Not long after my gratifying night with Mr. Michaels, the gym teacher at the American Academy of Dramatic Arts which I attended, I soon found out that there was a lower level throughout the entire school...catacombs that I'm not sure even the headmaster knew about. Mr. Michaels took the entire gym class down to this level.
"There are many doors that lead down here", he told us. "But, only I have the key. Now, whichever of you boys gratifies me the most, I will give a copy of that key".
He unlocked one of the side doors (which had the same lock as the doors to the hallways), pushed it open, reached out to the wall and turned on the lights, illuminating the room. To our amazement, there, in the middle of the room, was a large mat, measuring ten feet square...just like the mats which we have in the gymnasium.
"Okay, boys", replied Mr. Michaels. "I want you all to lie face down with your feet together, your hands at your sides and the front of your knees off the mat".
He looked at me and smiled.
"Not you, Blaze", he said. "You already have a copy of the key". Turning to the other boys, who immediately fell flat on their stomachs, he continued, "I'm going to crawl around among you and lick the back of your legs. The first boy who can make me cum inside my boxers will be the one who will earn the right to join Blaze and carry a copy of the key to these catacombs".
"Why doesn't Blaze have to have his legs licked?" asked one of my classmates...a skinny melink named Philip Larskin, whom I despised just about as much as he did me.
"It just happens, Philip, that Blaze had already made me cum in my boxers...many weeks ago". This said, he barked out his orders. "Feet together! Knees off the mat! Hands at the sides!"
The sound of palms slapping naked thighs was like music to Mr. Michaels's ears. The cracking of knees flying off the mat was just as sweet. Then. he turned to look at me.
"Give your order", he said.
Strutting back and forth among the multitude of my classmates, I looked at the back of naked legs facing the ceiling of the room.
"Whichever of you is licked by Mr. Michaels and has his legs slapped will stretch out his head so that his chin is on the mat", I said. "Then, I shall walk among you one last time and pick the boy who I believe should benefit from carrying the copy of the key with me".
Soon, Mr. Michaels got down on his hands and knees, crawling among the prostrate boys, going down on his stomach as he approached each one, stuck out his tongue and licked each thigh, calf and kneeback...smacking his lips as he finished and slapping the legs of the ones who, in his opinion, tasted the best. But, needless to say, cum did not flow in his boxers.
Now...the job of choosing the one who would join us has fallen to me. I now had to tell the boys to do what I knew they would not like.
"You boys who weren't chosen", I said. "It shall now fall to you to lick the legs of the ones who were. Whichever one of you cums in his briefs shall raise his hand and slap the kneebacks of the one that you were tasting when your cum started to flow".
Those who not chosen rose to their knees, going down to their stomachs and lapping the legs of those who were. When Philip suddenly raised his hand and smartly smacked the kneebacks of Peter Piersall, a handsome lad with nicely formed legs (like me), I knew our choice was found. And I couldn't agree with Philip more. Peter's thighs, calves and kneebacks were well-formed and totally unblemished...a delicious sight which would have any young woman drooling when they saw them.
And Mr. Michaels couldn't argue about the choice, either. He leaned over to me and whispered in my ear.
"A marvelous choice", he said. "I smacked the loudest when I tasted his legs. They were delicious!!!"
"Rise!" I shouted out.
When all the boys rose to their feet and snapped to attention, I took the other copy of the key from Mr. Michaels and walked over to Peter, who bowed his head. I lowered the key and the chain from which it dangled over his head, placing it around his neck.
"Peter Piersall, you now have the honor only I have...to carry the key to the doors which lead to these catacombs", I said. "Whoever should be picked by Mr. Michaels to face punishment shall be brought here to receive it. Raise your hand and repeat after me".
Peter raised his right hand.
"I, Peter Piersall,..." I said.
"I, Peter Piersall,..." he repeated.
"...having been formally chosen by Mr. Michaels and my fellow classmates to carry the key,..."
"...having been formally chosen by Mr. Michaels and my fellow classmates to carry the key,..."
"...shall obey the orders of the clique and never shirk from my responsibilities,..."
"...shall obey the orders of the clique and never shirk from my responsibilities,..."
"...doing whatever I am ordered to do".
"...doing whatever I am ordered to do".
"To shirk will mean to be punished".
"To shirk will mean to be punished".
"So help me God".
"So help me God".
Mr. Michaels and I shook the hand of our new novitiate, after which we led the class back upstairs to the gym, where we changed into our street clothes to attend the rest of our classes. But, know this...Peter did have the best-looking legs (besides my own) when he was a boy at the American Academy of Dramatic Arts. From what I heard, he still does...and, like me, he is married and a father of two sons (both who have beautifully well-formed legs). As a matter of fact...as I am recalling this incident and typing away on my laptop, my son Ilya is licking my kneebacks, smacking his lips in the fashion of Mr. Michaels. I really must prepare him so that when he goes to high school (and, eventually, college), he, too, shall know the satisfaction of licking the legs of other boys.
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