Chapter Four
Steve made a good job of avoiding me the next day. No doubt, after an evening of thinking about it, he'd decided what happened was probably a little too gay for him.
Which was just as well, because it took another week for me to beg my sister into going out with him. Although she wasn't too keen; truth be told, Steve just wasn't her type. Not that I was going to tell him that.
He was over the moon when I told him about his upcoming date; my previous transgressions over his sexy body were seemingly forgotten, although he remained wary of me. I too was very happy, but for different reasons; it meant phase two of my plan was about to go ahead.
On Saturday, Steve turned up at about 6pm, dressed in a black shirt, dark jeans, and smart-looking light grey Adidas Originals Ciero trainers.
My sister was out. She would be out until around 8pm. This was kinda planned (she was always late, and whereas most people adapted accordingly, Steve didn't know. So he turned up on time). As I led him to the empty living room (my parents were away for the weekend) and explained all this, he wasn't happy at the prospect of spending a couple of hours in my august company.
What could we do until my sister came home?
Why, watch television without talking to each other, of course.
Halfway through BBC1 Saturday evening staple, Total Wipeout, I declared to no-one in particular, "well, the good news is, my sister ALWAYS fucks a guy on their first date. And what with my parents being away, you're definitely gonna get your end away tonight."
"Really," he said simply.
Eager to open him up a bit more (not like that), I continued, "yep. She'll definitely be getting acquainted with your dick tonight!"
Even though he feigned no reaction to that, his slightly tighter jeans betrayed the slight movement of his knob down there. Of course, it should go without saying that my sister NEVER put out on a first date; I mean, that's part-and-parcel of being a prick-tease, isn't it? This was all part of my plan to introduce sweet, hunky Steve to the wonders of gay sex more fully.
Added almost as an afterthought I said, "so long as you've trimmed your pubes, of course."
He frowned, looking at me with the faintest hint of concern crossing his face, "what do you mean by that?"
"Well, you have, haven't you? I mean�Jesus, don't tell me you don't know?!?"
"What are you talking about?" He demanded.
I looked very, very unhappy. "You mean to say I've gone to all this fucking trouble, organising this bloody date for you, and you haven't even done THAT?"
"How was I supposed to know?! And why does it even matter?"
"First, I thought everyone knew. Second, it matters, because big ugly bushes make her wretch. She can't stand 'em. You seriously didn't know this?"
"Mate, it can't be that big a deal�"
"Oh, right. Sure. I mean, what would I know? I'm only her fucking brother. She only speaks to me about this shit all the time. But yeah, I'm sure you're right. Have a good night, pal; but honestly, I hope you don't mind spending �70 in town just to end the night with your own hand."
We sat in silence for a few more minutes, watching contestants wade through mud and jump over bouncing balls on the television. I say 'watching'; my mind was on bouncing balls of a different nature, and they weren't on the television, but sitting in Steve's boxers on the other side of the living room.
His own mind was also clearly elsewhere when he ventured to ask, with a pained tone as if it was obvious which direction this was going in, "well do you have a razor or something?"
I chuckled. "You ain't shaving your pubes with my razor dude."
"What about scissors?"
I breathed in deeply, looking at the wall of my living room as I did, as if contemplating how best to say what I wanted to say. "Well, there *are* scissors in the house, obviously."
"So just gimme those-"
"But," I continued, "I'm really not sure I'm comfortable with you cutting your pubes with the family scissors."
"'Family scissors?'" He replied, derisively.
"My mum wraps my little nephew's Christmas presents with those scissors! And you wanna start trimming your pubes with 'em!"
"Fine fine, for fucks sake," he replied, holding his hands up.
"But, we need to sort something - or all this work I've put in for you will be worthless," I said, trying to keep up the momentum.
"So what do you suggest, then?"
"Oh! Actually, I do have some little scissors up in my room. I forgot about those!"
"Right. Go and get them, then."
"I'll be honest, Steve. And you'll think I'm a dick - if you'll pardon the pun - for me saying this, but there's gonna be a price for getting those scissors."
He sat up in his seat, looking at me as he folded his arms defensively. "Of course there is," he grumbled.
"Basically, I think it'll be best - for both you, and me, if I do it."
"Do what?"
"The trimming."
He burst out laughing. "And how is that best for me?"
"Well. Firstly, I've already seen your dick, so that's not really an issue for you. Secondly, I've done it lots of times before, so I'm pretty experienced at this sort of thing. And finally, they're my scissors, aren't they? So if you want to do this, then you kinda have to do it my way. I mean, you *could* go to the trouble of going back home to do it - but when's the next train? In an hour? Plus it takes half an hour to get back to yours�you won't be back til gone 9! My sister'd be well pissed off by then. Also, um�you know, I still have those pics on my phone�and, if I sit here bored, well, know knows? I might start sending them to my mates�might be better to, um�keep me entertained for a bit?"
"So you wanna�cut off�my pubes?"
"Wellll�if you asked, I wouldn't say no - let's put it like that."
He sat there thinking for another few minutes. "This is so fucked up. I�I really don't wanna do this, man..."
"I know you don't. But you wanna get with my sister don't you? She won't go out with you again. She's in high demand, and it was hard enough convincing her to do it this once�up to you. Depends on how badly you want it, I guess."
"If I do this�"
"No, it doesn't make you gay. In fact, if anything, it makes you even straighter, because it shows the lengths you'll go to to have sex with a girl."
He theatrically sighed again, whilst having another think. He stood, like he was going to a funeral.
"I'm definitely gonna fuck your sister tonight, mate, no matter what. Let's�get it done."
Steve began moving out the room. I was going to push the point; to make him ask; but I decided against it.
I was already winning enough. And besides, before the sun rose again, I'd have him begging me for a lot more than that.
Chapter Five
Hehehe. Steve was wonderfully, predictably determined to get some poon tonight. God bless him and all who sailed in him.
He was presently sat in my room, perched on the corner of my bed, his fancy jeans and tight grey Giorgio Armani boxers pooled at his trainered feet, which were spread as far as they would go, so as to give me the access to his genitals I had demanded. Just before he goes out on a date with my sister.
I plonked myself down between his chiselled thighs, running my hand up one of them as I did so, getting to about an inch from the relaxed nutsack resting on the edge of my bedspread, before backing off.
Without a word from Stevsie, I started silently parting and separating his pubic hair, stretching out the knotty, kinked brown hairs to their full extension, before snipping them away about half a centimetre from the root.
I was happy-as-larry, diligently shearing away, surreptitiously breathing in the secret, dank odour of his pubescence. Looking down at the white towel which I'd placed between his legs, I was a little surprised at how much hair he was losing - there's a lot more down there then you might think.
Steve, unwilling to look on, laid flat on his back on my bed, staring up at my ceiling; his feet remained relatively close together, constricted by the clothes at his ankles, but he spread his thighs to their maximum extension.
Whenever my hairdressing duties would allow it, I would return to sliding my hand along the thick cords of muscle along those thighs, running my hands over the prickly, sparse hairs along them as I went; garnering an incoherent murmur from the straight boy above me.
Glancing up, I could see him with his arms up, over his face, as if trying to block me out of his mind again.
Free of his enquiring eyes, I was able to take several pictures on my phone as I continued reducing the patch of pubes to what you might find on a fourteen year old; the only indication that this was a man and not a boy being the fragrant emanations and thick oblong cock which dominated his groin, and which was once again slowly filling with blood.
I wondered whether he envisioned beginning his evening tonight in his date's brother's bedroom, on his back with his trousers round his ankles, having his crotch tended too by said brother. Probably not.
I had begun by trimming along the outskirts of his pubes, and got ever closer to the centre; when I got there, with his half-hard cock now pointing menacingly at my face, not more than a few inches away, I would use my third and fourth fingers to push his shaft this way and that - for the purposes of safely pruning him, you understand.
Ignoring his increasingly inflamed organ, I wrapped my fist around the loose sack of jewels beneath, lifting them up and away from my bedspread and allowing them to pool in the palm of my hand, fingers softly encasing them, to ensure they - nor he - moved.
My other hand returned to carefully cutting, as close to the finely corrugated peach coloured, peach-shaped funbag as I dared, the mat of hairs that adorned his full sack.
My insistent, seemingly blissfully ignorant fingers only acted to heighten his arousal. My own sight was entranced by the sight of the boys cock, slowly rearing its pretty pink head skyward.
Leaning forward, I gently blew cool air over the sensitive organ; he immediately murmured a guttural "ughooooh" as I did so, with his thighs and cock both flexing in response; the knob fully revealing itself as he reached full extension.
"Is that nice, Stevsie?" I quietly asked, getting no response in return.
I was just about to move in for the kill - getting so close I could smell the distinctively tart, acrid scent of his damp prick tip - when we both heard the door slam.
His head shot up, wrenched out of that reverie I found ever so useful, and I think we both looked at each other in horror. A second later, he scrambled to his feet, pulling up his designer boxers and jeans, stumbling down the stairs with me not far behind.
It was my sister.
"You're early!" I said.
"Err, no, I'm late, dickhead. We said 6, didn't we, Steve?"
"Err, yeah. Yeah, we did," he replied. He scratched his groin as he said it, no doubt for very good reasons, but I think my sister believed he was masturbating the obvious erection still contained in his jeans. Probably not the best start.
"Right. Well let's go then," she said, replacing her black coat with a white coat, and opening the front door, with Steve following close behind, still trying to sneakily sort out his groin.
I turned and went up to my room.
I'd done a pretty terrible job of Steve's haircut. Of course I had - I'd never done it before, and I just had a pair of parcel scissors for fuck's sake. But it didn't really matter.
I needed to prepare for later. Much later, when I would see Steve again, and it would be me, not my hot-as-fuck sister, who would be putting his respectable straight schlong to good use.
Chapter Six
I heard the door slam at around 2am in the morning. About an hour later, I heard the door to my sister's bedroom slam. Silence engulfed the house thereafter. But, I knew a couple of things: firstly, Steve was definitely in the house, because he couldn't get home at this time - no trains.
Secondly, they had spent about an hour downstairs in the living room, and I presume they weren't chatting. My sister would've got Stevsie good and horny.
Thirdly, my sister, bitch (or paragon of virtue, depending your view) that she is, would never ever fuck Steve after just a few hours spent together over an evening.
I slipped out of bed, and put on my clothes, minus my boxers, before heading downstairs.
Steve's hulking form was on the sofa, with a duvet slung over it. When I entered the living room, he turned and looked at me.
"Whadda you want?" He asked, a slight slurring to his speech as he looked at me with bleary, unfocused eyes.
"Just wondered what was going on."
"Nuthin's goin' on." He laid there in silence for a few seconds. Having turned the light on, I could now see that he was lying there, still completely dressed under the duvet. "Your sister isn't very nice," he added after a minute.
"No, she isn't," I said. I moved over to the sofa, adding, "you deserve better." He looked at me out of the corner of his eye, a frown creasing his forehead, as if wondering about the true meaning of what I'd just said.
"Live n' learn, I 'spose," he said, wiping the sleep from his eyes.
"Do you wanna come up to my room? I've got a sleeping bag up there�if you wanna talk, I mean." Talking was the last thing on my mind.
He thought for a second. "'k." He pushed back the duvet, got up, and put his trainers on over his white socks so he could carry the duvet up the stairs, scratching his nuts through his jeans as he went.
Did he know where this was heading? He must do, I thought. But then, he was drunk. And stupid.
When we reached my room, he dumped his duvet on the floor, as I went to get the sleeping bag I had no intention of using.
"What�is�this?" I could tell from the breathless way he asked what he was referring to; what he had found.
I turned to see him holding a carrier bag, which he was staring into.
"Oh, that. Gimme that," I said, making for the bag, which he raised above his head to keep out of my reach - and nearly falling over in the process.
"Comeon man," he says drunkenly, "jus', jus' what is it?"
I sigh. "It's�a joke. Ok? My sister's idea of a sick joke to play on her gay brother. When I'm out with a guy, she'll always leave her worn knickers lying about my room, so that if I bring a bloke back, it looks like I�you know. Have sex with girls. It's�its pretty fucking offensive, to be honest, but I just put them in a bag and stick 'em back in her room at the end of the week."
"So�these are your sisters�panties?"
"Well they ain't fuckin' mine, if that's what you're implying."
"No no, I�I ain't. I just, um," he laughed, "I just never expected to�find them up here."
We stood like that for a few minutes, him holding the carrier bag. I knew what he was thinking. He was just trying to figure out whether I knew that, and how best to go about asking what he wanted to ask, in his drunken desperation. Ever the decisive sexual partner, I took the bull by the horns - if you'll pardon the pun. "You wanna�do stuff�with my sisters underwear, don't you?"
"What?!" He sounded shocked at the suggestion. Shocked, and appalled. "Fuck, man. No. No way. That's just�"
"Pathetic."
"Yeah."
He continued to stand there, no doubt asking what value he placed on his dignity at this moment. His thoughts were interrupted by his hand suddenly delving into his crotch, scratching his balls once more. "But, how pathetic, really depends on what you wanna do with 'em, right?"
"Well, if you're asking whether you can go downstairs and put them in the washing machine, then yes, I guess that'd be basically fine. If a little weird."
"Yeah. No, though. I mean, like�if I was to, um, steal them, or cum on 'em, or something like that - that'd be, like�worse than just�"
"Shoving your face into the carrier bag?"
A smile crept across his face. "I ain't suggestin' anythin'�THAT extreme, dude. But�I'm right though, ain't I?"
"Steve," I began, "I got a perfect solution in mind for ya'. A way that'll really turn this night around for you, and which'll allow us both to have a LOT of fun. And you get to keep your dignity, whilst getting acquainted with my sister's undies. But�well, you're gonna have to broaden your horizons, shall we say."
"I'm all ears, man�"
Chapter Seven
Steve was very compliant. He wasn't entirely onboard with my suggestion, but he grudgingly went along with it, when he considered the alternative of a night alone, and all the unpleasantness that might arise from my photo album finding its way into the wrong hands.
I wasn't sure what he was complaining about really. I mean, he DID get to keep his dignity.
Or at least, one aspect of his dignity.
But you can't make an omelette without breaking eggs, right? And of course, the ends always justify the means - particularly when you've had a bit to drink.
Steve was still in the safety of my room, and he was sitting in my computer chair, near my table, where I'd written many-an-essay. His wrists were tied down to the black armrests on either side of him.
Willingly tied, you understand: I wasn't breaking the law. No, everything perfectly above-board here.
He sat there, watching me, as I tied first one and then the other wrist with my used socks.
He got a little antsy when he really couldn't move his arms at all, but I rubbed his shoulder and quietly shushed him, like you would a small child, and he calmed down. I took my old school tie, and used it as a blindfold, and took one more sock from my dirty sock drawer, and shoved it in his mouth. A bit of masking tape ensured it stayed there.
This was all for Steve's dignity.
See, I'd applied something of a twisted logic on the boy�emphesis on the 'twisted'. If he had no control over what I did to him, well, it wasn't his fault that it happened, was it? It was mine.
If he couldn't see what I was doing�it wasn't his fault, it was mine.
And if he couldn't voice his opposition�well, that would also render whatever happened as being my fault.
Oh, and I absolutely promised I wouldn't do anything he would disapprove of.
Because if I did, well, he couldn't really stop me, could he? So yeah. It was pretty important that I promise that. As I was putting on the second wrist-tie, I mentioned how I would naturally keep myself entertained - as recompense for my services this evening.
He looked a little worried about that.
But he didn't say anything in the seven seconds between me saying that and me sticking a sock in his mouth, so, well, he must have been fine with it, right?
Yeah, he was probably fine with it.
His moaning and groaning provided a satisfying soundtrack as I began slowly unbuttoning his black Top Shop shirt. It wasn't possible to remove it, so I just separated the two halves of the shirt, withdrawing them to his muscled flanks. His moaning became more agitated as I ran the back of my palm of my hand over his chest.
Reaching into the carrier bag, I withdrew a lacy pink pair of knickers, holding the front panel to his face.
That shut him up.
Whilst my one hand explored the valleys and hillocks of his chest, tickling the fine line of dark hair leading down into the depths of his jeans, absentmindedly running circles around his easily excitable nipples, my other held the femine undies in his face. Like an insistent dog trying to get his tongue into an empty can of dog food, Steve kept pressin' his face against my hand, slobbering and snorting behind the cloth.
After a couple of minutes, with the moisture of his spit seeping through to my hand, I leant over and took one of his erect nipples into my mouth, applying just as much spit to him as he was applying to my sisters underwear.
He didn't noticeably react as I kissed and suckled on his teat, my fingers digging into the hard depths of his pectoral muscles, in much the same way he would suck on some girl's titties.
Withdrawing my face after a few minutes of contented licking and sucking, I gave each nip a little kiss before withdrawing my hand from his face.
Without the counter-force being applied against his head, his head flew forward at the sudden removal of pressure.
His face was a little dazed, and slick with spit. His head reared back to an upright position, and he sat there, his rounded six and a half inch brain distorting the thick fabric of his jeans as it ran down his outstretched left leg.
I'd seen it before, of course: once when I had his jeans round his ankles on the school sports field, making him hard and taking pictures of his peeking knob, and again, earlier tonight, when I had him in my bedroom having his stinky bush freshly trimmed for his date with my sister. And now here he was for our third meeting, tired and a little drunk from his date with my sister; the big horny punk tied down - for his own good - in my room.
I withdrew another pair of my sisters pants; a frilly black pair, with lace running along the edges.
I placed the gusset directly over Steve's nose, mashing it into his face as he once again thrust his powerful neck forward. I stood there, holding with one hand the underwear before his face, and gently pushing his short blond-haired head forward with the other, encouraging him in his low, slovenly activities as I stood above him, looking down at his rapidly beating heart in his chiselled chest, and the pulsing organ in his pants.
Gripping his short hair as best I could, I yanked his head back, til it was at a right angle to his torso, and carefully placed the undies over his face as I kneeled down on my hunches beside the blind, immobile hunk.
"Stay," I said, like you would speak to a dog.
His head began to move; I yanked it back again, speaking more firmly, "STAY."
He remained like that.
Leaning in to his ear I whispered, "thanks. Sorry for shouting. You're having the time of your fucking life, ya' big fuckin' piggy, eh? Don't worry, it'll all be our little secret. Maybe we can do it again? My sister's got lots of knickers, mate; no reason you can't come over for more sleepovers�Stevsie'd like that, wouldn't he? Coming over to my house, and gettin' strapped down whilst I fed him my sisters panties, like the good bloke I am. But this is all a little one sided, isn't it? I need to have my fun too, mate, and your pretty uncomfortable down there, ain't 'cha? Yeah, Stevsie's jeans sure do look nice, but they must get pretty embarrassing whenever you get a stiffie in your boxers, eh? Yeah, I know, mate. You'd agree with me if you could. Just as well nobody else is here now, seeing you like this; that'd be pretty embarrassing, too, wouldn't it? Shh shh, Stevesie, nobody'll find out, so long as I don't say anything. You just keep takin' deep breaths, mate; let me get to work."
I continued, moving before him to remove his grey trainers, revealing his white socked feet, "I'm gonna get these tight jeans out of the way, mate, and get those designer boxers of yours off, to give that big ole' cock of yours a bit of breathing room, 'k?"
Steve just sat there, moaning in response. It should be noted that he could've kicked me, if he truly disagreed with any of this; as I took his ankle in my hand, he allowed me to slip his sneakers off his big size 11 teenage feet, and was pleasantly docile as I quickly ran my hand along the powerful, damp arches of his socked feet, before planting them back on the ground.
I equally quickly reached for the snap on his jeans, unzipping the well-packed crotch, and roughly yanking them down and off his legs.
He was still sat with a pair of panties wrapped over his face, moaning incoherently, with the red head of his cock poking out the left leg opening of his underwear.
I leaned back up to his ear, "you know, mate, you must of hated that fuckin' date; that itch in your pants, which you couldn't scratch; which you couldn't tell my sister about - I mean, how could you? 'Sorry babe, but your brother had me in his room so he could trim my pubes just before we came out'? Hehe, yeah, must have been annoying, man."
The four fingers of my left hand reached down and began gently scratching through his tight boxers the area above his cock, which I had manicured earlier.
He slumped down into the chair, his legs spreading as far as they could, moaning his approval. "That nice, Stevsie? Eh? Yeah, a nice bit of relief for you. But let's see if I can give you any more relief, shall we?"
I stood, returning to the carrier bag. "But fair's fair, Stevsie. We need to keep you entertained, don't we? Hang on, mate. I'm getting a good pair for you."
I fished out a damp pair of white gym pants, near the bottom of the bag. Removing the pair already on the boy's face, I turned the new pair inside out, and slid them over his head, down as far as they would go, covering his entire face. I stroked the back of his head through the underwear as he breathed in deeply, his contained cock steadily pulsing out juice onto the carpet beneath him. "Thereeeee you go, little piggy," I intoned. "I look after my little piggy, don't I?"
I gripped his head more firmly. "DON'T I?"
He slowly nodded in ascent.
"Yeah. You keep breathing, pal. You keep breathing, and I'll take good care of you, downstairs. Okie dokie?"
Another nod, more fervent this time.
As I returned to kneel between his strong legs I continued, "poor Steve. He must have been saving himself for his big date tonight, eh? I bet that's why he's so horny."
The tips of my fingers danced along the cigar shape in his boxers, avoiding the exposed head directly. The presence of my fingers became more pronounced as time passed, so that after five minutes or so, my fingers were pressed firmly into the hard shaft of his cock, running up and down his length, the cotton chafing along the sensitive skin.
Unable to resist any longer, I leaned down, deep between his thighs which, after a drunken night on the town, were more musky than they were during our previous encounter on the sports field.
I firmly licked the savoury plum on the end of his dick, my tongue pulling it away from his thigh and welding my lips to it as I did so, sucking up his salty emissions and slowly taking in more of him, til my lips made contact with the crisp cotton of his designer boxers.
I stayed like that for a few minutes; he, dressed in nothing but his shirt, sport socks and underwear with my sisters underwear plastered to his face, and me, between his humid legs, diligently gulping down the infused breeding slop he was excreting as quickly as his balls would make it, my hands running up and down the backs of his calves, going from his knees down to the rounded heel in his socks, my heading being knocked this way and that as his thighs slowly swung open a closed, just like when he'd get excited reciting his fuck stories in Maths.
Eventually, I withdrew my face from his crotch, eager to move on to other things.
I slowly - and carefully - removed his boxers, sliding them down and off his muscled legs.
With his cock now in the open, it was able to rear itself back up to full upright glory, the skin peeling back in its eagerness, much like it had done previously in the evening.
I began by steadily jacking off the turgid teen organ directly before me, whilst providing further relief to his itchy balls with the calcified nails and calloused fingers of my left hand.
As I did this, he, moaning as he did so, slid further still off the chair, with half his arse now hanging over the edge, his legs spread and gently thrusting upward - trying to get more of his cock into my melodic, uncompromising hand, and to dig more of his rounded ballsack into my maddeningly light scratching fingers of his bollocks. To reward him for being so compliant, my fingers would dig into the balloon-like sack every so often, resulting in a grateful groan.
Leaning down between his legs once more, I removed my nutty fingers, and immediately replaced them with my dextrous tongue.
From the lowest edge of one bloated, rounded bollock, over its hump, and into the deep valley beyond, I stopped only when my nose was pressed into the hand I was jacking his cock with, once more taking in all the prickly hairs on his sack, as well as breathing in the starchy adolescent smells of his funky crotch.
Having licked every inch of his bag, I took each of his charms into my mouth in turn; first the left, then the right, spending several minutes dutifully sucking all the zest from the finely fluted skin.
With his moans becoming loud and his organ standing rigid, the head adopting that familiar, glassy complexion, I stopped jacking him, and continued feasting on his other attributes.
I had silently scoffed at the desperate snorting noises he made when first introduced to my sisters pants; I was now doing him one better, digging further and further between his legs, pushing him back into the chair, and even up and off the chair on a couple of occasions.
He reflexively raised his leg a couple of inches off the ground at one point, which gave me an idea.
Knowing he was in no position to object, I took each of his thighs, and hooked them over the rests of the chair, sliding my hand up and gripping his entire package in order to move his centre of gravity as necessary.
When I was done, I leaned up, returning my hand to his cock and steadily wanking it again, "mate, what you have'ta do is, put your palms out so you can get a good solid grip of those legs, or they're gonna slide all over the place, 'k? Remember, whilst you're having your fun with my sisters undies, I need to have my fun too, right? Because, I think it'd be pretty funny if we pretend, whenever we're here like this, that you're just a snivelling little bitch who'll do whatever it takes to get their face in my sisters gusset? That ok with you, Stevsie? Yeah, I know its ok with you Stevsie, 'cos - and this is the REAL secret - we ain't pretendin', are we pal? Thaaat's it, you get a good hold of those legs there, like a good little slut. Good boy."
I ruffled his hair, through my sister's pants, and then knelt down again. With him getting close to blowing again, I once more let go of his cock - too much vocal agonising from him, and I took hold of each of Steve's socked feet, swinging them back and forth for a minute, just because I could, really.
I then took a firmer, more meaningful hold of them, and extended them so they were completely straight, pointing up into the air, albeit with the feet slack and pointing back down to earth - he might be straight, but he wasn't THAT straight - if you'll pardon the pun. From the defined muscle which plated his legs, I knew he'd have no trouble holding them there for me.
"Keep 'em up there for me, little piggy. You got that? Keep your legs like that. Looks better on the film, doesn't it? NOOO," I admonished, like you would a child taking too many cookies from the jar. I took his flagging size 11 foot and returned it to its previous position. "Let's not start arguing with the director now we're half way through the film, eh? That won't be good for anyone, especially you, our leading man. Rather than keeping it in my private collection, as something to watch on rainy Sunday afternoons, I might just have to put it out on general release, half finished. Ok? See what I mean, piggy?" I hesitantly let go of his socked foot, and was pleased to see it remain pointing upwards.
"Good boy."
With his big body now prone for my pleasure, and still largely immobile, I returned to my knees before him. I roughly sucked his balls back into my mouth for a few fleeting moments, before lazily spitting them, along with a fair amount of phlegm, back out of my mouth, and travelling down to the arsehole that was now perfectly displayed for me, like a pearl in an oyster.
Descending into the murky, guttural depths between his well-developed cheeks, my tongue firmly licked up the entirety of his crack, leaving behind a slick trail of spittle as I went. His moaning had died down; I think he was more interested in what was actually going on, rather than voicing his concern or his support for what I was doing through constant noise.
Not wanting the lust which I had relied on to desert him, I returned to wanking his flagging prong, my thumb slothfully running around the tired and angry glans on the end, as I licked and lightly nipped at the hairy taint between his legs, my nose and eyes completely immersed in his fat teenaged ballbag.
Stabbing my tongue into his puckered pucker got me nowhere; he was so tight.
So I opted for the other entry vehicle.
He'll wish he hadn't been so reluctant to accept my tongue.
Running my thumb up along the seam of his cock produced a healthy syrupy globule at his urethra, which I dipped the index finger of my other hand in, coating it as best I could.
Resisting the urge to lick my finger, I instead forced it between his tight cheeks and, eventually, up into his str8 little arse.
He moaned at that.
With his fuck juice doing the job it was meant for - easing the entry of cigar shaped objects into tight orifices - I slewed my finger gently in and out of him, picking up a rhythm as I went.
With my second and third fingers having only the spit I'd deposited in his crack to use as lubrication, it was a little harder - if you'll pardon the pun - to push those up into the lad as well. But I did.
He REALLY moaned at that.
After about ten minutes, I was fucking him with my fingers for all he was worth, pulling back so only the nails of my triumvirate was within him, before slamming back up to the knuckle, trying my best to nudge the fuck-button deep in his insides.
My knuckles were saved from a compacted fracture only through the soft, warm, billowy ass-cheeks they had to ram into every time they swung forward, which acted like an airbag for them. Whilst his cheeks were pleasantly warm, his guts were on fire; it was like a furnace in there, and I wondered if I might get friction burns on my fingers from the ramming into him so quickly.
After a while, which was dominated by my computer chair creaking as my fingers rocked his entire frame backwards and forwards, my arm began to get tired. Really tired. I could feel individual muscles in my arm begin to fail, in a bizarre kind of anti-atrophy, but I kept smashing into him all the same, my other hand still slowly and laconically massaging his swollen dong.
Then, without warning, he began to start shooting. Like, really fucking shooting, like a geyser. The first shot went over his head - clean over it - and landed on my desk behind him. The second thick pellet landed on his head, near my sisters panty-crotch, the third and fourth painting his chest, before a weak spurt splashed against his abs, with a few more overflows from his cock, down onto my hand, and into his newly cropped bush.
My sticky hand let go of his cock, and my other hand withdrew from his arsehole.
As he sat there, his head lolling from one side to the other, I removed my own trousers.
After applying the boybatter which now coated my hand to my own cock, I lined up.
The first he knew about it was when I firmly gripped and pulled down on his shoulder as I thrust forward. He immediately knew what was going on, no doubt having wondered previously if this was where I was heading, shouting "NO, PLEASE-"
But it was too late.
He let out a loud cry, his legs, and every other muscle, flexed like granite, the very tips of his toes now pointing to the heavens.
Without a word, I pushed forward, the searing heat my fingers had experienced, now wrapped around my cock deliciously softly, like hot, immobile butter; firm, yet yielding to me utterly on each and every thrust.
My own muscles were already tired and aching - but not as much as his, I knew.
My available hand returned to his spent, overworked cock, sliding back the slick sensitive head again and again, which was now reluctant to return to its previously hard state, as if chastened by the last experience, but unable to resist the yanking of a firm hand.
After another fifteen minutes or so, I could feel my balls tingling, and tightening. I slowed, not wanting to cum yet, even though it was gone 4am.
The schoolmate beneath me continued writhing in anger that I was jacking him to another cum, as if willing his cock not to give in, whilst also humping into my hand, just wanting it, whatever 'it' now is, to be over.
Another fifteen minutes.
Steve's cock, now red and raw and furious, suddenly hardens. I make one last effort, slamming myself repeatedly into his ass once more.
He cums weakly, jizz peppering his abs and yet more for his limited pubes.
I cum strongly, onto his lower intestine, dousing his fuck nut whilst I'm at it.
I withdraw, and spend five minutes on his chest, silently licking up the thick teen cream from the nooks and cranies of his torso, quietly enjoying the musky, spicy flavour notes of his strong, fortified gloop. It soon feels like my mouth is coated with the stuff; like I could start blowing bubbles if I just opened my mouth and exhaled.
For the first time, I notice it. The putrefied smell of teenage ass. The smell of Steve's thoroughly abused bowels. I open my curtain, stark naked, and swing open a window.
The cool air makes me realise I'm caked in sweat.
I sit on the floor for a few minutes, to gather my thoughts. I nearly fall asleep, but Steve's moaning reminds me to release him.
He doesn't say anything as he puts on his clothes, drying off his chest with his underwear before going to put them on. I just lie on my bed, but stop him from putting his boxers on.
"Wanna swap?" I ask, pointing at the carrier bag.
He doesn't. He wants to leave. He wants to put all this behind him.
But his hand relaxes, and he gives me the underwear, moving to the carrier bag and picking out a pair he likes, looking at me apprehensively as he does so.
He goes downstairs. I know he won't get to sleep. He'll leave at around 5.45, to catch the first train home. He doesn't, and won't, say a word.
Afterall, that's the way we men do things, right?
But I know he knows the score. I smile at the camera, still filming, on my bookshelf.
