Steve and Kyle

CHAPTER 1

Kyle Sinclair, the main character -- let us call him the hero -- of this story, is a Chicagoan; active, young, muscular, sexually superbly equipped and totally gay. Kyle comes from a working class family living in the western suburbs of the city and has never paid much attention to learning anything at school, which, when he was eighteen he left rather precipitously in mid-term without the customary high-school diploma. However, as we shall see, Kyle left school with many attractive physical attributes and very quickly became an expert a young practitioner of the art of gay sex, which was to become the dominant factor in his future career.

Kyle's father had died quite suddenly of a heart attack when Kyle was only three years old. Two years after her first husband's death, when Kyle was just five, his mother had then married a local garage mechanic by the name of John Roberts. Kyle's mother and her new husband had quickly gone on and produced twin daughters together. To say that Kyle and his stepfather did not get on together was putting it mildly. By the time Kyle was fourteen, the two of them, stepfather and stepson, hated each other heartily and Kyle could barely wait for the day when he became eighteen and could escape from what for him was a very unhappy home life.

Kyle's stepfather was a man of rather violent disposition who drank too much, swore a lot and was not averse to belting Kyle's naked ass at the slightest opportunity. His stepfather would send Kyle to his bedroom, make him drop his pants, lie ass-naked across the bed and would then tan the lad's naked backside with a very heavy leather belt which he kept handy, hanging on a hook on the lad's bedroom door; so the poor Kyle slept permanently in the shadow of the very instrument of punishment which all too frequently sent him to bed nursing a very sore ass. Kyle's mother, totally dependent upon her second husband for support, urged her son to try to behave better towards his stepfather, whose side in any of the frequent arguments between the two, she always seemed to take. So Kyle had no great regard for either parent; nor for that matter for either of his two younger half sisters, neither of whom he particularly liked; in short, Kyle felt completely unloved or cared about by anyone; which, in fact, he was.

In his own mind he had firmly decided that when he left home that would be that. To put his thoughts into deeds, he did not need to be told by his stepfather never to darken the family doorstep again as that was an act, which of his own volition, he had every intention of never ever doing; when he finally left home, it would be forever.

By the time he had reached the age of eighteen, Kyle had already realised that he was attracted more towards members his own sex than towards girls. Kyle was handsome and well developed physically to a fault and, not surprisingly, Kyle's female classmates found him a highly attractive sexy-looking proposition. However given his own, as yet undeclared and totally unexercised sexual proclivities, they were wasting their time as he had no interest at all in fraternising with members of the opposite sex, no matter how attractive and willing they were. Kyle shared with no one, his secret admiration of the older, more muscular and sexually well equipped young jocks, who dominated the school's various sports teams. He just took every opportunity he could to admire such young studs and hoped that he one day he himself might look like them. And so from age fifteen onwards, Kyle had become a dedicated body-builder and taken every opportunity he could to use the school's gym to work-out and build up his own body; and like so many others before him he had been bitten by the body-building bug; so as he grew older he became obsessed with his physique and appearance. He had a definitive narcissistic streak in his makeup and at home, in the privacy of his own room, he would spend considerable time stripped naked admiring himself in front of a large mirror.

By the time he was reached the aged of eighteen and was in his final year at school, it is safe to say that, by dint of hard work, Kyle had turned himself into a breathtakingly handsome young man. Kyle was 6ft in height and now aged just eighteen weighed about 210 lbs. Although given to regular workouts in the gym, striving to hone his body to the pinnacle of physical perfection, he had been very sensible in his approach to his muscular development and had completely avoided the use of drugs and muscle-building anabolic steroids; as a result of this Kyle, now approaching the first flush of young manhood, had developed a breathtakingly handsome, ripped, muscular body on which there was not the slightest trace of fat. His individual muscles were all well defined and exquisitely proportioned and were in no way comparable to the overblown, ballooning muscles of professional bodybuilders who strive for maximum muscle size and inflate their physiques with anabolic steroids until they look totally ridiculous.

Kyle was also very well equipped sexually; nature had endowed the young man with a penis, which like those of most young American men of his generation, had been circumcised in early infancy. His well balanced cock now measured, even when totally soft, a very generous seven inches in length and two inches in diameter, or over six inches in circumference and had that very desirable rubbery quality, which meant that it hung, even when flaccid, in a very attractive curve over a pair of well proportioned balls which were held, quite naturally, very high. Add to this the fact that a total lack of distracting foreskin -- he had been perfectly circumcised as a baby -- set in relief a magnificently rimmed cock-head; so when stripped naked in the showers Kyle was a mouth-wateringly sexy young man, with a cock, of which the size alone made most of his fellow classmates green with envy.

Aged eighteen as he now was, Kyle, in spite of his sexy super-attractiveness, was still a virgin; he was basically a shy person, a loner whose only sexual practice until now had been jerking-off -- always in private; he had never even indulged, as many lads do, in any joint masturbation sessions when cock sizes were compared and sexual exploits, either real or imaginary, were discussed; and he had no real idea whether any of his contemporaries at school were of the same sexual inclination as himself. He thought that he was probably the only potentially gay guy in his class as the inevitable endless discussions ad nauseam about sex by his male contemporaries all revolved around their supposed exploits with members of the opposite sex. Truth to tell most of them were probably still as virginal as Kyle himself was.

He was more or less convinced that he was a unique case at school: the only potential, let us call it, gay-in-waiting, as in spite of the envious looks he received from his male classmates in the showers on account of his own exceptional sexual endowment, no one had ever made a sexual move on him -- nor he on them it must be added. In fact, in spite of his sexy, good-looks, Kyle Sinclair was a loner: he had no close friends either inside our outside of school. He was more or less convinced that the looks he received from his classmates were motivated more by envy of his sexual endowment rather than by sexual desire. After all, what young stud does not desire to have a large cock: the ultimate sign of virility?

It was not as though Kyle did not know what gay men did sexually with each other. A serious student he may not have been, but like most lads of his modern generation he was an ardent user of the internet and he had, like all his contemporaries, surfed the infinitely endless gay-sex sites which the net hosts and which are readily available for free to all-comers. So it was not as if Kyle did not know what the sex-life of a gay man involved; it was just that he he himself had not yet entered into it. So Kyle found himself in that invidious position of wanting to have sex with another man, but with no one whom he had actually yet met and was so timid that he did not know how to take the first step to get started. However, things do have a way of arranging themselves for the best and Kyle's case was not to prove intractable for long.

CHAPTER 2

Kyle was one of the leading football players in the school's senior team that competed regularly against other similar schools in the Chicago area. As already mentioned Kyle was a very athletic and strong young stud with a faintly vicious streak and he was not averse to giving what he always hoped would be an un-noticed jab in the ribs to any member of the opposing side who offended him. This was ultimately to prove not only his undoing but also, in a way, his salvation, as it was to be his gateway into the joys of gay sex. His school's football coach, who was also the school's physical education instructor, was a guy with the unpronounceable Polish family name of Szczanszczanitsky. At first sight one wondered if his parents might have had a Scrabble set with an excess of the letter, C, S and Z and had somehow felt they needed to use them all.

Szczepan Szczanszczanitsky, in spite of his tongue twister names, both of which had been, in fact, those of his immigrant grandfather, who had never really learned to speak other than broken English, was a typical mid-westerner: an all-American boy who spoke no Polish at all. He had had the good sense to adopt the pseudonym of Steve Shanit, which is how everyone knew him. Steve himself was only twenty-two years old and had been lucky as when fresh out of college he had obtained the post of head sports-teacher at Kyle's high school. Let's face it; the working-class suburban township in which the school was located was not one which many teachers fancied working. In spite of his youth, Steve Shanit was quite strict with the lads he was teaching. The American preferred implement of corporal punishment, the pierced paddle, was in regular use at the school for correcting errant boys and Steve Shanit himself became a noted purveyor of sore asses to any boys whom he deemed needed disciplining. An invitation to visit him in his office was not one which most boys received with much pleasure as they inevitably left nursing very painful backsides. Physically well set-up, Steve, only four years older than Kyle, his pupil, was himself a sexually highly attractive young man; in his own way he was as attractive as Kyle; and as he was frequently dressed in sports kit, which often included a pair of tight shorts that emphasised his own obviously generous sexual endowment, Kyle, the reluctant virgin with eyes only for other men, found his teacher, Steve, a highly attractive-looking, sexual proposition. Not that he ever showed his interest in any overt sort of way or made any advances to Steve himself. Frankly, shrinking violet as he was, he would not really have known how to begin; but just looking at Steve made Kyle's cock start to perk up between his legs; and as the young man was now learning, totally inexperienced though he was, a man's cock knows its own mind and takes little account of what its owner might be thinking; or perhaps better put tells it owner what he should be thinking. And so very often Kyle found himself in the embarrassing position -- and who among us has not had the same experience under similar circumstances -- with a partially aroused piece of uncontrollable flesh between his legs, brought on by the sight of Steve in his sports kit. Steve became for him a sort of unattainable goal; not you understand that Kyle really knew where the goal truly was or what he might do when he was finally able to take a shot at it.

But what Kyle did not know -- nor anyone else at the school for that matter -- was that Steve Shanit himself was an active gay: in fact, Steve was a very active gay indeed! Like Kyle he too had realised by the time he was eighteen that he was gay; he had gone on when he left school and was at college, free from his parents' eyes, to develop a very active gay life. Foot-loose and fancy-free as he was at the moment, he had until now kept his sex-life completely divorced from his teaching activities at the school. The City of Chicago provided any gay man with ample opportunity to exercise his sexual proclivities to the full; and so although basically attracted to several of the final year students as he inevitably was, he had until now managed to discipline himself and not allow himself to succumb to the temptations of the flesh which many of these young men so obviously offered. That was, of course, until he finally became aware of Kyle Sinclair.

Steve Shanit, who was quite a perceptive type with highly-tuned antennae, quickly saw that Kyle had eyes for him. This was not the first time that a student had had a crush on him; but in this case, the attraction was mutual; in a word, Steve Shanit found Kyle Sinclair an unbelievably attractive sexual proposition. But for quite a while nothing happened, as Steve managed to stick to his principles that his sex-life and his school career should not become intertwined. And so things remained until that fateful Friday afternoon when Kyle jabbed a member of the visiting football team in the ribs so savagely that the poor lad had to be carried off the pitch in agony. Passed off at the moment as an unfortunate accident, Steve, a keen observer, knew otherwise. He knew that he had observed Kyle commit what he was an act of unprovoked violence against one of the opposing team's members and being himself somewhat of a no-nonsense disciplinarian; retribution was swift in coming to Kyle for his sins. So Steve had already decided that he would make Kyle pay for his action by giving him a sore ass the pain of which he would remember for a long time.

So the stage was set, totally innocently and albeit unthinkingly, for a one-on-one meeting between Kyle, the final year pupil aged eighteen, and Steve Shanit, his sports teacher aged twenty-two, whose only intention at the time was to tan Kyle's ass in retribution for his delinquent behaviour during the match. But as we all know, as Robert Burns the Scottish poet said: The best-laid plans of mice and men oft go astray; which is exactly what they did in the present case.

The school's team returned from the football pitch and went to the showers where Steve Shanit was waiting for them. Although he had long admired Kyle Sinclair from a distance, he had never actually observed the lad closely totally naked. But on this occasion, sporting his undoubtedly magnificent sexual endowment in front of his peers in the showers, Steve was totally blown away by the size of Kyle's sexual accoutrements: his cock and balls, both of which were by any standards a magnificent sight, were especially attractive when seen through the trained eyes of a gay observer such as Steve who suddenly found himself automatically assessing how they might perform their manifest destiny if given the right opportunity. He felt himself hardening inside his own shorts as he watched Kyle drying himself off after his shower. Try as one might, the power of sexual attraction is such that it often takes precedence over common sense; and this is exactly what was about to happen.

"Sinclair; get a move on and get dressed and then report immediately to my office," Steve barked at Kyle. "You and I have some business to transact before they day is out. So move your butt young man, and get around to my office on the double."

Kyle really had not the slightest idea why he had been summoned by Steve Shanit; but as Steve was the master in charge and he the pupil, he could do none other than obey the order. Kyle's ass was no stranger at all to the doubtful joy of interfacing with the paddle, an instrument of punishment which was in regular use at the school where its greatest single exponent was the principal, a rather sour, old-school type of master called Mr. Edgar Schmitt. Although never particularly overjoyed to be sent to the principal's office for a paddling, Kyle took such events in his stride as even a ten stroke paddling across his clothed ass was nowhere near as painful as the sort of bare assed beltings he regularly suffered from his stepfather.

CHAPTER 3

Kyle had never before been in Steve Shanit's office and as he entered and stood in front of the sports master who was sitting behind his desk, he saw to one side what was obviously a professionally built paddling horse with a padded leather top and legs. The top, he saw at a glance, could be adjusted to accommodate boys of different heights in what was the perfect position to have their asses addressed with the paddle. And as if the confirm its purpose in life, lying there ready for use on top of the horse was the paddle itself, the likes of which Kyle had never seen before. This paddle was about twelve inches long by four wide and a good inch thick; it was drilled with a number of largish holes to ensure that when it mated with its target -- the unfortunate lad's ass -- the force of the blow was not attenuated by a cushion of trapped air. Add to this the fact that the handle, which on most regular school punishment paddles was just long enough to be gripped firmly by the hand of the person administering the beating, in this case was at least twelve inches long; one did not need to be a genius to realise that this was a formidable weapon which moved the traditional American school act of corporal punishment to a whole new level. The longer handle coupled with the holes ensured that each and every swipe with this wicked looking implement really made every stroke deliver considerable pain.

As he took in his new surroundings, Kyle was still unclear of the reason for his summons or whether the obviously apparent paddle was destined for him or not; however he was soon to find out. As he stood nervously in front of Steve Shanit, his sports master -- and secret idol -- he wondered what was to happen. But like all school lads in his present position, he had that sense of foreboding which goes with any summons to appear before a higher authority and felt rather nervous; in fact, not to put to fine a point on it, he felt very nervous indeed. "Sinclair; I think you know why you are here today." Kyle, of course, had not the faintest idea of why he was there and said nothing. "Sinclair, I have been observing your behaviour on the football field for quite some time now and I have to say boy, that you have a tendency to display certain very unsporting traits to members of the opposing side. Now I agree that football is a rough sort of sport and that players expect and accept that they will receive certain rather painful blows during any game; but you, young man, seem to go out of your way in every match to make sure that some member of the opposing team gets a totally uncalled-for blow of some sort delivered by you. In a word Sinclair, you seem to have a certain inbuilt malicious intent to inflict pain on some member of the opposing side. I do hope that this is not the first manifestation of a tendency towards sadism. Had it been on one occasion, just one incident, then I would have thought nothing of it; but I have observed you now during several games and I have seen quite clearly that you always manage to inflict some sort of uncalled-for blow on some member of other team. And as you yourself must be aware, your actions reached an intolerable level in today's match when the young man whom you jabbed violently in the ribs had to be carried off the pitch."

"Now don't try to deny your actions, Sinclair, as I have watched you for several months now. But today's incident reached the level where I think you have to be called to account for your viciousness: an unenviable quality and which I now propose to thrash out of you. And so Sinclair, I am going to give you what you will find is probably the most painful paddling you have ever had in your life: a paddling which you richly deserve. I know that for one reason or another you have been a regular visit to the principal's office for punishment, but I think you will find that what I have in mind for you is an experience you will never wish to repeat. Take of your trousers and pants and let me see your bare ass across that horse there. Get your backside well up in the air boy, and keep perfectly still whilst I give you ten swats with the paddle."