plastic-playground-tunnel-2

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Subject: Plastic Playground Tunnel 2 Please send any questions or comments to ail Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction. It contains explicit sex scenes between underage boys. Do not read this if such content is illegal in your jurisdiction or if you are easily offended. Any similarities to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental. The author no way condones the acts depicted within this story, and no person should read this story. 2 The Finger Sniffing Game The enormous din of the rainstorm pounding on the plastic playground tunnel drowned out the erotic sounds of naked middle schoolers playing leapfrog inside. In the darkness, 12-year-old Robby relied on his nose to follow the scent of butt sex through the plastic labyrinth. Though most tween boys have a yet to develop a strong sense of smell–hence their disregard for deodorant and baths–the tangy, bittersweet scent of his twin brother Joe’s butt hole was unmistakable to Robby. Since the twins had never been separated, always shared a bedroom and bathroom, and even shared underwear, naturally they had been pleasuring each other in secret for many years. Their penis play started in the bathtub when they were in kindergarten; the towheaded boys first experimented with trying to pop each other’s balls and then pecked at their bobbing 2-inch boners that poked out of the water. “It tickles when you rub the tip,” one or the other had exclaimed. As they grew older, their penis play moved to the bedroom where they began to explore new regions. “My butt hole itches,” Joe confessed one night on the lower bunk, and his grimy paw slipped into his underwear to scratch his crusty pucker. All boys (and presumably girls too) know well that their stinky puckers are subject to fierce itching, often requiring relief deep inside. The twins took turns scratching each other’s greasy pucker under the rationale of convenience (it was easier for someone else to reach back there), but soon they were finger banging each other even when their holes didn’t itch. Their little hearts fluttered and their coiled guts tingled every night in anticipation of this delightful activity. By their tenth birthday, the twins had mastered their sex technique–blow job with a reach around–better than most teenage boys, though their prepubescent brains still didn’t understand why it felt so good to play with their private parts, or what the purpose of such pleasurable activity might be. Every night they would take turns. The recipient almost always lied on his back with legs spread apart, butt propped up on a pillow–crusty, yellow-brown pillows which they shared–and cheeks parted just enough to expose the brown pucker in between. One boy’s warm mouth would envelope the other’s small penis, the tongue paying special attention to the uncircumcised head, never mind the cheesy flavor under the foreskin. Then a slender finger coated with saliva would slip between the warm butt cheeks and moisten the stinky boy pussy lips. The bony digit invaded the hot guts and tickled the special boy nub to trigger an earth-shattering orgasm in less than five minutes. After the brothers had both achieved dry orgasms, they would slip into dreamland in a cloud of butt stink, their heads rested on their soggy, poop-stained pillows. Joe had always been less clean than his brother, merely going through the most superficial motions of bathing, brushing his teeth, and wiping his bottom. Indeed, at night Robby’s finger often slipped out of Joe’s twitching butt hole covered in poop. Robby sometimes smeared his poopy digit on Joe’s skinny chest, drawing smiley faces or stars, before they fell asleep, still inhaling the sweet butt aroma in their dreams. On mornings after such messy sessions, they would rise from their stinky boy nests with crusty bed hair and brown streaks smeared on their bodies, sometimes even on their smooth faces. Like everything else, the twins shared body odors. Their poop-scented, poop-streaked bodies honestly didn’t attract much attention at that age, since most preteen boys barely know or care how to clean themselves anyway, only showering twice a week, once during the summertime. By the sixth grade, the few boys who were capable of producing sperm would indifferently wipe their penis juices on their undies or pillow cases. In fact, at this age it was easy to identify the boys who had started puberty by the powerful mushroom scent of their unwashed genitals that escaped from their baggy şişli travesti gym shorts during PE class; and the ones who didn’t wipe their butts by the nutty aroma of their crusty puckers. The twins’ prepubescent brains began to strongly associate the smell of butt hole with penis play. In the humid locker room, the butt smell of the other stinky sixth grade boys caused their little penises to jump, often tenting their underwear throughout PE class. At home they both agreed that finger banging was the best game ever; blow jobs didn’t even compare without the messy act. And the two boys secretly relished the nutty aroma of their stinky butt fingers, clandestinely sniffing the poop-scented digits throughout the school day and in bed at night. The twins were about 11 when, one evening while playing under the covers, Robby noticed that Joe’s unwashed armpits smelled like sweet onion potato chips, a new sensation for the preteens. They took turns slipping their funky butt fingers under their armpits, as most sixth grade boys learn to do, to sample the new scent. Thus, slipping fingers under armpits and sniffing them became a regular pastime at school for the next year, and the twins even began to cultivate their own unique scents, sometimes lodging their stinky butt fingers in the warm, sweaty place for several hours a day when circumstances allowed. At night in bed, their grimy digits with dirt under the fingernails would scratch and sniff all their naughty places: greasy butt holes, behind sweaty scrotums, beneath crusty foreskins, and even the jam between their little toes. Naturally, Joe’s stronger body odors passed to Perry during their intimate sessions; or when they fell asleep snuggling after sex, sweaty bodies entangled; or when they carelessly swapped dirty undies or t-shirts. And during the day, their unwashed fingers would transmit all of these fascinating smells to their sweaty armpits. Thus, the twins both shared a reputation at school as smelly kids with unusually strong–though sweet–body odors for their age and level of physical development. A few months into the sixth grade, Joe had even shared body odors with another boy in their home room. The smaller boy with wavy brown hair named Jayden sat beside the twins in the back row. Jayden had noticed the twins’ curious finger sniffing ritual, not to mention their frequent fidgeting to sneak a rub of their little boners, which flew at full mast under their desks for most of the day. Boners had become epidemic in the sixth grade, and half the boys sported them on the playground, grasping their little candlesticks through their shorts without embarrassment. When one boy noticed an erection on another, he too would pop a boner. Within a week, Jayden was imitating the twins in the back of the classroom, lodging his own fingers under his smooth armpits to periodically sniff them for half the school day too. “It smells good,” Jayden commented to Joe, who sat next to him. Jayden shifted at his desk to slip his finger under his other armpit and added, “One side smells different from the other. Wanna try?” Joe agreed to play scratch and sniff with the harmless boy, and, with one hand pushing their preteen boners down under their desks, they took turns slipping their fingers up each other’s shirt sleeve, tickled the sweaty region, and collected a new smell, first Joe, then Jayden. Thus, the twins’ naughty scents passed from Joe’s finger to Jayden. When Jayden lifted his arm over his head to sample the new scent smeared on his armpit, the first whiffs of the butt confused his prepubescent brain and his little dicky jumped in his pants. After a minute he confessed, “Yours smells really strong.” It’s unknown how many rambunctious tween boys eagerly passed the twins’ pungent body odors on from Jayden during lunch and recess that day as rumor spread of the potent aroma. Small little candlesticks tented gym shorts on the playground, and the sixth graders stood in a circle sniffing the twins’ butt stink on their fingers, then mixing the scent with their own armpit odors. Some of the hornier tweens who had been experimenting at home were able to deduce the source of the different elements in the bouquet: dried spit, armpit, butt hole, penis juice. In the days that followed, the twins’ body odors passed on fingers between brothers at home–both older and younger–on to new schools, and possibly around the world. And of course, later that night in bed, the beylikdüzü travesti twins shared the smell they had collected from Jayden: Just soap and onions. Jayden wasn’t playing with himself yet, they concluded, or he had made an effort to stay very clean if he was. The proliferation of twins’ pungent butt stink changed the olfactory signature of the sixth grade for the rest of that year. The teachers assumed that the boys’ fuzzy brains simply weren’t bothering to wipe–a common problem with middle school boys–or, in the worst cases, had sharted in their pants during recess. Indeed, the next week several sixth graders were invited by their teachers to go to the restroom and “clean up”… “down there”… “wipe your bottom, kid.” A few adult males, such as the PE teacher, knew better. It was the buttery scent of early puberty that most little boys take on as they approach the seventh grade and begin to churn dick cheese and explore their butt holes. In the fall, rumor exploded on the playground that an early bloomer among the boys, named Colin, had found two or three wispy hairs on his armpits. At recess that day, every sixth grade boy passed through the circle to play the finger sniffing game with Colin, who pulled his shirt sleeve up dozens of times, blushing as he revealed his black wispies to the other boys, all the while pushing down his stiff penis in his shorts. This was Joe’s first experience touching pubic hairs, and the coarse texture of Colin’s wispy underarm hairs surprised him; the only association his immature mind could find was the texture of the steel wool sponge under the kitchen sink. When his turn had passed, he moved to the edge of the circle and rubbed his boner, wondering how hairy Colin must be in his pants. The stronger odor of Colin’s hairy armpits imprinted strongly on the minds of the sixth grade boys. In contrast to the biscuity-sweet scent of prepubescent boys that surrounded them, Colin’s armpits had a slightly musky aroma, stronger than anything any sixth grade boy on the playground had produced so far. A few of the sixth graders commented, “It smells like big brother after soccer practice,” or, “It smells kinda like sweet onion potato chips.” “Smells a little like my damp clothes when the drier broke.” Others likened it to a garbage can or a dirty dish rag in the kitchen sink. Even a handful of girls came to sample the new pubescent odor that day, though they seemed decidedly less impressed than the boys were. All of the boys departed the circle with little boners in their pants, most concealed by their jeans, but some with tented sweatpants. A few blushed and scurried into the plastic playground tunnels to rub their little erections in private. But the vast majority knew no shame, and, as nature calls, they stood in the open circle and tugged away their hard penises through their pants or pockets. For the rest of the day in class, the sixth grade boys slipped their arms inside their shirts like turtles and lodged their stinky fingers under their armpits. Most believed that the stronger body odor from a more mature guy with armpit hairs would make them grow faster, bigger, and stronger. Several boys made pacts with each other not to shower that weekend, and to check on each other’s progress on Monday. Indeed, the musky scent that the sixth grade boys carried from that day on signaled the cohort’s collective transition into puberty, and may have even accelerated some hormonal development in them. By their twelfth birthday, the twins’ pillow cases were always crusty and yellow, and usually freshly streaked with brown skid marks, much like their shared undies. A few tawny pubic hairs had sprouted just above their little penises, which had begun producing watery discharge. They eagerly swallowed each other’s penis juices every night, licking their angry-red genitals clean–including the crusty flakes under the foreskin–to avoid wasting a single molecule. They never left a mess, except of course for their stinky butt fingers. The erogenous experience of the finger sniffing game imprinted strongly on the horny minds of every boy in the sixth grade. It became the subject of the first wet dream for most of the boys, and seeded all kinds of sexual fantasies for their growing bodies to investigate in the months to come. However, for seventh graders, the finger sniffing game was slightly taboo. Knowledge of a new game called masturbation spread like wildfire over the istanbul travesti summer break between sixth and seventh grade, and the seventh graders naturally segregated from the little kids. Preferring to play this new game in private, they retreated inside the playground equipment to relieve their aching boners, sometimes alone or in groups of two or three. The seventh grade boys walked an incredibly fine line between new feelings of shame and guilt, and hair-trigger horniness of their hormone-ridden bodies. It was a difficult age; it was the best of ages. Outwardly they still appeared to be little boys, though a bit lankier, and a few with underarm wispies visible when they swam at the pool. Still seen as little boys, they could freely participate in an infinite possibility of erotic activities while maintaining plausible deniability that they were merely playing silly games. However, inwardly (especially in their pants) they led private lives of sex-crazed creatures, gripped by the ravages of puberty, passing through the horniest period of their lives, desperate to explore the new sexual functions of their bodies the moment their parents stepped out of the house: watery ejaculation, peach fuzz, wispy bush, homemade dildo. Though the seventh grade boys kept their distance from the childish sixth graders, a few pondered the possibility of using the smaller boys like girls they had seen on the internet in porno videos. The sixth graders were still girlish and undeveloped, small enough to easily control, and, unlike girls, the little boys couldn’t get pregnant. Most importantly, sixth grade boys were always turned on. Inevitably, a few lucky sixth graders had sex with the older boys in the playground tunnels during recess, mostly oral. That spring, 13-year-old Kyle caught a whiff of Joe’s tangy body odor when he had passed the little boy inside the stuffy playground tunnels. The horny teen knew from the scent that the cute 12-year-old was sexually receptive, and he resolved to court the stinky little boy. They started playing innocently like friends, only slightly unusual in that they were in different grades. Kyle gradually began to touch the little boy, first playfully pushing and tugging his skinny body around the playground. Joe gave chase, but always made sure to let the older boy catch him before recess ended. The teen wrestled his prey to the ground and gave him wet willies in the ear or surprise wedgies that left prominent shit streaks on his undies, which Perry would have to share. By the spring, the weather warmed, and Kyle grew bolder. The dark-haired teen began to play ass grab with the little boy. Once comfortable with that, he surprised the boy by groping his crotch just as the bell rang to signal the end of recess, before they both scampered off to class in opposite directions, Kyle grinning, Joe scratching the messy mop of blond hair on his head in a confused fug. Days later, Joe confessed to his friend that he liked it when he touched his private regions, and Kyle took the initiative to grab and hold the little boy’s butt for longer periods to see how he would respond. Joe giggled and pulled away to feign embarrassment, still holding on to a lifeline of plausible deniability in case they were found out. But the next day he was anxious to renew their exploration and directly asked the teen if he wanted to touch his butt again. Kyle agreed and rubbed his fingers in the boy’s crack, feeling for the warm pucker. Joe froze as three fingers caressed his rosebud through his thin gym shorts, and he seemed disappointed when Kyle removed the fingers from the cleft of his butt. “Ever have a Japanese wet willy?” Kyle asked the little boy the next day at the top of the slide. Joe shook his head, grinning, and expected the teen to slip another wet finger in his ear. But this time, Kyle’s hand quickly slipped down the back of his undies, and a wet finger jammed up his butt hole, actually wiggling an inch into the greasy pucker, which caused the little boy to squeal. Kyle then held the stinky digit to his own nose and inhaled deeply. His big brown eyes gazed into the immature boy’s face, and he cast a wide grin at his prey before departing down the long slide. The next week on a cloudy afternoon, Kyle invited both of the twins to the playground tunnels to show them “how to do it.” Joe’s heart fluttered, and Kyle held his hand as they scampered to the mouth of the playground structure, Robby trudging behind them. Kyle nudged Joe into the tunnel first, then blocked Robby, strong hand grabbing his small shoulder, and said, “Stay here and keep lookout in case someone comes,” before following his prey into the dark passageway. Please send any questions or comments to ail

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