Tatawaw
folder
Original - Misc › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
19
Views:
10,151
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Original - Misc › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
19
Views:
10,151
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction about oral & anal sex between men and boys, aged 6-15. The characters, locations & incidents are fictional. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coinci
Chapter 3 - "Stop!" means exactly that
©2009 Herb Cat. Do not reproduce or distribute this story without the author's permission.
As an author, I welcome feedback from readers. Please send any comments about this story, positive or negative, to Herbcatwriter@yahoo.com. Thank you.
.oOo.
Chapter 3 - "Stop!" means exactly that
Comley is right about the English. The kid has to learn to communicate with the other boys, the staff, and the guests. But he's got a sharp mind. I know he'll pick it up quickly. As the language arts teacher, this will be my responsibility. I may translate a few words for him here and there but mostly he'll learn his new language through immersion. He won't forget his native tongue, of course. Since we have so many international guests, all the boys at Tatawaw speak at least two languages, some of them three or four. We have an extensive stock of Rosetta Stone software. Hermie can use the English disks.
I make a pit stop in Edson and it is just after three when I pull into the drive at Tatawaw. We don't have a sign on the road. Comley prefers to keep a low profile. Guests coming for the first time are told to follow the signs to the Marmor Basin Ski Resort. Then, after they turn off route 93A, they have to mind the odometer to spot our driveway.
I carry Hermie inside, but he continues to sleep, breathing a soft rasping noise. Not surprisingly, Paul's room is empty. Tatawaw's other seven-year old is apparently spending the night with a guest. I undress Hermie and take a long lingering look at his lovely naked body. Rich creamy brown. A mere forty-five pounds and forty-five inches. Jet black hair and eyes. He's going to be a popular choice with our guests. I tuck him into the big king sized bed, turn out the light, give a wave to Harrison, and leave the boy to his dreams.
All the rooms at Tatawaw are monitored 24/7 by a system that rivals the casinos at Vegas. The security personnel can zoom any camera or switch to night vision, as needed. It was installed for the boys' protection. Most of our guests are in compliance with our policies: a boy's "Stop!" means exactly that; a boy's butt is for caressing, not whipping; a boy's self-esteem is to be nourished, not belittled. A guest knows if he goes beyond the limits, even in the heat of passion, he will be sent packing and not welcomed back. So, the cameras are monitored constantly. I know Harrison is on duty in the security office so I give the camera a salute. Of course, in addition to security, the cameras also serve as entertainment for the staff and instruction for the boys.
Boys' rooms, staff rooms, guest rooms: at Tatawaw, they are all outfitted identically. One huge king sized bed, two dressers, a flat screen TV, a refrigerator and microwave, a large closet, and a doorless tiled alcove with the toilet, bidet, sink and tub/shower. Large windows provide views of the snowcapped peaks. Of course, the boys' rooms are filled with all their toys, books, music, sports, and personal property. When Hermie wakes up in Paul's bed, he'll find he's sharing it with five stuffed animals. On the shelf is a play station. On the wall is a poster of the Chicago Bears, a reminder of home. Paul spent the first six years of his life in Cabrini-Green with his mother and various uncles, all black. Paul inherited their kinky hair and thick lips and will probably have a broad nose, but his skin color is lighter than Hermie's. After his mother was killed in the crossfire of a gang turf war, Paul ended up at Tatawaw, the second youngest boy here then and still. (According to Fr. Ricardo's parish records, Hermano was born two weeks earlier than Paul; they will both turn eight in March.) Paul's uncles had already introduced him to oral sex, so he had a head start when he arrived here.
Paul is a favorite among our Japanese guests, and his room reflects this. On his dresser are a soroban, a buddha and a camera, all gifts from men he pleased. In one corner hangs a mobile of origami cranes and on the wall by his mirror is a drawing of Mount Fuji with some Japanese characters. I can't tell you what they mean, but Paul can. He's been working his way through Rosetta Stone Japanese. He is a Japanophile; he even loves sushi.
I get to my own room and flop into bed. It's been a long day.
.oOo.
As an author, I welcome feedback from readers. Please send any comments about this story, positive or negative, to Herbcatwriter@yahoo.com. Thank you.
As an author, I welcome feedback from readers. Please send any comments about this story, positive or negative, to Herbcatwriter@yahoo.com. Thank you.
.oOo.
Chapter 3 - "Stop!" means exactly that
Comley is right about the English. The kid has to learn to communicate with the other boys, the staff, and the guests. But he's got a sharp mind. I know he'll pick it up quickly. As the language arts teacher, this will be my responsibility. I may translate a few words for him here and there but mostly he'll learn his new language through immersion. He won't forget his native tongue, of course. Since we have so many international guests, all the boys at Tatawaw speak at least two languages, some of them three or four. We have an extensive stock of Rosetta Stone software. Hermie can use the English disks.
I make a pit stop in Edson and it is just after three when I pull into the drive at Tatawaw. We don't have a sign on the road. Comley prefers to keep a low profile. Guests coming for the first time are told to follow the signs to the Marmor Basin Ski Resort. Then, after they turn off route 93A, they have to mind the odometer to spot our driveway.
I carry Hermie inside, but he continues to sleep, breathing a soft rasping noise. Not surprisingly, Paul's room is empty. Tatawaw's other seven-year old is apparently spending the night with a guest. I undress Hermie and take a long lingering look at his lovely naked body. Rich creamy brown. A mere forty-five pounds and forty-five inches. Jet black hair and eyes. He's going to be a popular choice with our guests. I tuck him into the big king sized bed, turn out the light, give a wave to Harrison, and leave the boy to his dreams.
All the rooms at Tatawaw are monitored 24/7 by a system that rivals the casinos at Vegas. The security personnel can zoom any camera or switch to night vision, as needed. It was installed for the boys' protection. Most of our guests are in compliance with our policies: a boy's "Stop!" means exactly that; a boy's butt is for caressing, not whipping; a boy's self-esteem is to be nourished, not belittled. A guest knows if he goes beyond the limits, even in the heat of passion, he will be sent packing and not welcomed back. So, the cameras are monitored constantly. I know Harrison is on duty in the security office so I give the camera a salute. Of course, in addition to security, the cameras also serve as entertainment for the staff and instruction for the boys.
Boys' rooms, staff rooms, guest rooms: at Tatawaw, they are all outfitted identically. One huge king sized bed, two dressers, a flat screen TV, a refrigerator and microwave, a large closet, and a doorless tiled alcove with the toilet, bidet, sink and tub/shower. Large windows provide views of the snowcapped peaks. Of course, the boys' rooms are filled with all their toys, books, music, sports, and personal property. When Hermie wakes up in Paul's bed, he'll find he's sharing it with five stuffed animals. On the shelf is a play station. On the wall is a poster of the Chicago Bears, a reminder of home. Paul spent the first six years of his life in Cabrini-Green with his mother and various uncles, all black. Paul inherited their kinky hair and thick lips and will probably have a broad nose, but his skin color is lighter than Hermie's. After his mother was killed in the crossfire of a gang turf war, Paul ended up at Tatawaw, the second youngest boy here then and still. (According to Fr. Ricardo's parish records, Hermano was born two weeks earlier than Paul; they will both turn eight in March.) Paul's uncles had already introduced him to oral sex, so he had a head start when he arrived here.
Paul is a favorite among our Japanese guests, and his room reflects this. On his dresser are a soroban, a buddha and a camera, all gifts from men he pleased. In one corner hangs a mobile of origami cranes and on the wall by his mirror is a drawing of Mount Fuji with some Japanese characters. I can't tell you what they mean, but Paul can. He's been working his way through Rosetta Stone Japanese. He is a Japanophile; he even loves sushi.
I get to my own room and flop into bed. It's been a long day.
.oOo.
As an author, I welcome feedback from readers. Please send any comments about this story, positive or negative, to Herbcatwriter@yahoo.com. Thank you.