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Tyreese

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The following is a work of erotic fiction. It is about a man and a teenager and is not intended to be read by minors or anyone who might be offended or unduly influenced by its contents. It is for expressive and entertainment purposes only.

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Tyreese whipped down the street, shirtless, on his bike. His lean, muscular brown body glistened with sweat under in the mid-summer sun, his shoulder-length dreadlocks tossed wildly behind him by the breeze. "Damn, I knew I shouldn't have stayed in the bed for that extra 15 minutes to jack off," the sixteen year old youth thought as he swerved into the parking lot of the Addison Recreation Center on Hamilton Street.

"First fuckin' day of community service and Imma be late already." 

The boy hopped off his bike and secured it to a pole outside of the rec center. He made long, quick strides toward the door, his white t-shirt still stuffed in his back pocket, waved behind him like flag.

He rushed through the door and slammed squarely into a man wearing a white shirt and tie. It was Mr. Haskell, the administrator of the center whom he had just met the other day. Tyreese nearly knocking the tall, skinny man down. Tyreese's eyes grew wide when he realized who the man was and what he had just done. He shuttered at the sight of the dark stain on the man's white shirt - an imprint left by the sweat from the teenage boy's body.

Tyreese's hands involuntarily covered his mouth in a moment's shock, followed by a rush of words, "Oh I'm sorry Mr. Haskell. I didn't mean to run into you like dat. I wasn't lookin' where I was goin.'"

The skinny white man seemed disoriented to Tyreese. He adjusted his glasses. "I-it's okay," he stammered. "You just kinda took me by surprise there." The man made a short chuckle that sounded more nervous than genuine. "It's Tyreese, isn't it?" 

Haskell extended his hand to the black youth. Tyreese grabbed the man's hand and shook it.

"Yeah, Tyreese Johnson. I'm here to do my three weeks of community service."

Once Haskell adjusted his glasses and tie he eyed the youth who was standing, breathless, in front of him. "The boy's got a nice, solid build," he thought, "and he's lean, probably agile - despite this little mishap. Seems bright too - articulate and polite - I bet I can get some good work out of him while he's here." Haskell thought that Tyreese seemed much better mannered than most of the boys who were sent to the rec center from juvenile court to do community service as an alternative to house arrest or spending time in a detention center.

Tyreese fumbled with a wad of crumpled sheets of papers that were stuffed in his jeans. He smoothed them out on the counter. "Mr. Haskell, could you do me a favor and initial my papers to prove that I showed up today?"

Haskell pulled out a pen but hesitated. His eyes drifted to where the boy's jeans ended, just below the knees. His eyes fixated for a moment on the teenager's hairy brown calves. "Nice strong legs," the white man thought, "He's fully into puberty - I bet he's got a lot of testosterone pumping through his body, keeping his hands busy at night."

Haskell quickly shook his head to clear it of these unprofessional thoughts. His face flushed red as he fixed his gaze on the boy's smooth brown shirtless chest.

"Ah, Tyreese. You know, even though this is a rec center and you are here to do community service, as if you were staff. You should wear a shirt any time you are in the building unless you are actually in the gym playing sports."

"Oh, my bad," Tyreese quickly apologized. "I meant to put my shirt on, but I was in such a rush to get in here and I forgot."

Mr. Haskell couldn't take his eyes off of the boy's soft brown face. The boy's lips seemed lush and rosy; making the older man wish he could taste them. Haskell found himself wanting to lean down and put his face near the boy's nose and mouth so that he could smell the breath from the boy's body.

Tyreese slipped the extra-large t-shirt over his sturdy frame. He adjusted the shirt at the shoulders, as it seemed to stick to the sweat of his body. The bottom of the shirt hung well below the boy's groin, resting mid-way down his thighs, like a short dress.

Haskell instantly regretted asking the boy to cover himself. The fresh smell of the laundered t-shirt covered the boy's natural earthy smell while cutting off Haskell's view of the boy's half-naked body.

Again, the white man silently chastised himself, "I mustn't think this way. It could lead to trouble. This boy is a troubled black youth who is in desperate need of my professional help." 

Haskell's stream of thought was interrupted when he heard the boy softly, but deliberately, clear his throat. 

Haskell's eyes met the lad's eyes and he realized how much his mind had wandered. He felt a surge of anxiety. Had Tyreese picked up on what he was thinking? Could the lad see through his professional façade? 

Haskell thought that they youth's brown eyes were warm and attractive. Tyreese shifted his gaze from the white man's eyes to the crumpled paper that was spread out on the counter, waiting for the older man's signature.

Haskell gave the youth a firm but disciplined stare as if seeking to re-establish their respective roles. "I'm sorry Tyreese," he said, trying to sound both friendly and official, "I can't sign your papers until the end of the day - after you've put in a full day's work."

"That's okay Mr. Haskell," the black youth said, carefully re-folding the crumpled documents and shoving them back in his pocket, "I didn't know the rules. I don't want you to do nuthin that will get you in trouble."

Haskell felt his heart pounding. The boy sounded confident and mature. Even the soft dark shadow of barely blossoming facial hair over the boy's upper lip seemed to lend Tyreese an air of streetwise sophistication. Haskell thought that the boy's voice sounded as though he was offering reassurance, giving the man permission to pull rank when he should have been intimidated.

Now it was Haskell's turn to clear his voice, if for no more reason than to jolt himself from the hypnotic grip of the boy's youthfully masculine face. "Ah, perhaps you should wait in the storage room at the end of the hall," Mr. Haskell said, pointing the way, "I'll be along shortly to show you what to do."

Once again Mr. Haskell stuck out his hand, this time even more awkwardly and artificially official than the first time, "Welcome aboard young man."

Tyreese gave the man a short accommodating shrug as if to say he was willing to play along with whatever official behavior the professional environment required. He shook the white man's hand a second time.

Haskell turned, with all of the professional coolness he could muster, and opened the door to the air-conditioned administrators' office. Tyreese rhythmically strutted down the hallway to the storage room, the humidity of the building already forming another sheen of moisture over his skin.

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About 20 minutes later Mr. Haskell entered the storage room. Tyreese was sitting on top of a small stack of boxes. He was shirtless again, his smooth brown body glistening with sweat from the humidity. His dreadlocks were now tied in a pony tail behind his neck. The boy's legs dangled over the side of the box he was sitting on; his firm hairy brown calves brushed gently against the brown cardboard.

Haskell gave the boy a glance and quickly looked away. He felt a lump in his throat, and another in his pants. He wanted to tell the boy to put his shirt back on, but his throat felt so constricted that he was afraid the only thing that would come out of his mouth would be a raspy squeal, like a thirteen year old going through a voice change.

When Mr. Haskell found his voice again he motioned to Tyreese, "Come over here - I have some gloves in the drawer. You'll need them if you're going to move these boxes."

The black teenager casually slid off the top box while Mr. Haskell bent over a metal cabinet, fishing through the drawers for a pair of work gloves. 

For Tyreese it was one of those moments when one acts without thinking - seeing the white man's ass jutting out, instinct rushed ahead of reason. Whenever his teenage buddies made the mistake of bending over they would get smacked hard in the ass. Seeing his target, and forgetting about where he was and whose ass was about to be smacked, Tyreese hauled back as far as he could and swatted the white man's ass with his open palm.

Mr. Haskell lurched forward into the metal cabinet, and bolted upright in alarm. Tyreese, realizing what he had done, covered his mouth once again in shock. "I-I'm sorry Mr. Haskell, sir...I, I didn't mean...I didn't mean..."

But the next thing the white man did took the teenager completely by surprise. The man giggled like a nervous teenager. He seemed more embarrassed than Tyreese was. Mr. Haskell reached out to touch the boy on his shoulder and reassured him that he wasn't in any trouble. "That's alright. I know boys will be boys...heh, heh..."

Tyreese was too embarrassed to look the man in the eyes. He let his eyes drop to the floor, thinking that if he didn't look directly at Mr. Haskell, maybe what he had just done would go away. 

But as he lowered his eyes he noticed something strange, something unexpected. The white man was sporting a lump in the front of his chinos. Tyreese wasn't sure he was seeing it right, so he did a double-take. Sure as fuck this white man was sporting a hard-on. He was turned on by this shit. This official-assed white dude was a fuckin freak - and a faggot freak at that.

Haskell's eyes followed the boy's gaze and realized that his secret was out. The man laughed nervously, swinging his arms back and forth and finally folding them in front of him to cover his crotch. He tried to sound relaxed and causal - hoping to convey confidence and break the tension so that he could resume control of the situation.

"Well, now...let's get to work."

Tyreese wasn't having it.

The boy moved right up to Mr. Haskell. His naked brown chest almost touching the white man's body. Mr. Haskell could feel the body heat coming off of the boy. His head was filled with the boy's healthy young smell, along with the smell of the mustiness of the boy's hair.

Haskell was nearly overpowered by the odor of the boy's youthful masculinity. He felt as though he had taken a deep whiff of a nasally administered aphrodisiac and was overwhelmed by its potency. He felt as though the boy's sexual energy was now entering inside of his body.

The white man's knees became unsteady and he lowered himself so that he could rest on top of the metal cabinet. His head was swimming. He was dazzled by the smooth glistening skin of the boy's brown body. He felt the urge to suck on the boy's dark nipples and lick the hair under the his arm pits.

Now, Mr. Haskell's face was level with the boy's crotch. He could see and smell the top of the boy's boxer shorts as they were exposed by the way his pants sagged low on his hips. He looked up at the boy who towered over him like a lean teenage god.

Haskell watched the movement of the lean muscles of the boy's forearms that glistened with sweat in the storage room. Haskell slowly realized why the boy's forearms were moving. Tyreese was undoing his belt and allowing his trousers to drop to the floor. The smell of the boy's pubic hair, still covered by his boxers, made the older man wilt like a rootless plant on the pavement of a sidewalk.

Tyreese was clearly a well-endowed young man. The size of the tent in the boy's briefs was enough to let Haskell know that the boy was packing a well developed sample of healthy young manhood, which seemed more than the white man would expect from a 16 year old.

Tyreese's movement seemed hypnotically slow. He seductively unveiled his stiff dark member and allowed it to bounce up and down once it was freed from the boy's cotton boxers. Tyreese's throbbing black cock jutted in Mr. Haskell's face. The man took a deep whiff of the lad's musky dark balls which were dangling just beneath the man's chin.

Mr. Haskell kept telling himself over and over again, "I can't do this. I can't do this. I could get fired. I could go to court. I could wind up in jail. I could lose everything I've worked on. Goodness man, get a grip on yourself. This is a black teenager. You're the authority in the room. Stand up and tell the boy to put his clothes back on. Restore order. Get control."

But Mr. Haskell's desperate efforts to gain control were lost when he heard the teenager's deep, soft demanding voice saying, "Suck it."

Mr. Haskell trembled at the sound of the boy's voice. He felt as though he was being enveloped by the musky warmth of the boy's body.

"C'mon. Suck it," the teenager chided, "I need a horny freak like you to get me off."

Mr. Haskell felt the boy's hands wrap behind the back of his head, gently guiding him toward his warm, throbbing black cock.

Haskell felt defeated. "This is destiny," the white man thought. "I need this black teenager's cum inside of me. I need the taste of this boy's manhood in my mouth. I need this boy."

Haskell's lips trembled. He opened his mouth and allowed the black boy to push his hard throbbing cock between his lips.

"Yeah, atta girl. Suck on this nigga's cock. Make me nutt."

Haskell tasted the boy's lightly sweet pre-cum. The teenager's cock slid up and down the man's moist tongue. The boy's penis felt thick and warm in the man's mouth. It tasted of masculine sweat and teenaged sexuality. Haskell thought he detected the faint flavor of adolescent jism from when the boy jacked off earlier that morning.

Tyreese held the man's head tightly and pumped his thighs against the white man's face in his urgent teenage need for sexual relief. The boy's smooth, brown thighs caressed the sides of the white man's face with boyish masculine warmth.

"Yeah, suck that dick, bytch. Suck it."

Haskell hated the insulting names the boy was calling him, but he enjoyed obeying the boy's commands too much to raise any objections.

He knew that he enjoyed the sensation of being used by the boy.

"I got needs," the teenager moaned, "Make me nutt inside yo mouf you nasty freak."

Haskell caressed the boy's hard throbbing penis with his tongue. He licked the unbending shaft of the boy's cock, making Tyreese gasp involuntarily - surprised at the white man's cock sucking abilities.

Haskell licked the slit of the boy's cock head, tasting more of his teenage pre-cum. He ran his tongue around the edges of the teenager's throbbing cock head. Now the boy was gasping desperately.

Haskell sensed a subtle and strange role reversal. He felt that he now had this horny teenage boy where he wanted him. Tyreese's body shuttered and he let out a loud sigh; he no longer controlled his body or his reactions. He dropped his façade of streetwise coolness and indifference and yielded to the pleasure of the white man's hot tongue.

The boy started moaning like a bitch getting her clit licked. Haskell imagined that the boy had completely surrendered himself to the middle-aged man's desperate mouth. He sucked and slurped on the boy's insatiable penis until he was drooling shamelessly. The boy moaned as if he were back in the privacy of his own bedroom fucking the wet sloppy pussy he had always dreamt about every time he beat off.

Tyreese let out a high-pitched cry, "Oh yeah, suck that cock - suck it." 

The cry seemed more plaintive than demanding.

Haskell obeyed the boy's cry, not wanting to break the spell or lose control. He tightened his grip on the boy's cock with his mouth and his tongue. 

"Suck me. Suck me," the teenager pleaded.

Haskell sucked him harder and harder as if he might swallow the boy's stiff young manhood and become a teenager again himself.

Tyreese tussled the older man's hair and pumped mercilessly in the white man's mouth.

"Oh yeah. Oh yeah. Oh Yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah."

Tyreese unleashed a flood of thick teenage jism in the white man's mouth. To Haskell, the boy's cum felt like a hot extra-thick milkshake sliding down his throat, and it tasted like a plate of fresh oysters. Tyreese wouldn't stop - he grabbed the man's hair and shot wave after wave of his cum juices into Mr. Haskell's mouth. Haskell dutifully swallowed - submitting to the teenager's needs, even as the teenager surrendered his body to the white man's hot mouth.

The boy continued to pump his body fluids inside the older man's mouth until he was completely drained.

The boy sighed and nearly collapsed, his body limp. His sweaty pubes and "happy trail," his sweat covered belly button and abs rested on the white man's face. The black lad continued to breathe heavily, holding Mr. Haskell's face in place, underneath his sweat soaked loins.

As the two males came to their senses they shook their heads, each wondering what had come over him. They couldn't look at each other and dared not breathe a word about what had transpired.

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The next day, the shirtless Tyreese was riding in the summer breeze, dreadlocks flying, weaving in and out of traffic on is bike. The teenager kept repeating to himself, "Shit - I knew I should'a got to bed earlier. Now I'ma be late again."

Angry drivers honked their horns as they swerved to avoid hitting the agile black teenager. Tyreese shot into the parking lot of the rec center, glancing at the clock. "hooo shit, hooo shit," the boy moaned as he secured his bike to the pole, "fifteen minutes late again."

The boy burst into the rec center. Mr. Haskell was reading official papers in a manila folder. He looked up and saw the nervous teenager anxiously making his way through the door. Tyreese's eyes met Mr. Haskell's - Haskell's met Tyreese's.

Mr. Haskell clucked his tongue and shook his head, "Late again I see, Mr. Johnson?"

Tyreese opened his mouth to explain, but Haskell cut him off, "Put your shirt on Mr. Johnson. Staff must always wear their clothes when they are inside the building."

Tyreese yanked his t-shirt from his back pocket and fumbled with it as it stuck to his lean, muscular sweaty body while he was putting it on.

"My bad. I'm sorry Mr. Haskell," the boy said sheepishly.

"That's quite alright," Haskell answered in an overly tolerant bureaucratic sing-song, "We all forget ourselves sometimes. You can get more comfortable once you get to the storage room..."

Haskell disappeared behind the glass door of the administrators' office.

Tyreese watched the man and smirked, "Yeah, I'll get comfortable aiight," the boy mumbled confidently under his breath. "An' you gonna wanna get `comfortable' too when you come in to `check up' on me."

Tyreese strutted rhythmically down the hall toward the storage room, grabbing his crotch as he turned to look back at the door of the administrators' office, knowing it was just a matter of time before Haskell would once again give into his passions.
