A knot of six nuns were sitting together in full black habits at the front of the congegation. Before we took our seats, the boys and I went over to greet them, as we hadn't seen them for a few weeks. The nuns, who recognise us and know us well, offered to entertain the boys in the side chapel during ‘the boring bits’ of the service, which was most of it, to be honest. During the hymns, readings and prayers the nuns sat and talked to the little boys in the congregation. Or at least they would say, if asked, that they talked to the boys.

The service was an hour long. I had lapsed and lost my religious belief yeas ago and I had to force myself to sit through it all. At the end of the service, when the Sisters brought the boys back to me, the older sister, Rosemary, whom I'd often spoken to, gave me a small card like a Christmas card or a birthday card.

"We all enjoyed the boys' company," she said in her broad Northern Irish accent. "They are so cute. Look after them."
"How many boys came today?"
"Five," said Sister Rosemary, her sweet freckled face smiling. "Your two, Mrs Hughes's twins and Helen Tanfield's twelve year old."
"How many times did these two come?" I asked Sister Rosemary, knowing how fond the nuns were of making Timmy and Greg come, usually with their hands or mouths, and just occasionally letting the boys slip into their narrow, tight, clean-shaven, penny-slot vaginas. Every boy in the side chapel would have been milked hard by the nuns working in relay. I noticed that Timmy had wet himself.
"Timmy came four times and Greg came at least six times," said Sister Rosemary, "they are very randy little boys. You'd think they hadn't been wanked off for weeks."

Actually their dad had lain in bed with them and wanked them so hard that their cocks ached, and at about three in the morning he'd fallen asleep. After that the boys had the cock pump running for more than an hour.

"Those are two seriously randy little boys," I said unnecessarily.
"I'm pleased to hear it. There are some Sisters in the chapel with very sticky fingers thanks to these two sweeties," Sister Rosemary continued. "Sister Florene cracked the strap on Greg a few times so he's got a bit of a sore bum, and Sister Zora wore black muslin arm-gloves so as to give the boys a bit of extra stimulation — Greg just loved that so she made Greg pump over and over, really hard… Sister Zora's gloves are soaked!" Timmy smirked and Greg flushed deep red. "Oh," Sister Rosemary said, fumbling in her robes, "here, a young man who was passing gave me this card and asked me to pass it to the boys' mommy. So here you are."
"I'm very curious," I said, taking the card. I knew that any young man who had been passing the open Chapel door would certainly have seen five sweet little boys with their trousers and underpants around their ankles being fondled by the group of half a dozen fully robed Sisters. He might also have seen the Sisters' remarkable collection of lingerie, canes, whips and straps.

I kissed the boys, feeling the heat of Greg's blushing cheeks. The envelope said just To and a recognisable sketch of my face. Inside was a card, like a valentine. Two pink hearts. There was a message in ballpoint.

Dear lady, your family are cute beyond belief. I have fallen in love with them both. Please allow me to spend some time your boys. With love to you, Timmy and Greg, from Gerard.

"You have a fan," I told Timmy and Greg, "someone thinks you're cute. Rosemary," I asked her, "is the man still here?"
"No." She looked around. "He must've left now."
"What's he like?"
"Short, with a black beard and moustache all unkempt," she said, "early thirties, I'd say. Suntanned. Looks as if he's spent his whole life so far outdoors. Might even be a street sleeper."
"Is that him, in the porch?"
"Yes," said Sister Rosemary. "I didn't see him. Sorry."
"Fine," I said, "don't worry, but can you look after the boys for a moment?"
"I would love to," said Sister Rosemary. The boys were sitting down, and Sister Rosemary rested the fingers of both hands on the boys' upper thighs. Timmy gave a little wriggle so that her hand slipped onto his cock, and Sister Rosemary ran her fingers along the length of it. Greg opened his zipper for her, and Sister Rosemary reached inside.

I walked out into the sunshine. In the porch met a quiet, short and slim young man, with thick black hair that had not been combed for a while, a black beard and a moustache. He gave the appearance of being massively strong, with truly bulging biceps and hands that looked as if he could shred a house-brick. His clothes were untidy and badly fitting, a thick grey overcoat flapping on top of a white blue-striped shirt and brown cord trousers half open at the front. He was wearing heavy boots. I showed him the card.

"Hi," I said, "don't jump, everything's all right. I'm Jennie. Are you Gerard?"

The young man didn't answer, so I showed him the card. "Is this from you? Sister Rosemary said you wanted me to have it."

The young man still didn't answer. He looked at the card, and then he looked at the ground.

"You're seriously cute," I said. "Why don't you come home with us and spend some time with the boys?" Just to make sure he understood, I added, "You can play any game you like with them."
He looked at my feet as though ashamed of his desires. His answer was a long time coming and it took him several attempts to say it. "Will you… will you… will you sell me a used pair of their underpants?"

He had a very sensuous Norfolk accent. Not at all that of a tramp on the toby, more the voice of a university don or maybe a corporate executive. I admired his arms. He had those true bulging biceps that filled his shirt sleeves, which might have marked a labourer in the fields or a hard working gardener. I laughed at his request, not because it was funny but because Gerard's simple, common desire to hold,sniff and lick a boy's used underpants tormented him and made him feel ashamed to mention it.

"Of course I will. There are a few pairs of the boys' underpants in the laundry basket. You can look through those and take any that you like."
He looked up, into my eyes at last. He had deep turquoise eyes and long lashes, pale lips revealing bucky but white teeth. "How much?" he asked, adding, "I can pay."

That came as a surprise. I knew that many men are attracted to boys' used underwear but the thought of selling my sons' used underpants to a fetishist had never occurred to me. He could have taken a couple of pairs for nothing, if he wanted them. I guessed that paying money was part of the sexual ritual that excited Gerard, and that he would prefer to pay me than to take the underpants without paying. After all, he could have taken boys' underpants off any washing line in town without paying, or got a job in a launderette.

"£10 a pair," I offered, "£20 if they're seriously skid marked. Timmy and Greg wet and soil their underpants occasionally."

Gerard looked at me and he must have realised that I understood his desires and I wanted to play along with them.

"Could I maybe spend some time with the boys too?"
"Sure," I said, "you can come home with us now and stay as long as you want. Of course you will have to pay a fee for them."
"How much?" he asked, obviously overcome with the urge to talk about his desires, pay for them and indulge them. I could see his cock enlarging in his loose fitting trousers. "How much to strip the boys naked and play games?"
"We charge £200, basic, that's both boys for twenty four hours." I told him. "You can fuck them but extras like spankings cost more." I smirked.
"Will you watch us?" he asked.
"If you want," I said, "or their dad can watch, if you want. It's your money. I'm happy to leave you alone with them. I can see that you won't hurt them."
"Doesn't their dad mind you whoring the boys out?"
"Does Peter mind you fucking our children?" I giggled as I repeated the question. I was amused by the thought of Peter, who could fuck the kids until their backsides bled when he was horned up, turning angry at a friend who asked permission to do the same. "Definitely not. He adores the boys. He fucks them. He loves to share them. He'd love you to get into them. Just as long as you're gentle and don't break anything."
"Then I'll take you up on that," he continued, "and yes, my name is Gerard."

Gerard reached into the side pocket of his overcoat and pulled out a wad of ten pound notes held together with a rubber band. I watched as, laboriously, he counted out £220 and held it out to me. There was plenty more where that came from. I blurted out, "Where did you get all that—" before I could stop myself, and then I took a breath, took the money and apologised. "Sorry, I'm sure…"
"Honest labour," said Gerard, "so don't worry about where it all comes from. I'll make the boys earn their fees."
"I won't worry," I said, realising that the only way I could justify taking his money and live with my conscience would be to share the money between the boys' savings accounts. "Come on," I said, "let's fetch the boys and take them home. The sooner we're home, the sooner you can fuck them."

I put my hand on the crotch of his loose trousers and felt Gerard's cock for a moment. He had loose, torn or just possibly no underwear, so the cock was moving easily. It was hard, thick, curved upwards, and large. Eight inches, perhaps. (Wow.) I let go of the cock and let it bob and sway. (That's a big penis. I wonder how long ago you last had a chance to use it.)

Gerard took hold of my hand, quite unexpectedly, as we walked back into the church. The boys weren't where I had left them and I walked around with Gerard holding my hand looking into various little side rooms where they and Sister Rosemary could enjoy privacy. Sister Rosemary had taken the boys into the vestry and stripped them bottomless, and she was giving them a cock tickle, Timmy in the left hand, Greg in the right. She looked up, startled, and let go of the boys.

"It's OK, Sister Rosemary," I said, "don't stop."
"I wouldn't want them to suffer blue balls," she said, "it would hurt." She ran her middle fingers along the cocks to bring on the pain of blue balls. ("Hands on your heads. No wanking yourselves now, boys.")
"The boys love what you're doing," I told her, "so we'll wait outside. After Gerard has had a good look, of course."
"Thanks," said Gerard.

Sister Rosemary took a gentle hold of the boys' balls ("There, doesn't that feel nice, my darlings!") and played firmly with their sensitive B spots. A quiet but unmistakeable moan ("O-o-ooh!") escaped Greg, and he closed his eyes.

"We'll wait in the car," I said, "take your time."

Gerard put his arm around my waist as we walked out to the car park and found my car. His hand was feeling my hip through my clothes, exploring the curves of my waist and bottom. ("I love the way you hold me.")

"Let's get in the back together," I said.
"Do you want to fuck?" he asked me.
"I think we ought to wait for the boys. The little one is Timmy, he's eight. The big one is Greg. He's ten and he wants you to call him Crunchie." I couldn't remember wanting a man to slide his cock into me as much as I did at that moment. "They'll interrupt us anyway."
"Sure thing," Gerard said.
"Who was the last person you fucked?"
"Fifty year old man called Caslon in the boy's toilet in the park. Last Monday. Bit fat but a nice arse."
"What did you do together?"
"Fucked his arse, then I wanked him. As I fucked him, we stood where we could see the boys pissing."
"Did you pay him?"
Gerard laughed. "You're joking."
"That must be seriously erotic," I said, "all those zips opening and cocks popping out."
"There were only four of them, but they were alone. I love their piss," he said, looking across the car at an imaginary little boy with his zip open, "out of the cock and into the drain, even the scent of it gets me hard."
"Do you ever wish they would piss on you?"
"Oh. You got me bang to rights there. I would do anything to get them all to piss on me."
"I'm sure my two will oblige," I said, "they leak anyway, on occasion, so it won't be much effort for them."
"How much?"
"You can leave them a tip if they piss hot and hard enough for you."

I kissed Gerard. Our lips stayed together for minutes. We were still kissing when Greg opened the door. Sister Rosemary had tidied the boys up and she was walking with them.

"Any messy pants?" I asked her.
"Who's that?" Greg asked, pointing to Gerard.
"No," said Sister Rosemary, "but only because they're not old enough. Young Timmy comes a bit sharpish, doesn't he?"
"He's Gerard," I explained to all three, adding, "He wants to have sex with the boys."
"I hope he enjoys it as much as I did," Sister Rosemary chipped in, "and sisters Florene and Zora and their fellows."
"I'll get into the driving seat. Greg, how about you sit beside Gerard and Timmy, slip your trousers off and sit in Gerard's lap."

We rearranged ourselves. Timmy sat in Gerard's lap, deliberately wriggling and shifting provocatively in coat, shirt, socks and underpants with his trousers and shoes on the floor. Greg, fully dressed, sat on Gerard's right, and Gerard trailed his hand across his upper thigh, cock and ball area.

"You're called Crunchie at school," said Gerard, in the manner of a question.
"Yes," Greg replies, "it's OK to call me Crunchie. Are you going to fuck us?"
"Definitely," said Gerard. "I have a big, swollen cock and it's telling me how much it wants to get into your lean, mean backside."
"He's right," said Timmy, moving his bottom to feel the size of Gerard's cock, "he's a big boy!"

The boys giggled. I drove home, listening to the boys' occasional gasps of pleasure as Gerard explored them. ("Oh! Do that again. OH!" "Get your pants off, child." "A-ah! That feels amazing…") Both boys were bottomless when we parked on the street outside our house. I let Gerard go into the house with the boys while I picked up the clothes from below the back seats, where the boys had dropped them. Any neighbours would have seen two little boys naked from the waist down, energetically pursued by an untidy, ill dressed man while I followed, a minute later, with a handful of boys' clothes.

Timmy was in the hallway watching the brother he adored kissing Gerard hard on the mouth as those strong hands squeezed and held Greg's bare bottom, cock and balls. Gerard's right hand felt every inch of Greg's cock, then around the balls and then in the groins and behind the scrotum, pressing and rubbing the B spot. ("Crunchie, I love you.") Innocently I picked up Greg's hand and laid it on Greg's zipper, where Greg opened the zipper and put his cool fingers on the thick, hard cock inside Gerard's ripped underpants.

Gerard turned Greg around and bent him forwards. He had a small bottle of oil in his coat pocket and he poured it onto Greg's bum cleft, then pressed his cock into Greg's ass as far as it would go.

Greg yelped. "Ow! Christ! Is that bareback?"
"Yes, Crunchie, you're getting it the natural way."
"Good, go ahead and— YOUCH!"
"Sorry," said Gerard. "You're just so fucking beautiful, I couldn't control myself any longer. I wanted to wank you until your cock came right off in my hand. Bend right down, touch your toes like you do in school in the gym. That's it."
"Oh! Oh, this hurts."
"Relax your arse hole and it'll not hurt as much."

Gerard pushed into Greg even harder ("There. That's it all the way in.") and suddenly his orgasm took him over. Gerard's prostate must have been massive because I actually heard it contracting and pumping its hot milk into Greg's sweet arse hole.

"You haven't had it for a while," I said to Gerard.

Greg moved away but Gerard held him in position. "You stay there, Crunchie."
"He's good, isn't he," I said to Greg.
"After what he was doing in the car, I couldn't hold on," Gerard volunteered.
"Wow, yeah, Mom, he's built like a broom handle." Greg was still in position, touching his toes, buttocks raised, arse hole relaxed.

Gerard's cock was still inserted all the way into Greg's backside. Gerard reached around the boy, grasped his cock and began to pull and stroke it roughly, almost frantically. Greg was panting hard, red faced, moaning aloud occasionally as Gerard began to thrust his hips hard against Greg's tight bottom.

"Push against me, Crunchie," Gerard ordered.

Greg responded, pressing backwards against Gerard's hips, making Gerard's cock sink further into Greg's bottom. Gerard's hard fingering of Greg's cock was having an effect too. ("Hold the tip. Just work the tip a little&hellip Yes…") Gerard gave a powerful jerk forwards. Then a second orgasm overtook him and I heard that forceful contraction of his prostate: squeeze, squirt, squeeze, squirt, ("Oh! Oh, Christ, Crunchie, you made me come again!") squeeze, squirt. Then a pause, and squirt, pause, squeeze, squirt.

Gerard gasped for breath. Greg came in Gerard's hand, releasing some liquid that might have been urine. Gerard's cock, limp at last, slipped out of Greg's arse hole. ("Oh! Sorry.")

"You don't pump any milk when you come," Gerard observed.
"No. I will in a few years. But I certainly felt yours going in."
"Nice feeling?"
"Wonderful," said Greg, really meaning it. "Sore at first but I soon got used to it."
"Can you and I go to your room, stay naked, and invite your brother in with us?"
"Sure," said Greg, limping slightly.
"What's wrong with you?" Gerard asked.
"Cramp in the buttocks," Greg laughed. "Big men have that effect on me. Come on, our bedroom's this way."
"Jennie?" Gerard called me back into the hallway. "Do you have some sort of toys that Timmy might enjoy?"
"Everything's in the boys' room," I said, "except clean diapers, they're in the hall cupboard."
"Clean diapers?" Gerard was surprised for a moment. "You tell me he pisses his pants?"
"Just the occasional little accident," I said. "He'll wet them if you ask nicely. Both boys will. Don't worry about getting wee on the bed, or on the carpet."
"Do you want to join in?"
"No," I said, never having been particularly interested in threesomes, "thank you but I'll stay downstairs. I have things to do. Take your time. Greg will come upstairs in a minute but just at this moment I think he would appreciate a shower."

Gerard went into the boys' bedroom and stood at the foot of the bed, looking at Timmy who was lying on top of the quilt, naked. He shut the door. I found a book, went and sat in the lounge and tried not to think about what Gerard was doing to the boys. Of course, I couldn't stop thinking about the three of them. There were all sorts of bedroom toys in the room. I wondered which of them Gerard would use first. The temptation of a regulation school cane and two scrumptious backsides was more than any man could withstand for long.

I didn't have to wait long. I heard a sharp spank and a quiet squawk from Timmy as Gerard landed what sounded like a firm smack on Timmy's bottom. More spanks and increasingly loud yells followed. It was erotic to hear. Then the spanks were replaced by a higher pitched crack and the yells suddenly sounded like serious cries. Gerard was using the cane, a regulation school cane intended to subdue the rowdiest twelve year old with three or four strokes with pants down in front of the whole class. Gerard repeated the cracks and Timmy began wailing uncontrollably. When the caning stopped, Timmy continued to whine and snivel. Then Timmy started grunting regularly. I recognised the sound because he made the same noise when Philip used his body. Timmy was being fucked powerfully in the arse.

Greg came into the room, naked and gorgeous as always. I stared at his limp cock, longing to hold it, but I decided that Greg would prefer to have some fun with his brother and his new lover. I told him to go upstairs and help Gerard by doing anything that Gerard asked. A moment after Gerard stopped pumping into Timmy's rear, the spanking started again. This time it was Greg who yelled as he was hand-spanked and almost screamed as he was stung hard by the school cane. I guessed Greg's bottom was a deep red colour and his cheeks were soaking with tears as the familiar rhythm reprised. Greg, I guessed, was kneeling on the bed, head down, arse up, getting fucked until blood trickled from his throbbing backside.

And then exactly the right thing happened. My husband Peter arrived and wandered into the lounge.

"Meeting ended early," said Peter, "so I thought I'd—"

A sharp smack and a squeal of pain came from upstairs. It was Greg, and it sounded like a smack in the face. (Smack! Aaah, aargh!) Then a second smack in the face with a louder squeal, from Timmy this time.

"What's happening to the boys?" Peter asked me.
"Sounds like a face-smacking," I said, "they have a new lover, they're still getting used to him."
"How did they meet him?"
"Sister Rosemary introduced us," I said. "They were in Church and a nice young man asked after them, so I let him spend the rest of the day with him."
"Just like that?"
"Almost. There's a small complication but we'll get to that in time." I felt Peter's cock. "You're excited," I said, "why don't you go and get some relief from the kids?"
"Will you give me release?"
I stroked the cock, tightening his trousers. "Later. Go and make sure the boys are getting fucked hard."

Peter went upstairs and I heard the kids' bedroom door close behind him. Greg said something but I didn't catch it. Then I heard a hard whack of the cane and a yell from Peter. Six whacks later I heard Peter come: he moans and grunts when he gets rubbed hard enough 'down there.' I wondered whether Gerard was masturbating him, or one of my sons. Every boyfriend I have ever had says that the boys give wonderful hand release.

I must have dozed off. Gerard woke me by coming into the room to say goodbye.

"Thanks for the afternoon," he said. "See you again?"
"Sure, we'd all love that. Bring a friend. Male and under twelve if possible."
"Male? Wouldn't the boys prefer a female?"
"They have me. Anyway, Peter prefers them male."

Gerard looked at me and thought for a second.

"May I kiss you?"
"Yes," I said, "as long as you don't expect more. Naughty boys get their balls squeezed, and if that doesn't work, I can spank pretty hard."
"The boys said you can give them very sore balls and backsides. But that's OK, the boys milked me dry."
"Good." I threw my shirt onto the floor. I was braless, barefoot, wearing only denim shorts. I put my arms around him and kissed him on the lips. He crushed me against him with his arms, and he explored my bottom with one hand. ("You can slip my shorts down if you want.") His kiss was cool and lingering, so that I had time to open my mouth wide and tongue him. I felt his cock pressing against my thigh. "You need milking again. Peter can do it."
"How about Crunchie?"
"He's your favourite, isn't he? Did you take photographs of him?"
"Yes. You don't mind?"
"Of course not. What harm could it do? But don't email them, not even to me."
"I took a gorgeous close-up of Crunchie's cock and balls."
"Only one?" I asked.
"I'll take more next time."
"Tomorrow?"
"I've got other places to go, but I will come back. You can tell the kids that I'll see then both again and I'll fuck them so hard…"
"Mm." The thought of the boys rubbing their bottoms after firm anal sex definitely appealed to me. "I'll definitely tell them. They'll like that… Hey!" I suddenly remembered my other promise to Gerard. "Come with me and we'll choose two pairs of the boys' used underpants for you."
"Do you keep their used underpants?" Gerard was surprised.
"There are a few in the laundry basket," I told him.

There were two pairs of Timmy's underpants in the basket and two of Greg's.

"Does Crunchie stain his pants often?" Gerard asked.
"Timmy soils occasionally. Greg is usually clean."
"You could take a couple from my stash." I hadn't heard Peter walk into the kitchen. His voice surprised me. "Come with me."

The three of us went to our bedroom and Peter opened the bottom drawer of the chest of drawers there. There must have been a hundred pairs of underpants in it.

"I don't throw the boys' worn out underpants away," said Peter, "I keep them here, even if they're really torn and grubby. So," he rummaged around, "here's a pair of Greg's day to day underpants when he was eight and here's a pair of school underpants from a year ago."
Gerard held up the older pair. It was bright red with an elasticated waist and a smooth front with no opening. He admired the brown stain around the ass hole, about two inches across. "Beautiful. He must have been a bit soft and runny that day."
"He couldn't keep it in, and it burst out on the way home, in the car. I remember."
"I shall miss that pair," said Peter, "although I photographed it."

The second pair was white school underpants with blue elastic and blue stitching along the seams, designed with a Y front design.