, so he hardly needed to wear his lord's token on his ankle. He had his Lordship's ear too. But in practice, unless the damsel was really upset and crying about it, the Hi Lord dismissed the matter. Still, it was there and could be used in various ways, while he held his Lordship's favour.

It was a beautiful summer morning on the first day of the new school term and Poppy and Pymmey chattered noisily whilst getting ready.

"...So what, I don't care. I can't even remember the last time I wore undies or panties, underneath shorts or anything," said Pymmey.

"Panties yes, I didn't mean briefs, which is probably what the others will have on, specially if they're nerdy. It was just about how our shorts look on us. But lets not put any undies. I want to be played with at school.

"Yes and and at least we won't look trampy," said Pymmey. Poppy sat down in a chair, leaned back and brought a foot up onto it, letting his thigh loll open.

"Duh, I can see all of your goolies, easily, and some of your tenting willy." Poppy put his leg down and sat up.

"Well I can't help that can I, looking at another pretty boy. Get dressed will you, and stop twanging your sexy prick."

Both kids felt very comfortable about their young hot pricks that seemed constantly hard They lived in a cock cloud and their pricks and each other's prick were on their minds twenty four seven. In fact they had little else upstairs in their brains.

Pymmey got dressed and they stood in front of the mirror admiring themselves and each other. Both were identically dressed, and their Kidzerama mini shorts were very naughty, but not meant to be worn with any kind of undies. Even naughtier were the slit pockets at the hips that were open inside, which the designer blurb said were 'boyfriend pockets'. They were of white silk, with pink piping, and their tops matched, which were loose midriff tees with wide necks that they each had hanging off one shoulder, like little adolescent tarts. The Kidzerama mega store had all sorts of things for progressive kids who wanted to make an impression and catered particularly well for hot children.

"It feels like I've got nothing on, except they're not see through." said Pymmey. "What do you think we'll feel like to teen lads?"

"Let's see what we both feel like to each other," said Poppy, pulling Pymmey into a kiss. They pressed together, rubbing, caressing and stroking each other's silk covered bottoms, and their mewling and simpering decided the answer. Each then wriggled and wiggled in front of the mirror and in two shakes they had divested themselves of their tops and shorts. They giggled and cavorted and felt up each other's throbbing 4¾ inch pricks and snogged, standing.

And back in bed, they fucked, and fucked, and fucked away, each other, the rest of the afternoon.

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Boys of St Gwyneth's

by Dominick St James

Poppy & Pymmey