This story deals with (highly) adult themes, and is really not at all appropriate for children. Copyright me.

This is the story of a pupil at a British secondary school sexually dominating a straight (naturally) good looking (of course) big dicked (aren't they all?) peer. If that isn't your thing - particularly the domination bit - then please, stop now. There is no love or feelings in this story, I am pleased to say.


I currently have two story sets currently on nifty: 
'New Direction for One Direction' 	- gay/celebrity/new-direction-for-one-direction/
'Straight Lads' 			- gay/adult-youth/straight-lads/

Both of these are now featured on my site, http://www.asstr.org/~Just_Some_Chap/ On my site, I like to accompany each story with a...saucy, shall we say, but NON-PORNOGRAPHIC image. I currently do not have an image for 'Jamie', and welcome suggestions for potential 'Jamies'.

'New Direction for One Direction' is a story about the X-Factor (remember that?) boy-band called One Direction (remember them?) set across five parts. It contains similar themes to this one, except with a funky mind-control element included, to save me all the trouble of having to think of ways to get the boys to do whatever the fuck I want them to do in the story. This story is now complete.

'Straight Lads' is aiming to be a multi-part story, but it only includes one chapter as of yet. I intend to add to it next, having come up with the setting and plot a long, long time ago. It has similar (very similar) themes as this story, except with an adult fucking the straight kid instead of another kid.


I intended to focus on Straight Lads for a while, and I normally (in all instances except this one, in fact) refuse 'requests', as I always like to think I write for my own enjoyment, with my own plots, scenarios (and boys), with it giving pleasure to others merely as a happy aside. But, this request was accompanied by a quite delightful picture, and I found it impossible to say no.

To warn those who might need warning, at one point in this story, the antagonist refers to 'retards'. This is not because he (or I) lack consideration for those with a mental or physical disability; he is just using the vernacular which is common to British secondary schools.

And of course, like all right-thinking human beings, I would absolutely love to know what you think :-D As an internet writer - and this goes for all internet writers, not just me - I'm never really sure if anyone is actually enjoying what I'm writing; we don't have book sales, or agents - we just write (for free), upload it to the internet, and then that's it. The only way writers can learn people enjoy their work, is if people tell them :-) My email is Just_Some_Chap@hotmail.co.uk. I always respond, and welcome criticism as much as praise. A couple of people criticised my use of paragraphs for my last story; this one should be correctly paragraphed. Or, at least, paragraphed to my own standard. Which is the correct standard. lol. ;-)

With all that said and out of the way...on with the story!


(m/m, high school, anal, non-consensual, public)

Straight Liam’s Gay Afternoon
-----------------------------

I should begin by saying, I have always wanted to fuck Liam. What I did to him, seems pretty crazy when you think about it, out of context – but, yeah. I’ve ALWAYS wanted to fuck him, and that fact determined how I acted in that moment, in a big way.

Liam’s the same age as me, and we’d been in the same class in secondary school, but you wouldn’t know it. We’d also gone to the sixth form college attached to the school after our GCSEs, and we knew each other by sight – had even had the odd conversation – but we really moved in different circles. He was one of the many lads who didn’t talk to me at all once it became apparent I was gay. 

Liam’s one of those people who’s quite difficult to describe physically. He plays rugby crazily, so even though he’s just seventeen, he’s built like a rugby player – looking like he’s kinda fat – or, at least, with a fair bit of baby fat on his flanks, except he isn’t fat, cos it’s all rock hard fucking muscle. And it’s funny, because he has such a fantastic body, but he still has the face of a kid, really, which is made all the cuter by the ‘hard’ look he likes to affect around others. He has dark strawberry-blond hair, which is straight (like him) and he doesn’t put any product in it, keeping it relatively short, and lose. He’s a little shorter than the average, I guess, at around 5’8, but like I say, 5 feet and eight inches of tightly defined, hard working muscle. Before you ask, no, I didn’t know what his dick looked like, back before the incident I’m about to describe happened - we aren’t all forced to communally shower with one another after sports, where we pretend that a bunch of sweaty teenage boys looking at one another standing under cascading water is a normal, heterosexual thing to do. Shame, really. It should go without saying that I very much wanted to fuck Liam. But he was, unfortunately, straight. Annoyingly straight, in fact; constantly going on about girls he’d fucked – like he was rubbing my face in his heterosexuality. But that’s the way it is, isn’t it? You don’t expect to actually end up fucking them at some point. I know I didn’t.

The fateful day upon which my story takes place was dominated by quite a big rugby match against a local school. Our school goes a little bit mad around match times. Lots of running around the hallways, hollering, prank involving paint and flour – you know, the sort of thing boys with too much testosterone get up to when they’re excited and socially prohibited from fucking something. Which takes me to one of the things that really pisses me off: when the game is held during the school day, the players basically get the day off. I’m sitting in some hot classroom, sun shining through the window like it’s a greenhouse, and they’re off throwing balls around. Hardly fair, is it? This unfairness is something else that must be considered when you read what happens later on in this story. 

So I was sitting in my class, the last before lunch, and about 15 minutes before the end, three of the boys on the team sauntered into the class, now changed out of their kit. It was soon apparent that the boys were a man down. The teacher at the front of the room demanded, clearly annoyed, “And where is Liam?”
The boys looked at each other tittering. “Dunno, Sir,” said one. The teacher shook his head and sighed, before continuing with the lesson. I really didn’t think anything more of it; it wasn’t unusual for lads to bunk off their last lesson if they’d played a game, particularly ones like Liam who just didn’t give a fuck.

Lunch came around, and I was on my way to the cafeteria, when I really needed a piss. Knowing the ones close by to the canteen would be heaving, I cut across into the ones in the boys locker room, knowing they’d be deserted now. After my nice relaxing piss, I decided to cut across the PE block; a shortcut for getting to the cafeteria. I was walking past the school sports hall, when I noticed the door was unlocked. I don’t know how it is for you, but our gym is a little weird; it has a weird keypad-thing on it, that only teachers (are supposed) to know, to stop kids ruining the posh wooden floor in their school shoes. I say ‘supposed to’, because a few kids who the teachers use to put equipment away know the code, but it’s considered a secret, and being caught mucking around in the gym is (apparently) something you can get expelled for. The door itself has no windows it, and neither does the gym, obviously, so being unable to see what was going on inside, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was a reason why the door was unlocked. I decided I’d just have a peek. I mean, it’s not like they’ll dust the door handle for prints or anything. Nobody’ll even know I looked.

I gently pulled the door to, and peered surreptitiously through the crack. I saw nothing unusual, but my field of vision was very tight. I was pretty sure no-one was in the gym by this point – I couldn’t hear a sound coming from it; just the quiet din of kids playing around on the grass which backed onto it. So, taking the bull by the horns, so to speak, I pulled the door fully open and walked in. At which point, my heart quite literally jumped out of my chest in shock.


Chapter One

“I…Is anyone there?”
Liam’s voice was shaky and uncontrolled. He wasn’t crying or anything; but I could tell he clearly wasn’t happy with his predicament. 
And with good reason…I think the rugby lads had probably taken their pranking of each other a *little* too far…
So, to explain it: our gym has these great big wooden wall hinged climbing-frame things right the way along the back wall, which I have honestly never seen used, but I guess are swung out and used for gymnastics. It basically looks like a series of about four ladders per frame, one next to the other, all stuck together. But unlike ‘normal ladders’, it has rungs of differing sizes – so there are big holes in bits of it, and other parts are just like a regular ladder.

Well, they were still along the wall. But just above the ground, in the middle of one of them, Liam was securely fastened, with someone’s rugby sock used as a blindfold. It appeared as though a bunch of those tie-ups you use to do-up bin bags were used to fasten him to the wooden frame; a couple to each of his ankles , some others to his wrists, forcing his hands up, beside his head, where they were affixed to the wooden frame. He was still wearing his entire rugby kit; red top, white shorts, and red rugby socks with fairly ridiculous-looking white, red and sky-blue Adidas F50 rugby boots – all of which was now caked in mud. His feet were planted on the polished floor of the gym, and he was unable to really do anything about the cardboard placard hanging from his neck with white string which read ‘useles fucker’. Yes, definitely written by one of our esteemed sportsmen.

Now, this is the ‘moment’ bit I was going on about earlier. I mean, I’m not a bad person – I go to my lessons, do my homework (most of the time), and I’m sure I’ll get a perfectly average set of exam results in a year or so. A not-bad person would’ve instantly rushed over. A not-bad person would’ve shakily helped him down, enquiring how it happened; if he was ok; at which point, he’d just laugh it off, and say his mates had done it – but it wasn’t a big deal, because there was no harm done. Right? Well, I didn’t do that. And I knew, as soon as I saw him, that I wouldn’t do it, even though I should. No, ignoring his question, I quickly spun around on my heels, and firmly pushed the door closed, locking it.

Turning back around, I made my way across the large gym to where Liam was helplessly immobile, on the other wall. As I approached him, the first thing that hit me was the smell of earthy, moist grass, and a subtler, baser scent beneath it, which I very much wanted to track to its source between his legs, still damp with sweat. I felt myself…getting excited. If you know what I mean. Excited, with the possibility of what I could do. The freedom. The power.

I’d never had sex before. I saw this as a unique opportunity. An ideal occasion to experiment; to do to this fit classmate stuff boys my age normally wouldn’t let you do, gay or straight – stuff which would normally be too degrading for a person to willingly endure. I suddenly felt liberated; my first time, and I didn’t have to worry about the pleasure of the other person – just my own. I felt a little lightheaded with the power I had over Liam and his unwilling, if sexy body. But I was also frozen to the spot; seemingly terrified of crossing that Rubicon – and physically touching him. What if he could really see me? What if this was all a joke, and all his friends piled back into the gym 30 seconds later? I was concerned. But, at the same time, if I was going to do something, I had to get a move on – I knew there would be a PE class after lunch. Time was a factor. Almost as a compromise with myself, I took my iPhone out, and took a nice, high-resolution photo of him all tied up. What I hadn’t counted on was him hearing the ‘click’ sound effect.

“W-was that a camera or somethin’?” He forced a laugh. “O…okay, so, yeah. You took a picture. That’s fine. Now, ya’ know, just untie me, now you’ve had your fun.”
Hesitantly, my right hand reached out, and the back of my hand brushed against the mass of flesh in the front of his white, polyester shorts, causing him to lurch back, pressing himself into the frame, like he’d been electrocuted.
“Why..h-hello? Who is it? Who’s there?”
I still didn’t say anything, yet. I thought it was kinda cool that he couldn’t be sure if I was a boy or a girl; if this was a good thing or a bad thing.
Knowing there wasn’t an awful lot he could do about it, I reached out my hand again, more forthrightly this time, and wrapped my fist around his soft bulge, held in place by the tight protection shorts he was wearing underneath his white shorts. I just sort of rubbed it, running my hand over the contours of his genitals; the bulbed, covered head, the mushy stalk and, when my hand delved deeper, the firm pair of nuts hanging between his muscly thighs – the hard muscle of which I also ran my hand over through the rough polyester, whilst he stood there in silence, breathing deeply, but regularly, like he was enduring some sort of sweet torture.

My left hand was not exactly idle either; that one went in the other direction, initially taking a good grip on his chunky right shoulder, feeling the subtle cords of muscle there, before running my hand down his silky shirt, feeling the ridges of his pec and stomach, before slipping my eager hand up under his shirt, feeling the boy’s hairless abs and returning to his still-clammy pecs, sweeping along he sloping muscle as I did so, seeking out the nipple, and then twisting it hard as I could – and then doing the same to the other little nubbin, ignoring his yelp and attempt to shy away from me.

I inadvertently chuckled, which he inadvertently heard. 
“Christ…you’re a fucking DUDE?”
I suddenly became paralysed in fear, the fingers of my left hand stuck, idly flicking at and running circles around his nipples, like that was a normal thing to do to some seventeen year old straight rugby-playing stud, my right, now wrapped around the semi-hard fuck-stick in his shorts, occasionally regripping it through his restrictive shorts and running my fingers along its hardening length.

Thankfully, I realised pretty quickly that it meant nothing, and that this was something I could infact use to my advantage. Without letting go of his cock, I leaned in toward him, so I was just an inch from his ear; after gently planting a single, solemn kiss on his neck, he flinched, as best he could, but I didn’t let him get away as I nuzzled the thick neck beneath his ear, at the point where the fine whisps of fair hair gave way to striking blond curls, taking in the scent the boy was giving off, and which turned me on so much. After a minute, during which time all he could do was endure my snorting and breath on his neck, my scratching of his nipple, and my yanking of his cock, I whispered, hoping he couldn’t recognise my voice, “yep, I’m a dude – but don’t worry – we’re just gonna fool around for a bit, and my dick’ll only go up your arse if you explicitly ask…no, BEG for it. Ok, baby-cheeks?”

His voice was now a lot shakier, but still defiant. “That. Will never…fucking…EVER…hap-happen. Do you understand? Ju…just….ok, you’ve had your fun…and, yeah, who doesn’t like having their dick played with…it’s not a big deal…so, just like, just let me GO, and…and we’ll call it quits? Ok? Hello? You still there?”
“I’m still rubbin’ and jerkin’ yer dick, nice and slow, milkin’ ya like a fuckin goat, ain’t I Liam? Yeah, I’m still here. Sorry, though; I wasn’t listening; I just leaned over and looked and your arse in those tight shorts, and I kinda zoned out for a minute.”

Well, that didn’t go down well, and I think it’s what caused him to start yelling and shouting for help.

More calmly then I thought possible, I placed the index finger of my left hand on his sexy moist lips, at which point, no doubt fearing I was about to stick it in there, he clamped his mouth shut. I continued my whisper. “Shush shush, Liam. You really haven’t thought this through, have you? Don’t worry, I’ll spell it out for that brain of yours. Now, consider the situation – you tied up, with a sign around your neck saying ‘useless fucker’, some stick-thin gay kid from your class lazily running his hands through your junk – considering THAT situation, what’s the absolute worst thing, for you – not me – for YOU, that could happen right now? Eh?” He was predictably silent. “The absolute worst thing – the REALLY embarrassing thing, the thing which turns this situation from a bad day for you, into a bad YEAR for you – is if SOMEONE walks through THAT fucking door and sees it all. Ok? Tell me if you understand, Liam. Tell me, because I honestly don’t know if I’ve spelt it out in terms you can understand.”
“I…understand” he replied, his teeth quite literally gritting as he said it.
“Good boy,” I said as I withdrew my head from his shoulder and hand from his shirt, patting his head with it as my right continued to squeeze and yank his dick. I also took the opportunity to take another couple of pictures; one close-up of my hand on his shorts and one of me posing alongside him, with my hand still on his shorts. “If those pictures…”
“Don’t worry, mate,” I said in mock-reassurance, “you can always untag yourself when I put them up on facebook; no-one need ever know.”
He didn’t say anything after that; just shook his head. He started sniffling and breathing very heavily when I let go of his cock and knelt down, so I could pull his white shorts down to his shoes, revealing a pair of Puma v-kon protection shorts, which were kinda like black-and-grey cycling shorts, except made of polyester-cotton. Regardless of how his brain felt about the situation, his boisterous teenage dick was pretty stiff now, regardless of still being confined in his shorts, snaking along for a good six inches to his left at a painful-looking 90 degree angle. I was about ten inches from his crotch, and I could now smell him a lot more strongly, and the smell was a lot coarser then it was by his shoulder. I knew it’d normally be embarrassing to do this, but with him just standing there blindfolded, that wasn’t really a concern for me so I dove straight in - my nose leading the way, with my teeth not far behind. 


Chapter Two

The gym was silent, with just the din of kids playing just outside the cavernous hall, and the sound of the great big lungful’s of stale air I was breathing in through my nose from around his dank shorts. I’d always known I was gay, but I never knew a lad’s sex-smells could be such a fucking turn-on! If I could bottle it, I’d be on Dragon’s Den in a heartbeat – everyone from perves to bored housewives would be buying the stuff. With my nose wedged up in the nook where his shaft met his rounded ballsac, my teeth would fleetingly nip and pick at his crinkly sac (emitting short intakes of breaths when I did so), whenever my tongue wasn’t lapping at the flavoursome shorts. This was something else he didn’t like; as a result, I had placed my hands on the back of his thighs, to keep him steady. I was glad I did! After a few seconds, I was enjoying myself running  my hands up and down the backs of his legs, before cradling his fat butt cheeks in my hands, squeezing the gelatinous muscle whilst my other senses were all engaging his crotch. After a minute or two, the firm inner thighs that I felt framing either side of my face surreptitiously spread slightly – as much as they could, I guess; his legs giving me greater access to his needy nuts, even if his brain still wasn’t fully on-board with the whole thing.

After a few more minutes, I withdrew from his crotch, standing before him. I could feel the cold sweat of his crotch smeared over my face. He must of known I was standing there.
“P…please…” he mumbled.
“Please what, Liam? Are you saying, ‘please take my shorts off?’”
“N…no-“
“’Please give my dick some breathing room, and something to fuck, because it’s all painful, coiled up like a spring in my special rugby shorts?’”
“NO!”
“I sympathise, Liam. Look at this, eh,” the index finger of my right hand started rubbing and incessantly scratching where the end of his knob was located, a dark spot marking it out, which gradually started to grow bigger as a result of my unavoidable ministrations. “You’re leaking in your special shorts, Liam. These aren’t cheap, you know. You must like being dominated by smaller, smarter types?”
“JUST F-FUCKING LET ME GO!”
“I’ll just take a quick picture of your leaky cock.”
For once I was really enjoying the ‘click’ sound-effect of my phone every time I took a picture. “Does your cock always do that, Liam, or is it just when you’re like, super-turned on?” I started idly running circles around the head of his cock, chaffing the scratchy, wet material over the exposed tip of his sheathed knob, feeling it harden still further, and, with the help of the nail of my index finger, his foreskin fully retract.
“Stop that.”
I laughed. “Yeah, like I’m gonna stop now. But seriously – I guess your dick must really like this queer stuff, if your super turned on.”
“I’M NOT FUCKING SUPER TURNED ON, you PUFF.”
“Oh? So it does always makes that much slime, then? Interesting. Or does it only do it when you’ve got a lot of spunk to shoot? Is that what you’re saying, Liam? You haven’t cum in a while, and you’d really like me to get you off?”
“I…I’m not answering your questions.”
“Don’t worry; you don’t have to – your cock’s answering them for you! Yeah, I guess it must’ve been a while. And that’s why you’re hard, right? I mean, it’s not that your gay or anything – you just haven’t cum in a while.”
Silence.

“Hmm. Nothing to say, eh? Maybe I was wrong, then…maybe it just leaks normally, regardless of whether you’re fucking that sexy girlfriend of yours, or having your jewels felt up by a bloke. I guess that means your bisexual, then? There’s a public toilet by where you live, actually-”
“WOULD YOU,” he paused for a moment, because he was breathing heavily now, “SHUT THE FUCK UP? Yes, OK, fine, whatever one you said which meant I wasn’t gay-“
“That you’ve got a bit of a build-up in your balls?”
“WHATEVER FUCKING ONE IT WAS, fine, it’s that, Ok? Now, just…just either let me cum, or let me go, please.”
“I’m not sure I believe you.”
“What?”
“Well, you WOULD say whichever option it was that meant you wasn’t gay, wouldn’t you? I mean, your brain’s just trying to rationalise all this as best it can, because it still thinks you’re straight-“
“I *AM* STRAIGHT!”
My finger had moved from the head, and was now methodically running up and down along the rock-hard shaft, like I was petting a snake. “Yeah yeah,  of course, but I mean, given that your hard and leaking shit into your shorts, and all because of my voice and my little finger, you might not be, eh?”
“SHUT-"
“So when’d you last cum?”
“Oh fuck off.”
“That’s the only way to figure it out, isn’t it? To figure out if your claim, about having so much cum in you, and that explaining why your all drippy today, is true. So, when’d you last shoot?” I liked how his forehead was now damp with sweat. I could only hope the same was true of the rest of his fit little bod; that he was brewing up a new batch of smells for me to feast on.
“Why can’t…just…” he sighed heavily, seemingly resigning himself to his fate. “I dunno…” his voice was really shaky now, as he tried to respond casually – as if this was a normal conversation, “Tuesday, I guess?”
“During the day, or at night?” He groaned now, as my other fingers had joined their companion, wrapping around his cock and slowly jacking him.
“At…night.”
“Yeah, that’s the best way when it’s a school night, isn’t it? So I presume this was at home, in bed, just before you went to sleep - did you do it yourself, or did you have help?”
“Fucker…I…I had sex, ok? And I wasn’t at MY house, fucker.” I had to laugh inwardly at that; yeah, check-mate, Liam. You totally win.
“With a girl or a boy?”
“YOU FUCKER-“
“It’s a legitimate question – I mean, it’s a pretty big indicator of whether you’re gay, straight or bi, now isn’t it?”
“I’M NOT GAY.”
I laughed. “Yeah, I know. I’m just yanking your chain-“ at which point I yanked his dick “-so to speak. Now, I guess you want to cum, right?”
“Do whatever you fucking want.”
“Well, I’ve kinda had my fun, so maybe I should just leave you here? If we’re talking about me doing whatever I want, I mean…”
“Wh- For fucks- FINE, yes, ok, yes, I would like to cum, please, if it’s not too much fucking trouble, being that you’ve now got me so fucking turned on that I can hardly think straight, you absolute, grade A, WANKER.”
I chuckled, looking around the gym for inspiration as I quietly mumbled, “yeah, describing your sexual routine to the bloke who’s jacking you off and then asking him to make you cum – straight as an arrow, you are, pal.” He returned to giving me the silent treatment. 

I found what I was looking for, and let go of his dick whilst I unceremoniously pulled his under-shorts down, to join the white shorts at his knees. His cock, now going on seven thick inches, thwacked against the red shirt he was wearing, stiff as a board and sending a few fleck’s of pre jizz off in all directions. His dick was perfectly straight, and the colour of alabaster, with a bright shock of pubes at the base. His balls were pretty big, seeming to occupy the entire ballsac, and were already pulled up pretty close to his dick. For all his sex talk, he really wasn’t very experienced at the whole ‘sex’ thing, bless him. Neither was I, of course – I was just going off what I’d read on nifty. As I moved to his side, I ran my finger around his dome, collecting some slime, before tasting it; it was pretty thick, and tasty. Maybe he really hadn’t cum for a while? Obviously, I had no idea how that sort of thing worked, but I don’t think mine was as thick as that. 

I noticed how, now with his bits and pieces were loose, he squatted as much as he could, as he sighed in relief. I crouched down and observed the definition of muscle on his inner thighs as he did so, running the tips of my fingers along one of them – he didn’t flinch this time. His knob was also fully retracted, revealing the purple head, which was now a good few shades darker than the scarlet shirt it was resting on. Wanting to taste more of that sauce, I wrapped my lips around just the head of his cock, and gave a few powerful sucks, hovering up all the gamey residue and sweat that had collected there over the course of the day. I think every muscle in his body tensed, but it only lasted a few seconds; by the time he’d realised what was happening, it was over, me standing up off my knees. “Hmmm. That stuff you have around your knob is really tasty, Liam – tangy. Like, ummm, you know that sauce you can get a Nandos Chicken? A bit like that, except..I dunno; manlier, I guess.”
He leapt at the opportunity I’d provided him, inadvertently cracking a grin as he responded, “well, I am a man.”
“Yeah,” I replied casually, looking at the sign still hanging from his neck, “a useless fucker of a man, if your mates are to be believed.”
Before he had a chance to respond, I had moved away, setting my phone on record and positioning it so it included the lads entire frame, whilst also being close enough to pick up sound. I proceeded to unlatch the one end of the wooden frame that was supporting him, and applied all my meagre strength to pull out the entire frame on its axis, away from the wall. Helpless, Liam quickly gingerly lifted his feet as best he could, them a centimetre or so from the floor, as I swung the frame out – not far; just so I could get behind him.

See, I had a problem, and I needed to get behind him to fix it. But what I did next, he did not expect. On each of his hands were these sort of rubberised cotton-latex gloves that rugby players wear, to keep grip of the ball in wet conditions. You know those cotton gloves you see taxi-drivers and homeless people wear, with holes on the end of the fingers? Yeah, well, they’re like those, except they’ve got better grip, have a logo on them, and cost about 900% more than normal gloves do. What a fucking rip-off. Anyway, that’s neither here nor there – he was still wearing his, from the game. After licking and gently sucking on one of his stubby fingers, just for shits and giggles, during which time he wiggled them delightfully for me (well, not for *me* - he was trying to get them away from me – but I really liked it), I removed the glove on his right hand, and slid my own hand into it. My hand suddenly became wet with the cold sweat from within the glove – but it looked kinda snazzy on my hand, even though it was now caked in dry mud. So moving behind him, I pressed myself up against the wooden frame behind him, and put my head through one of the well-placed larger rungs of the frame, resting it on his shoulder, so I could look at his sweet little boys face, all angry and horny. Then without either of us saying a word, I reached around with the gloved hand, taking hold of his hard dick mid-shaft, and very, very slowly moving my hand up, and down, the fine indentations of the glove fluttering along his shaft as I did so. “Urghh,” he moaned, expelling all the air from his lungs as he did so. “Y-y-y-you-“ His eyes were closed, his head tilted back onto my own shoulder, his mouth agog.
I whispered, “I what, Liam?”
“Y-y-you need to g-g-go faster.”
“Faster? What, my hand?”
“Yessssss”
“Well, I don’t know…I mean, you were awful rude when you asked me to make you cum, weren’t you?” My fingers were now sticky with the thick ball-slop his dick-head was constantly secreting.
. “Wh…n-no? Noo…” His voice cracked beautifully.
“Yes, Liam. Yes, you weren’t very polite. So if you want me to go faster…maybe you should ask me again? Maybe you should ask me, politely?”
“Jus…jus’ come on, man…”
Squeezing his cock, turning the head even purpler, I stated: “ask.”
“P-please…please can you, um, just like, jack me off, please?”
“That’s not particularly meaningful. Say, ‘I’d be really grateful if you’d help me expel all the sludge from my balls.’”
“I…I’d be….really, um, grateful, like, if you’d…if you’d help me to…ex-ex-“
“expel”
“expel all the stuff-“
“sludge”
“sludge, from my…balls.”
As a reward, my other hand snaked through one of the rungs on his other side, caressing his firm thigh before cupping his balls, as if weighing them; rolling them between my fingers. “Good, now say, ‘Thanks for squeezing my nuts so nicely, they really like that sort of treatment.”
“Thanks…for sqw—squeEZING” I’d squeezed them a bit *too* hard at that point, “my n-nu-nuts so…nicely…they, um…they…r-really….like…that sort of…”
“Treatment.”
“Tr-treatment.”
“Good lad. You’re doing very well with this request, Liam. Now, finally, say ‘because I’ve had a bit of a build-up down there, and haven’t had a chance to get them emptied.’”
“Christ…I’ve had a….build-up-“
“bit of a build-up.”
“-bit of a build-up, and haven’t…haven’t had a…ch…chance, to get them emp-emptied.”
“Good boy.” I planted another kiss on his neck as a reward, although I think he’d of preferred another kind of reward.
After a few more minutes or really hardly touching him at all, he was essentially fucking himself through my hand, thrusting as best he could – it didn’t help that I amused myself by trying to match his thrusts as best I could, to ensure he got as little pleasure as possible – but the boy deserved a REAL reward, I decided. I once again took his dick in my hand – but firmly this time; and then, as if his dick got all excited, knowing my firm hand meant relief was imminent, a tiny quirt of prejizz darted out of his knob, little globlets landing on my gloved hand. Ignoring it, I started to jack him in earnest, my hand going up and down, up and down, with just enough speed for it to be excruciatingly pleasurable, with my callous, uncovered thumb indelicately basting his knob in his own juices whenever it got the chance, running over his piss hole once or twice on every journey up the thick stalk. My other hand continued to squeeze the juice out of his balls, my nails occasionally gently scratching along his inner thigh, up to the apex of his leg, where they would then scratch down along the pebbled surface of his hairless fat ballsac, his nuts tight up against the base of his dick. He tried to just stand there: he tried to be all manly about it, and act like he was indifferent about the whole thing, but he failed miserably. After about 30 seconds, his deep, bass voice was filling the sports hall with his groans and whimpers.

As his humping of my hand got more and more incessant, I sped up, until I saw the glans of his pointy purple dome expand, and then – having read in many a story what THAT meant - I stopped. Haha. No, seriously, I just stopped. See what I mean? I used to be such a nice guy, and this one experience had turned me into some kind of sadomasochist. I think it was because he didn’t like to talk to me after I came out – he never said “I don’t like you because you’re gay,” but it was obvious that was at the root of it. Well, payback’s a bitch.
As soon as I stopped, the complaining begun. “Wha…what the fuck, man? What’s going on? Come on, dude…just finish me off. Just quick, like, come on…” Ignoring his protestations, I walked back around the large frame to Liam’s front, thinking as I did so. There was so much more I wanted to do; but kids would be swarming the place soon, getting changed for PE. Thankfully, I had an idea. I sauntered across the gym to the unlocked equipment room on the other side, finding the sort of thing I was looking for. As I walked back, I sniffed my ungloved, sweat-soaked hand as I went, commenting to Liam, “Wow Liam, your bollocks smell really fucking hot, dude. And they’re nice and big, too – or at least, they are when you’re full. How often do ya wash ‘em?”
“I wash myself very often, puff.”
“Well, yeah, I’m sure you shower and stuff, but I wondered if your girlfriend preferred ‘em au nateurale, like; if she’d asked you to let that sweet sweat build up for her.” 
He scrunched up his nose in disgust. “No she fucking does not. She doesn’t go anywhere near my fucking balls, and I don’t blame her.” I walked back infront of him, having picked up my phone along the way. “What a fucking bitch. She doesn’t know what she’s missing. Listen, I’ve reached a decision. It’s hardly fair that I get to see you, but you haven’t managed to see me. Is it? So I’m just gonna take your blindfold off.”


Chapter Three

And then, before he could say anything, I did exactly that. “I FUCKING KNEW IT!” He shouted.
But the look of abject surprise on the moron’s face told me he probably hadn’t known it. “Yeah, sure. So, here’s the deal. Kids are gonna be coming in here for their PE class in about…10 minutes. That gives us one of three options. One, we just carry on, and let them find us – I mean, after all, *I’m* gay, so it’s not a big deal for me. Number two, I just leave you tied up here to be found, and expelled. Or number three, we carry this on somewhere in private. What do you think?”
“Well, being as the other two involve a hundred or so year eights seeing me here with a hardon, I guess I’ll plump for option number three, butt-pirate.”
“Yes, I thought you would, sporty-spice.”
“Cute. Just one problem – that involves you letting me go. And as soon as you let me go…” he laughed, picturing it in his head, “well, let’s just say, as soon as you let me go, I’m going to fucking kill you. Like, really fucking kill you, with the studs of my own fucking rugby boot, right here.”
“Yeah, I thought you’d say that. Here’s the thing. I just recorded a film of you basically begging a guy to make you cum. And I also took a load of pictures of you loving every moment of it. And of you…playing around, shall we say…in the gym, for which you can – and will, given you’re so fucking stupid to begin with that the school won’t miss you being gone – get expelled. And I emailed ‘em to myself. And if so much as one hair on my head is harmed in any way, the first thing I’ll do when I get out of hospital, is send ‘em to all your fucking bum-chums on the rugby team. So unless you plan on ACTUALLY killing me – like, for real – then there’s not an awful lot you can do. This day will soon be over, Liam, and then everything will be as it was before. The only way you can FUCK THIS UP is if you try and be a hero, and do something you’re not supposed to do – and for clarification, for today, ‘something you’re not supposed to do’ includes absolutely fucking anything I say. Ok?”

He nodded solemnly.

“Good. Now, the next question is, where do we go?”
“Wherever’s closest,” he wearily replied.
Smiling grimly I said, “right you are, Captain. Let’s go somewhere more secluded so you can have that nice, hearty orgasm you’ve been after.”
I extracted my swiss-army knife and approached him; he looked menaced by it, staring at it, wide-eyed. “This? Oh, yeah. Um, if you *do* try to kill me, I’ll, like, um, cut you up and stuff.” I was the most unconvincing knifeman ever, but he still seemed pretty cowed by it. Before I released him properly, I crouched down, spent a few minutes on his shorts and, before I came back up, licked and sucked first one and then the other ball, my tongue dancing over the invisible fuzz of hair coating them, before I stood back up. “Sorry,” I said sheepishly, “just thought, whilst I was down there…”
“Fucking disgusting,” he replied.
“Yeah, well. You ain’t seen nothing yet, pal.” With that, I pulled up first his undershorts, and then his rugby shorts, hooking both over his hardon, which had now firmed back up after my suckling on his nutsack. Then, for the moment of truth. I first cut the ties binding his legs, and then his right arm, and then his left.

He stood there for a moment, rubbing his wrists and walking around a bit, to get the blood back in his legs, not looking at me as I just stood there. I suddenly became aware of my own physical inferiority, and for the first time since I’d locked that door, I felt genuinely scared. He looked at me, and I returned the stare. “What’s with that fucking linesman’s flag?”
I looked down at the small yellow and red flag I’d liberated from the equipment room. It wasn’t very long; the sort of thing you see linesmen using at a football match. I’d completely forgotten I was holding it.
I held it out to him. “You hold this.”
“What? Why? You fucking hold it.”
Knowing only confidence could see me through this, I acted like I was still in charge. “No. You hold it. You hold it, ‘cos….’cos I won’t be able to hold it, and we need it to get out, ok? Right, come on then. Let’s go.” I moved over towards the door, and he followed, taking the flag from me as I passed him. Yeah! He followed. These sporty-types are all the same; not used to using their brains, they’re comfortable just doing whatever the person in charge tells them to do – and I was in charge of him from now on.

Beckoning him over so he stood beside me at the door, I said, “right. So, there’s probably gonna be kids walking around the hallways on the other side of this door. We ain’t gonna be out there in public for long, but given that thing down your shorts,” I motioned to his cock, “I think it’s best we move as quickly as possible.” He slowly nodded, still in shock with it all, I think. I turned the handle by the lock, swinging the door open, and pushing him through with a firm hand on his back. He stumbled forward, frozen to the spot in the hallway, holding that flag at his side like a dope, with the laughter of kids and slamming of doors sounding just a couple of feet away, down one of the corridors leading off this one. After rubbing the fingers on my slick vulcanised right hand together, rubbing the stinky, slippery slop of mud, Liam’s cock sweat, and Liam’s ball juice through my fingers, I sleekly moved through the door to stand beside him on his left, closing the door hard. “Right, a little insurance policy, to make sure I don’t lose you” I said, as, acting without any real thought of the consequences, I slipped my rubber-gloved, right handed middle-finger up through a slit I’d previously made in his shorts and undershorts and – what with him completely not expecting it – smashed through the tight ring of his straight arsehole, my slick finger going right up into his delicate, inviolate insides, finally coming to rest at the first knuckle, my index and third fingers pushing against the outside of his white rugby shorts. He stood there, wide-eyed, firm legs shoulder width apart, the fingers of the hand holding the flag going white; I thought he was going to snap the bloody thing.
 
He whispered, surprisingly quietly, “get…it…out.”

In response, my middle finger craned around his colon, forming a hook, my bare finger pad and thick rubberised digit embedding itself a couple of extra millimetres inside his rectum. Standing so our sides were touching, and with me a couple of inches back from him, you could only really see what was going on if you were directly behind us – or so I told myself, anyway. My finger directed him where I wanted to go; down the excruciatingly long hallway, the laughter of kids sounding less than a metre from us. He walked haphazardly, in his rugby boots, the studs clicking on the floor as we went. – some tiny kid, not looking where he was going, ran from behind us, knocking into me, and continuing to run off and through the double doors at the end – the impact made my cozy finger go this way and that in his insides, and it must have had an effect, as he stopped to grip the wall and recover immediately afterwards. 

I must confess; I was shitting myself by this point. This walk, because we were moving so slowly, was taking so fucking long. I envisaged it being a fun minute; we’d been on this hallway for five minutes already, and we weren’t even half way to our destination. As we went back to walking, I ever so slowly started pumping my finger in and out – if he needed direction, I’d have to stop, of course; pushing forward for right on, or forming an ‘L’ shape in his rectum and slowing myself, to bring him to a stop. But, when we were chuffing nicely along the hallway, I’d slowly finger-fuck him, with his deep breathes becoming synchronised with the rhythmic fucking of my nasty digit. What the fuck was I doing?!? Why was I even doing this?! It was purely because of the power trip. I did it because I thought I could get away with it – that I had this straight boy at my beck and call, and I was going to make the most of it. I was fucking insane…but, regardless of how this turned out; I WAS making the most of it. No-one could take that away from me. 

We passed one hallway, on our left, which led to the exit onto the field; some year eights were milling around by the door, waiting for their break to end. No doubt hearing us, thanks to Liam’s boots, they stopped talking and watched us walk past their little alcove. We must of made quite a sight: Liam, ever so slowly and stiffly moving down the hallway, holding a linesman’s flag, still in his entire rugby kit, even though the game ended hours ago – although still curiously drenched in sweat, yelping and humming as he went – and me, clearly his good friend, given that it appeared I was practically grafted onto the left side of his body. Seeing the children, Liam shakily raised his hands to his crotch, as if to ‘hide’ the hardon that was obviously in there, pointing up to the heavens. I honestly don’t know if they’d noticed his hardon up to that point; but I’m fairly certain him doing that merely drew their attention to his shorts, and his fat dick making a hole in them. If I was him, I’d of tried to use the flag in some way. Ho hum. The kids didn’t follow us – for some reason, and that was the main thing.

Liam eventually caught on to where we were going, and did his best to try and veer himself off course. “N-no…NO,”
“Sssh! Don’t shout!” I whispered, “people’ll look over, and YOU’VE got a finger up your arse! Now, these are the nearest toilets – its either these, or us walking along some more to find another bog.”

I think he would’ve screamed, were it not for the fact that people were walking towards us. I frowned as I looked at him, and added in mock concern, “shall we stand here and have a little think about it Liam, eh?” My finger rooting and prodding around as I did so, for added emphasis, “or shall we go inside?” He let out a low, guttural moan, and I don’t know if it was in pleasure or resignation, as he then immediately went on to say, “fine, in here then,” and he led the way into the changing rooms, which were still deserted – but they wouldn’t be for long. I directed him to one of the cubicles I was in earlier (yes, I was in a deserted bathroom earlier, and still went to the cubicle – why the fuck should I use a public urinal, just because there happens to be nobody in the room when I arrive? The whole fucking priesthood could walk in and unzip 10 seconds after I’ve started, for all I know – in conclusion, that’s a stupid rule, and one I do NOT follow). 

Anyway, these cubicles were just facing out onto the changing rooms. Gingerly locking the door behind me (difficult when you have one finger up some lads arse), I was surprised at how tight a fit the cubicle was. They really were just meant for one person to shit in at a time. Which is fair enough. After telling him to put the flag down, I shuffled round, my digit still wordlessly directing him to where I wanted him, with him at the front by the door, and me behind him by the toilet; I told him to put his hands on the crappy faux-wooden door of the toilet. Just as he did so, we heard the locker room door open. And voices. Lots of voices. Lots of male voices. He held his breath and looked at me in terror. I tried not to laugh. I pretended to think for a moment, before I said in a hushed tone, “probably best not to make too much noise. Given the kids, I mean. If you started making all those sex noises, like you did in the gym...well, you’ll have the pics of about 50 years sevens to worry about, not just mine.”
“Yes, I fucking realise that!” He whispered.
“You know…” I thought again (for effect) and then said, as if asking a question, “maybe we *should* of gone to that other toilet?”

Liam decided at this point, bent forward with his hands planted on the lavatory door and with me slowly investigating the nooks and crannies of his colon, to make a stand. “Right, that’s it. I’m not playing along anymore. Get that…thing…out of me. I’m going home to have a fucking wank.”
He sounded genuinely put out by it all. “First, Liam. You were NEVER playing along, so not much has changed on that front. Secondly, my finger quite likes it up your bum where it’s nice and warm, and he’s not going anywhere for the moment. And finally, by the time you get home, you’re balls are going to be thoroughly drained. I hope you ain’t got plans tonight involving that fucking bitch-“
“You leave my girlfriend out of this-“
“That fucking BITCH who won’t even lick your fucking brilliant bollocks for you - because by the time I’m through, you’re going to be as limp as wet noodle. BUT, if you do something rash – something to try and hurry this along – THAT’S how those kids out there-“ they were now a few feet away, getting dressed for PE (even though we were whispering (loudly), they’d of easily heard us, were it not for the fact that they were themselves running around and shouting at each other, like boys who’ve had too much sugar are prone to do) “-hear you getting finger fucked like some whore, and start asking questions. And let me remind you – them finding us like this is NOT a problem for me. They find us; you’ve got a million new problems – but I look like quite the gay stud. Ok? Are we all clear?”
“Ye…yeah. YES, we’re fucking clear.”
“Good boy.” With hand which wasn’t adjoining his arse, I ruffled his hair playfully; something else which he was growing to dislike.
“Ok. Just so you know, here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to take my finger out – but don’t worry; cos I’m going to fuck you with the end of that flag pole you brought with you.”


Chapter Four

“You…what? You’re…you’re not serious.”
I leaned over to look him in the face, my sweaty finger still plunging in and out of him. “Oh, I am, sweetie. See, you’ve got this thing up here in your guts – hang on, I think I’ve found it…” Prodding what I thought was his prostate, he almost jumped out of his skin and let out a high-pitched yelp – which I hope nobody else heard “-yeah, that’s the one. See, I can make you cum, using that. Don’t even have to go near your knob any more – I can just make you cum like you’re an angry little pony.”
“No, please, fucking hell, mate – you, you’ll fucking tear my insides up; I might bloody die or something.”
“But Liam, my little sex pony…what a way to go, eh?” I chuckled, his face having turn ashen pale, and with me sounding all friendly about it. “Nah, I’m joking buddy. I ain’t gonna kill you. I mean, I haven’t done it before, but I’m pretty sure you’ve got, like, muscle and shit up there to protect you from that sort of thing. It certainly feels pretty muscly. Well, you may not work ‘em much, but those muscles are certainly getting a workout today, aren’t they? They’ll probably be as buff as the rest of you!”
“This…this is a sick, sick joke. Isn’t it?”
“No. No, this is the last act, mate. Ain’t you read any of your Shakespeare? All the best crap happens in the last act. You didn’t think it was all going to end with a quick rub, did you?”
He was shaking his head, and it was only when he reached up to rub his eyes and sniffle that I realised he must be crying or something. “This…this was just a…joke. My…FRIENDS…just played a stupid, stupid joke. And that ends with me getting fucked with a flagpole? How the fuck is that fair?”
“Well, Liam, as I’m sure you’ll find out when you leave school without a single skill apart from the ability to play rugby reasonably well for an inner-city comprehensive, life isn’t always particularly fair. But…” I left it hanging there. I didn’t have to wait long.
“But what?”
“Well…I mean, I guess I *could* not fuck you with the flagpole…” I was leaning into his back, now, his powerful arms effectively supporting the pair of us against the door. “I mean, I haven’t gotten off yet…and I kinda assumed I wouldn’t – because, you know, Liam, today’s really been about you. But, I’ve been hard pretty much since I walked into the gym, ages ago, so I guess if we did something which would make me cum…well, that wouldn’t be so bad, would it?”
“So, what…you want me…to…wank….you…or…suck…you, or something?”
I quietly laughed. “Don’t be silly! You’re relatively straight, with a stupid bitch of a girlfriend who won’t go near your best bits – I wouldn’t make you do something like that! I know, that looking at, or quietly making love to my erect cock, with your lips and or hand, would turn your stomach.”
He nodded in agreement.
“No, I’d fuck you with my cock.”
“WHAT?”
“ssshh! Remember what I said! Now, like I say, I don’t really care either way – but it’s either the flagpole or my dick. Just so you know, whilst I’m not exactly small or anything – I’m really not as big as a flagpole.”
He looked at me and said in a deadpan tone, “yeah. No offense, but I kinda assumed as much.”
“Or, I can just withdraw my fingers from your arsehole, open the lavatory door, and tell everyone what we were up to in here. And show them the photos. Oh! The photos!” I quickly reached for my phone, stepped back as far as I could, and took a picture of him leaning prone against the door, my finger disappearing up through a slit in the rear of his shorts, up into his fantastically round, fat arse. “That’s a keeper,” I whispered.
“Now, where were we? Ah, yes. So, what’s the decision? The flagpole, or the smaller, but gayer, dick?”
“You know the answer,” he grumbled.
I wrapped my one good arm around him, snuggling into his back, and breathing in his aroma again, because I know he hated it. “Of course I know, silly. But you have to say it, remember?”

I could tell he was now just tired with it all. He said in a whiny, forlorn tone, “Wha...what, why? Why do I have to do that?”
“Our agreement, Liam. I said, I would only fuck you with my dick if – IF – you BEGGED me for it. So, you have to beg. When you’re ready.”
“Please will you fuck me,” he said simply.
“That’s more a request then a beg, Liam. Try again – and try to sound more earnest.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“It means, try to sound more desperate.”
He took a deep breath. “Jack…” (my name’s Jack, by the way) “Jack, would you…please…really, please…fuck me. It….would…mean a lot to me. If you would fuck me. Please.”
I chuckled. “Ok, Liam. We’ll do this one together as well. Say, ‘Jack, I really like my girlfriend’s big, pert tits and everything, but I’ve always wondered what it’d be like to have another boy’s willy stuck up my insides.’”
“Jack…I, um…I really, like my…girlfriends…big tits-“
“Pert tits”
“big, pert tits, but I’ve…I’ve always, erm, wondered…I’ve always wondered, what it’d be like to have…another…boys…dick-“
“Willy, Liam. You’ve always wondered what it’s like to have another boys willy.”
“W-willy…stuck…up…”
“My insides.”
“My…insides.”

 “Well, I really can’t resist a begging seventeen year old stud muffin,” I said, “especially one with such a delightful nutsack, which I know you have, Liam.” He turned red, but gave the briefest glimmer of a smile. He didn’t see me stop my phone from recording, just after it had caught his begging and my fairly embarrassing reference to his nuts.

That, for all I know, might of proven to be the turning point in our relationship; but in the momentary quiet of the cubicle, I became aware of footsteps just beyond the door. Why was someone walking over by a closed cubicle? And why were they being so quiet about it? The answer, of course, was obvious. I put my finger against Liam’s lips, and the two of us held our breath. I quietly lowered my school trousers. I heard the steps walking away, loudly. We literally had seconds. I smoothly withdrew my finger, leading Liam to let out a most inconvenient groan. By the time I had sat on the toilet seat, I heard some little pip-squeak say on the other side of the door, “I…think someone’s in that toilet!” I really wanted to enjoy this moment; to make my defiling of the straight boy all the more memorable; but there wasn’t time – unceremoniously yanking down Liam’s two pairs of shorts, I pulled him down onto me, hooking my fingers under his armpits and up around his shoulders, I pulled him down with all my strength firmly onto my unlubed, but painfully erect cock. For me, the coolness of the dank locker-room was suddenly replaced by the comforting warmth of Liam’s insides; having had my finger up there for a good fifteen minutes, I felt well acquainted with his rectum, even though he was straight. He didn’t quite feel the same way, however.

He bit, hard, into the left hand I had put on his mouth, to stop him from screaming, as we both heard several footsteps approaching. With my other hand wrapped around his neck to keep a firm grip of his shoulder, I leaned back against the cistern, gently taking him with me. I hooked my own legs around his, looping them around his tummy, and with my hand, pulled him back, so we were both ‘resting’ on the  toilet, at about a 110 degree angle. “Come on, mate…”
He knew what I was asking him to do; he didn’t want to, because he knew how it’d look. “It’s the only way, mate…”
I heard the voices coming closer. I felt one of his muscular thighs flex. He was thinking about it.
“Come on…just…lift…” I whispered directly into his ear incessantly. 

Just in time, I think, he slowly lifted his legs, up, up into the air, his chunky calves, sheathed in red socks, and his bright-blue, red and white rugby boots, pointing toward the sky. “Thaaaaat’sss ittt…” I soothed, pumping myself forward, a little deeper into his ass, so I was now perfectly aligned with him, trying to find purchase…and a little pleasure, with my pubes scratching against his brilliantly muscular butt. Sitting on me as he was, it felt like a rounded slab of granite was on my lap. I could tell the little shit on the other side was looking through the thin slit under the door. Looking for shoes. We held on. I kept a firm grip on his pec, rubbing it soothingly, as my gloved hand reached down and encircled his flagging cock, quietly pumping it. He angrily looked at me out of the corner of his eyes; I was having a thoroughly enjoyable time, he was shitting himself, tensing every muscle in his chest and legs, given that he was now the fulcrum around which the two of us was centred – I was essentially hanging onto him. We sat like that for what felt like an eternity. One of his feet, the toes of which had initially pointed skyward; started to slacken; that was my first indication that he was finding it difficult keeping his leg up. “Keep your legs up. With your hands,” I ever so quietly whispered. He reached out and gripped each of his thighs, pulling them up so they were once again pointing skyward, his feet flexing this way and that, absent-mindedly, with my dick up his ass, my one hand on the slab of pectoral muscle, and the other on his cock. If only I could reach my camera; he must look like such a little bitch. Part of me hoped the door swung open.

Another eternity. Probably no more than a couple of minutes. The changing room door opening. A voice, distant, from the door, “come on, dickhead, you can have a shit on the field if you’re that desperate to go.” Cackles of laughter. The door closing. Then, the door opening again, and closing again. Silence. Liam went to lower his legs – I stopped him. “He could still be there,” I whispered as quietly as I could. I knew full well he almost certainly wasn’t; but it was so pleasant, sitting there like that, all my muscles slacked, and all of his tensed and scared. After another couple of minutes, when I thought his legs really might buckle, I said in normal volume, “alright, that’s enough.”
His boots clicked back onto the floor, and my own joined them at the side. He sat there, still adjusting to my dick, with my gloved hand on his dick, the other, now on the curve of his arse, where it rested on my thigh. “Go on then,” I said.
“Go on then…what?”
“Well…I’m on the bottom, aren’t I? I can’t exactly fuck you – you weigh about twice as much as me. So, you’ll have to do it yourself.”
“What?! Fuck off will I. I’m getting off-“
“Get up and the deal’s off,” I stated, laughing. “Get up, and you might as well of quit back in the gym; all this’ll be for nothing. Jesus Christ, man, you’re such a fucking retard. All you can do is do it, dude. Do it, and hope I don’t ask you do anything else, today. Come on, fucker!” I slapped the outside of his ass. “Come on, fuck yourself, pony. Don’t worry, it’s just the same as straight sex – up and down, again and again, til the guy in charge cums. The only difference is, I’m the one in charge, not you, so we stop when I cum and feel sleepy, not when you cum and feel sleepy.”
“How…how am I even…”
“Swing round,” I said, which, without a word, hoping the shame of it all would soon be over, he did, moaning all the way, and taking about ten minutes to do it, but during which time my dick got the full tour of his bowels. “Now, put your arms somewhere useful, like, here,” I took his arms and put them on my shoulders, “and now you push up with your arms, and then you can go back down again,” I said, like I was explaining it to a child.

“AHHHHAHAGH...” he wailed, as he slowly lifted himself up, and collapsed back onto my cock. “Woopsies,” I said, “have another go.” To be honest, the pain going through my shoulders was excruciating. The weight of him; the strength; all being supported by my puny little shoulder blades. But I was quite willing to put up with it. Going slower this time, the tight ring of his arsehole slowly sliding up the shaft of my cock, til just the head was in him, and then sliding back down, more quickly, but controlled. “URGMM,” he moaned, more in pleasure this time. As my pubes greeted his ass again, I felt the tip of my cock nudge the button I’d grazed earlier, and his cock, which I was still jacking, hardened, emitting a small squirt of translucent cream for good measure. “Nice, eh?” I said, as I put some of the sweet fluid to his lips, coating them; “Hmmmm,” was all he said, his eyes tightly closed, in deep concentration. He didn’t react to his jizz-smeared lips; he just flicked his tongue out after a couple of minutes, licking up his own product.

He raised himself again, slowly, but with much the same effect as the first time. As I slowly sped up on his cock, he similarly started speeding up his fucking, with my hand grazing along his dome, when it was retracted, extracting more of his flavouring, which I alternated between tasting myself, and putting to his lips. On the third or fourth pass, he stuck out his tongue whilst I was still smearing his lips, licking it from my finger. Collecting more of the constant drizzle of goop, I easily and without complain push my finger through his puffy lips, past his sharp, unresponsive teeth, placing the sauce directly on the pallet of his tongue, which curled around my finger in appreciation, and, after a moment, he begun to gently suckle.

His fucking was like a steam train;  he slowly started building up a head of steam, trundling along at an ever faster pace, so that by the end, he was madly bouncing off me like the fucking athlete he was, all in an effort to cum big – and he got his wish, squirting one, two, four, six thick, white streams of viscous baby paste, the first clean over his head, the second and third into our hair, the fourth and fifth over his pecs, the sixth over his stomach, and with a few final weak streams cascading down his cock like a foundation, into his matted bush. With him recovering and no longer bouncing, the time was ripe for a change of tempo, as I ripped my finger from his mouth and said, “think you forgot when this is supposed to end, boyo, and it ain’t now,” at which point I pulled him off me, stood, spun on my heels, and slammed him down onto the toilet; his head down, by the wall, near the floor, just silently taking it. I thrust into him as hard as I could, like a steam train of my own, fucking him like the big, stupid, muscular bitch-in-heat that he was, relentlessly pile-driving into him again and again. It didn’t take long – or at least, I don’t think it took long – before I started cumming, deep up his virgin bowels. I don’t know how much I shot, but I lasted a good while, and when I was finished, I pulled out and couldn’t see any seepage. I’d gotten really deep into him. I looked at him, just lying there, as I put on my black trousers. I reached down, and disentangled his shorts from his long boots, taking them off him completely. “These, I’m keeping, fuckwad.” Looking at all the boy-gravy that was coating my gloved hand, it seemed a shame to waste it – I licked the tart cream off my finger tips, tasty the musky essence of the rugby-playing classmate I’d just dominated, and leant down behind him so I could shove the creamy glove into his face. “Eat it.”
He wordlessly turned away. “Eat it, right fucking now.”

He looked at it for a minute, then his tongue flickered out of his mouth, and his quietly started licking it, mud and all, from the glove which had spent the past hour glued to his sweaty genitals pretty much continuously. “Gooood boyy,” I cooed, ruffling his sticky hair again. Once the glove was clean and slick with sweat, I pushed each of my fingers past his mouth, where he silently sucked on each of them, wide-eyed, like a baby. “Yeah…there ya’ go, Liam. Lick up all that nut-sauce.”
He didn’t say anything. I rolled him over, and yanked him up. His hair, face and red rugby top were literally drenched in cum, as was the sign which was still hanging from his neck like a necklace – I wondered if he’d come again whilst I was fucking him, there was so much. He was now naked from the waist down, except for his socks and boots. He still didn’t say anything as I took a few more final pictures. Finding his bag, I removed his phone, saying to him, “just putting your number in my phone, Liam. I’ll send you a few of the pics, but don’t worry; I’ll keep the rest, safe and sound. I think, Liam, if you’re gonna want to avoid those pictures getting out, that we’re going to be seeing a lot more of each other. You know what I mean?” Silence. “Yeah, I know you know what I mean. I’m really pleased with how you did, man. Especially when you sucked on my fingers, suckin all the ball sweat and jizz from ‘em. You were a trooper, and that’s the sort of thing I look for in lads. Oh, you’ve got a text from your girlfriend, by the way. See you tomorrow, buddy.” I walked out across the deserted changing rooms and decided to go home early. I was pretty tired.

Useles fucker indeed.
