David Crane
Do it after school
AB-5599
CHAPTER ONE
Johnny Howard was a blond youngster who was uncomfortable if he didn't get his balls emptied at least twice a day.
But it wasn't easy to find a suitable place to beat his meat in privacy and comfort.
He was painfully aware that he made a lot of noise – moaning and panting and grunting – when he was jacking off, especially when he started to cum.
That made it embarrassing to beat off at home, because his mother was a housewife with ears like a hawk. And she was always around the house, no doubt, listening, and it was not unknown for her to walk into a guy's bedroom or the bathroom without knocking.
Johnny slipped hand-jobs in at odd hours of the day and night, but it was frustrating to have to be quiet and jack off in silence, instead of pounding his prick with the enthusiastic vigor that he preferred.
Too, when he shot his wad, his cum-load sprayed out all over the place, and the boy lived in terror of his mother finding neglected globs of jism in the basin or the bath or pooled in his bed sheets.
Whenever he did manage to get a meat beating accomplished, she always gave him a sort of knowing look, which caused him to blush with guilt, making it worse.
It wasn't any better at school, either.
Johnny jacked off in the lavatory, in a locked stall, but couldn't really concentrate on the pleasure for fear that the football coach might catch him at it. The coach termed it self abuse and claimed that it sapped a young man's stamina and lessened his athletic prowess.
Yet, even if Johnny had had enough willpower to forego playing with his cock, it would have been worse, if anything. For then he knew that he would have wet dreams, every night and maybe even cream his jeans in class, which would leave more incriminating evidence than when he drained off his balls willfully and mopped up the results.
Then he found the tree house.
And a lucky day it was for a wanker like him.
Johnny had often noticed it before, without paying much attention to the possibilities. It was a sturdy structure built of wooden planks and plywood, lodged firmly in the limbs of a large tree.
The tree was on his way home from school – a convenient location for a boy who inevitably came home with a hard-on – and it was on common ground between two homes, close but on neither property.
Johnny recalled that Bill Evans, an older boy, had built the tree house several years before. But Bill had gone off to college and the tree house had been left there, abandoned and unused.
On this fateful day, Johnny had been hauling home a particularly troublesome boner – since he had gotten a look up Sheena Stratton's skirt in class.
And as he was passing the big tree, it suddenly struck the youth that the tree house might make a damned good setting for jacking off.
There were wooden slats nailed to the trunk of the tree, forming the rungs of a ladder. Johnny climbed them – with some discomfort, because his hard cock-bulge kept bumping against the rough bark.
When he crawled into the tree house, he was surprised to find that it was furnished – in a fashion.
There was an old mattress on the floor, a cracked mirror on the wall beside it and pictures of naked women and girls, cut from glossy magazines, nailed up all around. There was even a damp, faded copy of a girlie magazine.
The magazine and the pictures were all streaked with what he recognized as dried cum.
It dawned on Johnny that Bill Evans must have used the tree house exactly as he, himself, intended.
And Bill Evans had gone off to college on a football scholarship – so much for the coach's silly ideas about the effects of self-abuse!
Jerking off in that place would be sort of like taking sloppy seconds, Johnny figured. But that did not deter him in the least.
If the virgin boy ever got a chance to fuck a girl, he wouldn't give a shit if he was twelfth in line in a gang- bang!
He studied the situation to make sure the premises were secure before doing the deed. He found that he was able to see into the bedroom windows of the house on either side, but only by standing and looking over the walls, so that no one could see him from either window once he was lying down on the mattress. And, besides, it was unlikely that the bedrooms would be occupied at that time of day, right after school got out, when Johnny was most desperate to cream.
He didn't give a thought to the attics of those nearby homes which, higher up, afforded a plain view over the walls of the tree house.
Deliriously happy with this fortunate find, Johnny lay down and pulled his formidable hard-on out and proceeded to toss himself off our times in rapid succession, enjoying the privacy and the comfort and not needing to care about how, much noise he made.
The pictures of naked women were a boon, as well, since he didn't dare keep a saucy magazine at home.
He gave silent thanks to Bill Evans, his athletic predecessor and the builder of that handy masturbatorium, to whose aged spunk-streaks Johnny added a plentiful supply.
After that first time, Johnny stopped at the tree house just about every day, on his way home from school, and arrived at his own home so satisfied that his snoopy mother wondered if the boy was ailing.
As much as Johnny enjoyed his daily visits to the tree house, Wanda Jarvis enjoyed them even more.
Wanda lived in one of the adjacent houses.
She was a voluptuous woman with jet black hair and an hourglass figure and a temperament to match.
As fate would have it, she was a voyeur, as well – and it was her lucky day as well as Johnny's.
Wanda was in her attic on the day that Johnny first found the tree house.
She had been looking for her dildo. Usually, her husband threw a rigorous morning fuck into Wanda before he went to work, or at least ate her cunt to cool her down. That generally kept her happy, although simmering, until he got home in the evening.
But this morning the alarm clock had failed to go off and, late for work, he had dashed off, leaving his lovely wife unfucked.
Wanda was annoyed and frustrated – and randy as could be.
She finger-fucked hers elf a lot during the day, but there was little satisfaction in that, for a married woman with a usually helpful husband.
Then she remembered her dildo.
It was a big rubber prick that she had often used in college, both on herself and on her sexy roommate. She hadn't seen it in ages, but it would be just the tool to fill the gap until her husband got home.
Now, where had she put it?
As near as she could remember, the rubber prick was stored away in a trunk in the attic. She had been lying around naked all day and, not bothering to dress, went right up to the attic to look for her latex lover.
She finally found the fuck-tool stored at the bottom of a pile of less useful objects. Just looking at it brought back fond memories. The dildo was realistically contoured, with a big, bulbous knob and simulated veins, and the hilt was fitted with a leather harness so that a lady could strap it on and fuck another lady.
Wanda wasn't a lesbian, to be sure, but she always enjoyed a bit of dildo-fucking and cunt-lapping with another feminine woman, just for the variety of it.
