"N-no!"

Samuel put his hand around the boy's throat and **** him to look up, meeting his eyes. "Don't lie to me, you dirty little faggot."

Wesley trembled and shook his head. "I-I'm not."

Samuel leaned even closer until their faces were inches apart. "So if I check if your boy-prick, I won't find a pathetic little hard-on?"

Before Wesley could answer, Samuel closed the distance and kissed him. Wesley's eyes flew wide open. His hands came up to push at Samuel, but they were easily captured. Then Samuel pushed his tongue into his mouth, kissing him insistently, domineeringly, conquering the teenager's mouth with his rough tongue.

Slowly Wesley realized there was no use in struggling and his jaw slackened. Shocked mewls and whimpers emanated from his throat as he tried to come to terms with the powerful, intimate ****.

Samuel gathered Wesley's wrists behind his back, in the solid grip of one large hand. With his other hand—now unoccupied—he went back to exploring. He grasped the boy's flank, prompting him to flinch, but he was so overwhelmed that he could muster no other response.

Samuel pawed him rudely, groping his chest through his shirt—the only article of clothing he was still wearing—and stroking his shivering belly, and then descending further. When he reached the waistband of his underpants, he was sorely tempted to just tear them off, but in the end patience won out.

He started groping the boy's tight, quivering ass instead, his hand separated from a plump butt by a thin layer of cotton.

Finally he drew back. Wesley's lips shone with the spit they'd exchanged, and had turned red under his relentless ****. They were parted slightly, and sharp, shallow gasps for breath were all he could muster.

Only when Wesley's eyes started to clear did Samuel place his hand squarely between his legs, cupping the boy's cock and balls in his palm.

"Well, well," he murmured. "What do we have here? Is this a little stiffy I feel? Seems like you're enjoying this after all, hm?"

Wesley's jaw worked, but no words came out.

"I have to say, I'm very disappointed," Samuel continued, roughly fondling the hardening bulge. "I thought we had agreed you would stop lying to me, Wesley. And now I catch you getting an erection just because of a little kiss, like a dirty faggot slut."

Wesley opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a high squeak, as Samuel chose that particular moment to squeeze down, not hard enough to cause him pain, but enough to catch his attention. He froze, eyes wide.

"So here's what we're going to do, boy slut. I'm going to let go of your hands. You're going to take off those cute little panties for me, and then you'll put your arms behind your back again, interlacing your fingers. Do you understand?"

He squeezed again, causing Wesley to nod hurriedly. "Yes!"

"Yes what?"

"Yes, s-sir!"

"Good little faggot."

Samuel released the boy's wrists and crotch. There was a brief hesitation, then Wesley put his thumbs in his waistband and pushed down his briefs. He was **** to shimmy once more, blushing furiously the entire time, until finally they dropped the rest of the way to his ankles. There was a brief pause, then he remembered the last command and put his hands behind his back.

Samuel gave a satisfied nod and kissed him briefly. "There you go. Isn't it better if you just do what you're told, like a good little boy?"

Wesley trembled. "Y-yes, sir."

Samuel glanced down. The boy's arousal was plain to see. His prick was fully erect. It was tiny, maybe 4 inches long, uncircumcised, and twitching with hopeless desire. Below it, he could make out a pair of immature balls, cradled in a soft, hairless little sack.

"However," Samuel began, voice hardening. "The simple fact is that you still lied to me, despite all your promises that you would tell the truth. I can't keep overlooking your dishonesty, so I'm going to give you a choice. Either I can punish you"—and he patted Wesley's ass—"or you can make it up to me in another way"—and he drew his thumb across the boy's lower lip. "What will it be?"

Truthfully, Samuel was down for either one. He was eager to feel a pair of lips—almost certainly virgin—around his thick black cock, but turning Wesley's soft behind bright red sure seemed like fun too—and afterwards he figured the boy would do whatever he wanted anyway.

"Well?" He pressed. "Oh, I see what the problem is. You can't pick just one, right? That's OK, we can just do both if that's what you prefer."

That less-than-subtle threat to settle the matter. "I... I... I'll make it up to y-you." Wesley whispered.

"Excellent. First, let's get a little more comfortable. Follow me."