Straight Lads: Jamie the School-Lad.

I don’t know why more teachers don’t fuck their students. Particularly Year 11 boys; in my experience, the only time the little bastards shut up is when their fragile girl-centric minds are trying to rationalise why they’re enjoying a cock up their arse.
But, as usual, I’m getting ahead of myself. I am a teacher in a secondary school. Why am I teacher in a secondary school? Is it because I love to teach, or because teenage children light up my life? No, its because I graduated university a few years ago with a degree in History, and couldn’t get a job for love-nor-money. So, quite naturally, I took a pot of free money off the government, and trained to be a teacher. Yes, I essentially sold my soul to the devil. I’m now 27 years old and teaching at a fairly large secondary-modern in Birmingham, England, which hugs the bottom of the national league tables. The only good thing is that my fellow teachers are so gormless that within a couple of years, I’ll hopefully be a Head of Department and not have to teach anymore. Seems unrealistic? Well I’m deputy-head of Department already, and whilst this only entitles me to a cupboard of an office and an extra 50p per hour, I am at least getting closer to my dream of being a teacher who doesn’t teach.
But, there are perks to being on the frontline. Perks which really only make themselves apparent should you happen to be a teacher who really couldn’t give a flying fuck as to the quality of the education your pupils receive – like me. An attitude which stands me in good sted with the kids, of course; if you’re a teacher, the LAST thing you want to do is imply that you actually care about the kids in your classroom; Generation X’ers don’t respect that sort of thing at all. No, appear completely apathetic, like you really don’t care whether they leave with 15 A*’s at GCSE or 1 GCSE at grade D, and suddenly you’ll realise that you and the kids have something in common.

But, now I’m getting sidetracked. Perks. The sexy perks are the ones your interested in, yes? Ok, I’ll get straight to the point. 15-16 year old boys these days are very full of themselves (and very full of something else, I’ve come to realise), think they’re entitled to the world and everything in it, and don’t take any shit from anyone. However, they are also, like teenagers from every generation, emotionally wrought and, generally, incapable of making rational decisions. This is where a pervert teacher such as myself comes in. You see, it might seem impossible to rape such a pupil in the modern world – we’re not talking about cherubic altar-boys from the 1940s, after all. We’re talking about boys who lost their virginity at age 14; kids who certainly know a lot more about sex then I do. But it’s actually possible, provided you play on one key aspect: the shame of it all. That’s the key. Shame will ensure they won’t tell a police officer anything, let alone their friends.

Case in point: young, dumb Jamie, in my Year 11 bottom-set History. The bottom set are basically the little-to-no hopers; the paper they sit at the end of year is piss-easy, but even if they get 100%, the highest grade they can get is a D – and you need A-C’s to get in to University. So, basically, they make absolutely no effort. Which is fair enough; if I were in their place, I wouldn’t bother, either.

Jamie is in the bottom half of the bottom set; quite an achievement, in a perverse sense. What he does have going for him though are his looks. I could see him being a rent boy in a couple of years; although he reckons he’s going to be a superstar footballer, of course. He has curly blond hair cut short, which he leaves natural when its short, and when its longer, sweeps forward with gel, in the usual style of jack-the-lads. He has smoky-grey eyes, and his skin is blemish free, and seems to have a natural tan, giving him a slightly golden hue, and whilst he has a square, hard face, he usually wears the cheeky grin of a sixteen year old, making him appear more pleasant than he is. I presume his smile is the reason all the girls swoon over him.

That and something else, of course.

The uniform of white shirt, blue and green tie, black blazer and black trousers show off very little of his body – everything is seemingly mandatorily baggy. Thankfully, we have a sports field where we pervs can ogle the more sporty boys in their natural habitat. I’ve spent many a free period watching Year 11 PE, or more specifically, watching an energetic and sweaty Jamie jog from one end of the field to the other, usually in a game of football or rugby. It’s win-win for me; when he’s running, I can observe his hearty-looking family jewels jiggling around in his shorts, and when he’s stationary, I can observe the fine definition of muscle running along his arms, the way his baggy T-shirt, damp with sweat, clings to the sloping mounds of his pecs, and the way his shorts hug his round bottom. 
I notice that in sports, Jamie is very attentive. Very eager. The most attentive he ever gets in my lesson is when he’s slouching in the plastic foam chair, long legs spread and stretched out as though he needs room for his dick and balls to breath, wearing white socks and trainers in direct contravention of both school regulations and fashion regulations. Drawing pictures of tits in his exercise book. I know what pictures he draws, because I have to mark his book once every four weeks. Like I say, that’s his MOST attentive; usually, he’s a lot more rambunctious and disruptive, serving as a lightning rod for the entire class to act out.
Perhaps I can quieten him down by introducing him to another physical activity?
Of course, the most difficult part of the operation – the bit which requires the upmost consideration and thought – is the hook. The hook is the thing that turns an unapologetically disinterested lad into a perky, engaging chap who wants something from me. Hooks tend to fall into two broad categories: girls, and consumer products. Being as the former is a little expensive for me to provide, I usually base my hooks on the latter.

I’d planned it for one of the many detentions Jamie and I spent together. 3pm on a Friday (school finishes early on a Friday, at 2.45pm), and he was the only pupil in the classroom. He was ‘reading’ – by which I mean, sitting with a book open on the desk, and his head resting on the desk, seemingly dozing. This pissed me off, but it allowed me a good fifteen minutes of staring at the lad’s developed thighs beneath the table, and whilst I was again cursing the looseness of his black trousers, I got a tiny, pathetic little thrill when he absentmindedly reached down and scratched himself, his fingers burrowing behind his balls and pushing his whole package to the fore for an instant.
I then casually reached into my bag, and extracted my own reading material – Official Playstation 3 Magazine. It was like he *heard* it; his ears pricked up like a curious rabbit, and he looked up at me with his cold eyes. I felt my stomach flutter. He asked inquisitively, with his broad, working-class accent, “you got a PS3?”
I kept it cool. “Yep. You?”
He returned to a sitting position, leaning back in his chair in mock nonchalance, unknowing advertising his body to me with his legs stretched out beneath the table and his haggard white shirt now taunt across his powerful shoulders and pecs. He looked around the room as he spoke, as if it was the first time he’d noticed stuff on the walls. “Nah. Got an X-Box.” I cautiously nodded in response, causing him to add almost defensively, “it’s one of the new ones, though.”
I smiled, as though I approved of his addendum. “Yeah. The ones with the 250gb hard-drives? I’ve got one of those, too. They’re not that new, though; came out last July.”
He shrugged. “Yeah. Well, I dunno when it came out; got it for Christmas.”
“It’s a good machine.”
“Yeah. Me girlfriend don’t fink so; spend more time with the X-Box then I do with her” he replied, chuckling as he thought about his girlfriend, causing him to once again absentmindedly reach down and rearrange his bits and pieces. He continued, “I’d like a PS3, though. What games you got for it?”
We proceeded to idly chat about the various games currently available on, formerly available on, and up-and-coming on, the Playstation 3. So much so, that we exceeded his detention time by 15 minutes. As we were leaving the classroom, I ‘suddenly remembered’ that I had Fifa 11 in my office, unopened, sent as a birthday present by my (non-existent) girlfriend; as I had the PS3 version, maybe he’d like to borrow it? Or even, perhaps, buy it off me? He expressed an interest in borrowing it, no doubt with the intention of just keeping it. Fine by me. I intended to rob him of something much more valuable.
As the two of us stalked the empty corridors, I asked him a somewhat unusual question. Not the weirdest question I would ask him that day, however, but at stage, odd. “Ever in the Scouts, Jamie?”
He frowned. “Eh? Wot’dya mean, the Scouts? Course I fuckin wasn’t.”
I looked at him sternly. “Err, sorry, Sir. But no, it...wasn’t really my fing, if you know what I mean,” he said with a grin.
“I don’t think I do?”
“Well, you know...only puffs do Scouts, don’t they?”
“Well, I don’t know about that, Jamie...I mean, *I* was in the Scouts.” 
Even though that assertion seemingly proved his claim that only puffs did Scouts, he wasn’t in possession of all the facts, and did not know that. “Oh, sorry, Sir.”
“And you know, Jamie, you learn a lot of useful things in Scouts – more then you learn in school, at least! Practical things, which you can take with you into the real world.”
He said dismissively, “oh yeah? Like what?” 
I pretended to think for a moment, implying that I hadn’t preplanned this entire conversation beforehand. “Well, maybe not a LOT of things,” he laughed at that, “but...well, something you learn is knots. I can tie a knot which no-one will be able to escape from. Well, a grownup, maybe; but not kids like you, at least.”
This, he took oh-so-predictable umbridge with.
“What-dya mean, ‘kids like you’?! I’m not a kid! I’m fitter then you bloody are, Sir! I could totally break out of some fucking puff-knot from Scouts.”
I chuckled, shaking my head as I did so. “I really don’t think so, Jamie. It’s not criticism of you; I know you think you’re invulnerable, but you are, what, sixteen? That’s still very young, and boys like you just don’t have the upper body strength necessary to break out of the knots. And there’s a certain degree of mental dexterity necessary, too, of course.”
Now, he was seeing red. “Let me see one of these fucking knots.”

We reached my office, in the now deserted administration block at the far end of the school. The room was opposite the secretaries’ open-plan office, which was now quiet, the lights and computers darkened and switched off. I unlocked the door to my office, swung the door open, and stood to one side, allowing Jamie to enter before me. Once in, I closed the door hard. There was still some light coming in through the window, which overlooked the large sports field behind the school, but as there were no windows onto the lit corridor we’d just come from, the room was pretty dark. I flicked the light switch, with Jamie now standing in front of my desk, which was festooned with exercise books. His hunky, well-developed six foot frame would do nicely for what I had planned. As I walked passed him to reach my desk, I breathed in deeply, ostensibly to squeeze past, but getting a hit of the lynx deodorant he wore, as well as the scent of something more primal which the deodorant was attempting in vain to mask. Something I’ll investigate in greater detail very soon.
I got the game, and put it on the desk; his eyes lit up seeing it. “Great. Cheers. I’ll bring it back next week.” Like fuck will you, I thought to myself. Before he could pick it up, I took out a piece of thin, strong rope from the same desk. “Oh, that’s convinent”, he said with a smile. Yeah, I thought. Almost like I’d planned it. “What, your not sure now its a proper piece of rope, and not some string out of a kids magic set?”
He shook his head, knowing that I was now intentionally trying to rile him up. But, I could tell it still got to him. “Just do the knot, so I can undo it.”
I made the knot. Or rather, I made *a* knot. One particularly easy to undo through the application of brute force, making it ideally suited for someone as brawny and simple-minded as Jamie. He looked at it, and I smiled inwardly as the creases of a frown on his forehead indicated the degree of thought he was putting in it. He looked at it closely, from different angles, before doing anything. ‘Come on, little donkey’, I thought. A flash of panic suddenly ran through me; my plan would be well and truly scuppered if he was too dumb to undo even this knot. What would I do then? Give him the fucking game, and send him on his way? Thankfully, just as soon as I thought that, I saw him yank one of the loops free, and undo the entire knot. He handed me the rope, beaming a broad smile. “Piece of piss,” he said confidently.
I looked unimpressed. “Well, yeah. Of course you can undo it; anyone can undo it, when its not tying your own wrists. The whole point – the thing I was on about – is that you can’t undo it, when its tying YOU up. But...yeah. Well done, I guess. Although an 11 year old probably could’ve done it better,” I said before looking up, as though I’d accidently said something terrible. I continued, “look, I didn’t mean to imply that-“
He immediately put his wrists together. “I could undo that no matter where you bloody tied it. Tie my wrists together; you’ll see.”
“Well, that’s a bold claim, Jamie...”
“A TRUE claim, mate. Just do it.”
“Well, how about if we make it more interesting. You say you could undo it no matter where you were tied; I’ll tie your wrists together, but not from the front, and you’ll feel uncomfortable until you break out of it. If I win, you do your bloody work in class, quietly, and do your homework on time; if you win, I’ll give you Fifa 11, and you can borrow my PS3 for a week. How about it?”
The Jamie of an hour ago would immediately remind me that such a wager was a direct violation of the rules dictating relations between pupils and teachers; the little bastards know the rules better then we do these days, and love to take every opportunity to remind us of that fact. But the new Jamie, since the introduction of the hook? “You’re on!” And the lumbering fool stood there in the centre of my office, voluntarily keeping his wrists behind his back. As I moved behind him, I took one thick wrist in my hand. The first time I’d touched him; what felt like an electric current ran through my arm at the touch. I looped the rope around his wrist, taking a few minutes to tie it properly. This was a different knot; this was knot he will not escape from. Unknown to him, directly above the boy, on the ceiling, was a thick, brass loop, presumably left over from when the room really was a broom cupboard. In the past I had looked at it often, considering the ways in which I was utilise it. This was one potential I had previously considered, and my hardon was pitching out my trousers like a rod of iron at the thought that I was now actually doing it. With one wrist secured, I quickly yanked the rope up, ooped it through the loop, and began tying his other wrist. “Hey, hold on, mate! That fucking hurts!”
“If you want to give up, then just say...”
“What? I ain’t...fine, fuck it, just do it. No big deal.”
I smiled, and continued tying his second wrist, looking down at his supple arse as I did so. Soon, he was immobile, and I sat down in my chair to coolly watch him try in vain to break out, with his arms reaching up to the ceiling, twisting this way and that in an effort to gain the purchase which I knew wasn’t there. The ceiling was infact higher then I had estimated; he was standing on tiptoes in his white Reebok classics, his thighs straining against his black trousers as he continued to exert himself. He was ignoring me, looking up at his wrists as he tried to get free, allowing me to stare at him. He still wore his jacket, tie and shirt, although the tie was high up close to his neck, and his shirt had escaped from his trousers; either accidentally as a result of his current predicament, or intentionally, as part of some misplaced sense of schoolboy style. After five minutes of straining, during which time his delightful, robust scent filled the room thanks to his efforts, I moved to phase 2. 

With him still looking up at the complex collection of knots he still seemingly believed he could escape from, he remained unaware of me walking up to him until I was right in front of him, at which point, without a single word of explanation, my right hand reached out and planted itself firmly on his right pec, feeling his heart beat once, at which point my nimble fingers began undoing the buttons on his shirt. “Sir, what...what the fuck? Sir, stop!”
I continued my actions, looking at his face as I did so, but ignoring his pleas.
“Ok...yeah, ok. I made the gay joke earlier...alright, Sir, I get it; ha ha. Now...now, just stop it, ok? Just...JUST STOP IT!”
3.30pm. The building would be empty now. Caretaker would be in his flat, doing dinner for his own kid. Cleaners didn’t turn up til 7. Jamie could scream all he wanted.
By this time, I’d reached the bottom of his shirt, and I gripped either side of his shirtcollar, and yanked it back as far as it would go.
His position and the black blazer limited the extent to which I could reveal his chest, but I was happy with what was revealed anyway, and took a picture on my phone in honour of this, taking in the smooth contors of his sloping pecs, each adorned with a soft little brown nubbin, leading down to...a three pack, maybe a four pack, on the boy’s tum-tum. Not a six pack, but even so, my hand reached out and ran along the softly defined ridges of his tummy, delighting in how they flexed and hardened in annoyance of my touch, and in an ever vigorous attempt to break free and kick my face in.

It should be noted that he continued to scream and holler as I did all this. “Fucking queer”, “can’t believe this is happening”, “your dead when I get out”, etc. I find with teenage boys, as with dogs, that they tend to quieten down and become more obedient if you pay them absolutely no attention whatsoever, so I continued to ignore his pleas. Indeed, to really make clear how futile his cries were, I calmly brushed the shirt and jacket on his right aside, revealing the entirety of his defined pectoral muscle, and latched my teeth on his nipple. “AARRGGGGH GET OFF GET OFF GET OFF” he screamed in response, which I continued to ignore, quietly feasting on his teat like a baby with a bottle, alternately biting his nip with my teeth and skimming it with my tongue, occasionally encircling it with my tongue and giving it a good, hearty suck. The rhythmic thumping of his heart indicated how keyed up he was by this turn of events. After a couple of minutes, I withdrew from his erect tit, and did the same with the other until it too was standing proud like his twin-brother. I took a few steps back and took another pic of the trussed up stud; this time with my spit drying on his pecs, and tears welling up in his eyes, doing his best to maintain a macho attitude even as I was molesting him.

I returned to stand infront of him, and got on my knees. Ever the little straighty, even this gave him cause for concern, with him shouting “no...get UP...NO!” as I slowly scooted forward on my knees until my face was directly before his black trousers. I slowly leant forward, until my face was just grazing his groin, and took in a deep breath; I then began to gradually mash my face into the lad’s crotch, continuing to hyperventilate as I did. “Sick...you’re FUCKING SICK” he shouted. The smell was a scent I never grew tired of: sexy teenage boy. Jamie had PE in the morning, and is always the case with the boys who’s PE is directly before break, opted to get an extra 15 minutes of break rather then shower. His body had been marinating in his juices all daylong in the rest of his classes, and after his most recent workout trying to get out, he was now he was one tasty treat. After a minute or two of breathing him in, I unlooped his belt, and began lowering his zip. It was now his turn to hyperventilate. I maintained my stony-faced impassivity as I finally reached for the warm metallic clasp at his waist, taking care not to rip the button from the cheap polyester-cotton mix of his trousers. His loose, baggy trousers, which had up to this point in my relationship with the lad been a con, suddenly turned into a pro, as they cascaded down his legs and pooled around his still tip-toeing trainers. He was now standing, stretched out to his maximum extent from floor to ceiling. His dark blond hair, short as it was, was now matted and stuck his forehead and scalp. His face was hard, uncompromising and angry, but with the occasional sniffle giving him a trace of boyish vulnerability which made me want to lean up and lick it. I didn’t, though. His arms, strong as they were, served him no use now, and were obscured from my lecherous gaze by his black school blazer, which, with his shirt, also covered his hard flanks, but revealed the muscles he was no doubt so proud of, which maintained the gentle definition of a boy on the cusp of manhood. His chest, hairless as it was, was now slick with a thin film of sweat, and spit. His legs were a real charm, however, straining every sinew to maintain his position and relieve the pressure in his arms, and worked on religiously every week in PE and with regular games of football. And I’m sure they got a little extra work in the gym; after all, girls on the sports field go to see the bits of him out in the open, not the bits of him covered by jersey’s. The size 11 reeboks, white socks and trousers were still at his feet, but my eyes were quite naturally drawn to the tight black Lonsdale boxer-briefs that displayed his still soft teenage charms quite magnificently, with the agreeably fat hump of his shaft distending the thin cotton, and disappearing into a bulging mass of flesh where his balls hung. 

Still on my knees, I wrapped my arms around his lean legs, running my hands up, over the fine, prickly hairs on the backs of his fit thighs and over his encased adolescent rump, planting my hands firmly on his warm backside, to keep him from twisting too and fro to escape my lecherous gaze. I gently moved forward, my tongue snaking out and making long, broad sweeps over the inner thighs I’d admired so often on the football pitch. My tongue running over the fine, peachfuzzy hair that peppered his long, fit legs, I was now able to play with him in any I so wished; my big boy toy. After licking his leg and every now and again gently biting the thick muscles residing there, I moved on, or rather, up. My tongue trailed over his leg and onto the warm, gently spiced cotton of his boxers, continuing p until my lips carefully locked on to either side of his clothed shaft, like a tasty hotdog surrounded by a bun, with my wily tongue licked over his own sweaty sausage, like a cat lapping at a bowl of cream. With cream central in my mind, my burrowing face decended, from the thickening trunk to the packed jewels beneath; his legs reflexively speading slightly to provide himself surer footing allowed my mouth to maul his hanging charms for a second, before sucking one plump ball into my wet mouth, sucking the sweat off the boy, directly through the well-seasoned boxers he’d been wearing in lessons all day. Before long, his cock had thickened appreciably, with the hot length resting heavily on my left cheek, and now becoming constrained by his restrictive underwear. As the lad’s bollocks continued to dance on my tongue, my hands happily dug into the endless muscle of his ass, allowing my inquisitive index fingers to dig the clammy cotton back into the enigmatic crevice of his crack. The heavy breathing and gurgling sounds he had been making since my tongue began pleasuring him were replaced with a more urgent “n...get...aWAY!” as my fingers zeroed in on his straight hole, playfully poking at it through the cotton. Despite his hollering, with my hands planted on one end and my face locked on the other, he was immobile and unable to escape my investigations of either his hefty nuts or his dank arsehole. After a couple of minutes of alternating between rhythmically sucking one ball and then the other, whilst my right index finger poked and scratched at his portal through what must be irritatingly itchy cotton, only occasionally just sticking the tip of my finger nail up his insides, I perceived a little of the fight go out of him – right about the time his cock became painfully erect, infact, now hovering just above my cheek and weeping for its plight. And I can see why; he’d basically surrendered himself to getting a nice, sloppy blowjob from teach – and hey, I might be a guy, but here I was dutifully sucking on his nuts for him; something his girlfriend probably wouldn’t do; and sure, my finger was teasing his ass, but it wasn’t any more then that, and besides, what straight guy, in his quieter, more reflective moments, hasn’t wondered what a finger up there feels like? Yeah, he was coming out on top of this deal. He thought.

With my face still pressed firmly against his laddishly fragrant crotch and slick with sweat and saliva, I slowly withdrew my fingers from his behind, and only removed my face long enough to grip the waistband with ‘LONSDALE’ printed along it in large, block capitals (so the simple-minded oafs their products were aimed at could understand what it said, I suppose), and quickly yanked down his pants, causing his torpedo-shaped, pleasingly thick six and a half inch fuck-stick to make a loud ‘THWACK’ as it bounced off his defined stomach, spraying a few pellets of pre-jizz into the ether as it did so. Jamie had a thick, moist thatch of curly dark-blond/light brown hairs above his prick, which I yearned to smash my face into. But, I had work to do! I worked equally quickly to extract his trousers and wet boxers from his legs, awkwardly removing them from the left foot, with him silently cocking up his second leg to make it easier for me to extract his trousers from his other large flipper of a foot, like a docile little puppy. No doubt done to make it easier for me to get back to his cock, I took the opportunity to slide his firm leg up and hook it around my right shoulder, forcing him to balance like a ballerina on one sneakered foot, with his other leg cocked up and out of the way, my right hand lovingly running up and down it, from his waist to his knee so as to keep his appendage locked there, with his other white reebok weighing down his slack lolling foot on my upper back. Whilst it was annoying not to have the beefy girl-chasing strumpet totally naked, I got a thrill from looking up and seeing him in his black blazer, white shirt and striped tie, reminding me of the boy’s status as full-time schoolboy. The positioning of his leg, of course – indeed, the reason I did it – granted me unfettered access to his sweet, dank boy pussy, which I gazed upon lovingly. I thought of all the times this cocky kid had been the centre of attention in my class for all the wrong reasons, stirring up trouble or taking the piss out of me, and now here he was, trussed up with his big, sweetly defined frame available for my perusal and delectation. He saw what I was staring at, and realised what he had now put within my grasp; “no...look, just, just keep sucking me, and when I cum, we’ll call it quits, ok? Deal?” A moment of silence passed, as the spindly fingers of my left hand with which he was already acquainted closed the distance between the two of us, quietly hefting the distended nut sack I had previously been sucking on, running my hand over the smooth skin; cupping him at times, to feel the weight of his cum-sacs, as though considering the heaviness of a cricket ball when at the crease, and giving him a slow, satisfying scratch at other times, like a rewarding scratch on a faithful dogs furry tummy. And his reaction was much like the dogs. “Ahh...” he hissed, satisfied in that I’d returned to soothing his heavy balls for him (I know because the fleshy scimitar they were attached too jumped and flexed in appreciation, surrendering some sticky prejizz for me in the hopes of soon fucking something), but I also knew, straight lad that was, he worried that I intended to sooth another scratch he was no doubt feeling. He continued babbling, “look, mate...just, ok, just finish me off, yeah, and, like, we can do it again, ya’ know? It...it doesn’t have to end here, yeah? You...you can suck me off, or wank me, whatever, whenever you want, ok? Just...just let me know when, ok mate? Sir?” I kept my face impassive, but was laughing on the inside. That would be a good deal for him. And, an hour ago, I guess I would’ve considered it a good deal for me, too. But I had certain...frustrations I needed to excise.

With that in mind, I released him from my grip, sliding my fingers along the dank, sweaty crease of his taint, before wedging my middle finger, now slick with his ball and ass sweat, firmly within the trench of his ass and with my finger pad pressing firmly – but not too firmly – against his puckered opening. My other hand gripped his sweltering cock firmly, causing it to flex once again as the lad moaned his appreciation, with my hand slowly pulling down and revealing the sight and boyish smell of his slick cockhead to the small confines of my school office. My sloppy wet tongue extended from my mouth, which was now less then an inch from his cock, and lazily swept across the newly revealed red head of his cock, taking in the gamey taste of his usually covered organ, and sucking up the sweet juice he had most recently produced. In the flash of a second, my head descended along the flavoursome teen-stalk which had been sweating and festering in his black school trousers all day for me. As my suctioning mouth decended ever closer to his pubes, keeping his simple brain occupied and allowing my thick digit, gently rubbing up and down his button, to suddenly press its advantage and worm its way into his insides. And once I was in, I was like a ferret up a drainpipe. I could tell by his bulging eyes, open mouth and the way every muscle in his young bod suddenly tensed and strained that he was unsure how to react to my inquisitive finger, but he was rapidly coming to the conclusion he didn’t like it. “GEDITOUTGEDITOUTGEDITOUT! FUCKER! STOPSTOP! FUCK! FUCKFUCKFUCK STOP IT!”
As you might imagine, I didn’t stop it, although I agreed with his assessment that I was rapidly on my way to becoming the fucker in this relationship. By the time my mouth was settled at the base of his prick, my nose breathing in the stale scent from his still sticky pubic hair, I had another finger wriggling its way up his rectum; he was so tight and fit that his clenched ass muscles nearly cut off the blood supply to my finger, but I put up with it knowing how doing that merely meant he could feel me up him all the better, and slowly began to saw in and out of him. I felt the right leg that was wrapped around me flex and strain against my shoulder in an effort to escape my finger and thrust forward, at first quite gently, but getting increasingly fast as my finger increased its tempo - unintentionally pushing his damp pubes and delish cock further into me – which I was more than ok with! 
“Ugh...Ugh...Ugh...” he melodically intoned, as my tongue danced along his granite-hard shaft. I timed the ascent and decent of my lips to work in time with his thrusts; he seemingly didn’t notice when I altered the tempo of my finger fucking slightly, so that rather then pushing himself forward when my finger was pushing forward, he was pushing himself back when my finger was firmly rooted up his ass. Whether he realised it or not, he certainly approved, yelping and whining as I nipped and gently licked at the wide glassy dome of his knob. After a good fifteen minutes of sucking, biting and licking his fat red knob and thick pink pipe whilst using the delicate dangling overloaded cum factory as a scratching post for my finger nails, I could tell he was getting close; but wanting to still teach him a lesson, I slowed my sucking to a crawl, slowly withdrawing my fingers and then, horror-of-horrors, withdrawing my vacuuming mouth, too. “P-please, sir...” he whined.
“I unhooked his leg, and stood, walking around him to take in his majesty, standing behind him; he, still dressed in his school uniform from the waist up, me still dressed completely in the trousers, shirt and tie I’d been teaching in all day. For the first time since I’d touched his chest, I spoke. “What’s the problem, Jamie?” I next spoke to him like he were a baby, “would Jamie like to cum? Is he feeling all tingly downstairs?” I waited whilst he just looked at the floor, not saying anything. I leaned in, close enough to his ear so I could lick it when I wasn’t speaking to him. “You have to tell me what you want, Jamie. You have to say it.”
“I...I...just do it, please. Wank me off or something.”
“You’d like me to wank you off? But I thought you liked girls, Jamie?”
“I-I do! I just...wanna cum.”
“Oh, ok. You just want to cum. I get ya...well, how about this, Jamie. I’ll make you cum, but it’ll cost you. So what are you willing to do for it?”
“What...like, be quiet in lessons and stuff?”
I chuckled, reaching around to wrap my hand around his sticky, stiff cock, and start jacking him - ever so slowly. “Do whatever you fucking like in lessons, Jamie. Infact, I’d rather you just be yourself.” With my other hand, I silently reached down, and unzipped myself, extracting my achingly hard cock. “Be your annoying, over-confident self, always trying to disrupt my lesson-plans, show off to your adoring mates, chat up the pretty girls whose panties get wet just from talking to you – do all that, Jamie,” at which point, my six inch cock slid between the roasting cheeks of the lad – he lurched forward, but my hand on his cock restricted his movements. The fingers of my unoccupied hand – the one which five minutes ago had been up his guts – I waved before his face. He knew what I wanted, and turned his face away. “Suck them, or it goes in raw.” He so very reluctantly stuck out his tongue, initially gently licking my fingers, but sucking them more forcefully when I shoved two of them in his mouth. After a minute, I withdrew, and stuck the two fingers into his ass, causing him to grunt appreciatively. I continued speaking where I’d left off, inserting and withdrawing my fingers as I spoke, “Yeah, do whatever you like, mate, because after the lesson, or whenever I want, for that matter, we’re going to get you somewhere nice and quiet, lower your trousers, and relieve you of the stresses and tensions that have built up in your balls over the course of the school day. Yeah, we’ll do that together, kiddo; make sure you leave school nice and happy, and not all bunged up with testosterone and jizz, eh?” 
He didn’t respond directly, but rather he emitted a long, whining yelp, as I replaced my fingers with my cock, and began fucking him in earnest. With my hand now free to reach around and take his sweaty balls in hand, I continued, “you’ll like that, won’t? A helpful teacher like me taking charge of your always-bursting bollocks for you?” I squeezed and yanked on his balls for effect when I said that, causing his knees to buckle ever-so-slightly. After a minute, I’d located and made a point of nudging his little love nut with each inward thrust; that combined with the satisfying corkscrewing of his cock causes him to spasm; “AH...AH....AHHHRGGHHHH...ARRR...AGH....AH...”he roared as he began firing thick streams of pure-white, viscous teen paste all over the place - like an angry fountain, coating my table for three shots, the carpet for four, and my hand for the final three. Pressing my index finger forcefully against the cum tube running along the base of his cock, I forced out the final, satisfying globule and, without stopping my fucking, brought my hand to my face and begun the agreeable task of licking his piping hot fresh produce from my hand, enjoying the salty masculinity of the beefy school lad I was fucking. His arms still hanging above him, he was now completely slack, and only reacted when I returned my wet hand to his cock, and began insistently jacking him off once again; he didn’t like that – not one bit – hunching over and whining like a bitch. But, needy horndog that he was, he started to get hard again. “Your a horny fucker, aren’t you Jamie? Girlfriend not taking proper care of you?” Slamming my hips into his arse as hard as I could, I could feel – either as a result of my hand, the sex talk, or both – that he was inflating at a fair old rate now, grunting as the rough pad of my thumb grazed over his sensitive bell-end. “Bet she thinks you only need to spunk once every couple of days, huh...shows what she knows, right Jamie? Strapping sixteen year olds like you need it at least twice a day, just to clear the sex mist from your brain and focus on your schoolwork, am I right? Yeah, I’m right; you don’t have to say - we’re both blokes; we both know how it is. Don’t worry, mate. Your days of flogging yourself off because your too proud of getting someone else to do it are over – that’s what I’m here for, now. I’ll keep you on a good, regular schedule, and if you have to put up with my dick up your ass, hands running through your hair when it doesn’t have that fucking stupid gel crap in it, maybe even exchanging the odd little kiss – well, it doen’t mean anything, right pal? I mean, your still straight. Not like your enjoying it! Although I guess this cocks hard for a reason...” I left that sentence hanging in the air to focus on fucking him, taking full advantage of the muscular arse he’d worked on to impress girls with, cumming up into his guts with my own roar, that I tried but failed to stifle. With the sensation of my load coating his rectum, he lost it again, letting lose with a drawn out, animalistic growl as I quietly intoned into his ear, “there we go...good boy...better out then in...that feels better, now, doesn’t it?” His still-thick load once again coated my hand, which was already sticky with dick sweat, ball sweat, and the excesses of his first load. I offered him my hand, stating simply, “my hand’s dirty.” He turned away. With my softening dick still up his sporty butt, I continued “now, come on. It’s YOUR sperm, YOUR fault, mate...fair’s fair...” He didn’t speak. “Fine,” I said, and reached up into his hair, wiping my hand on his scalp till it was dry, albeit still sticky. “There we go. You look like you do in class when you put gel in it, mate.”

He didn’t speak, allowing me to extract my cock. Wiping myself with the tail of his shirt, I tucked myself back in. I then extracted a pocket knife from my pocket, causing him to look apprehensive. “Oh, this? Don’t worry, kiddo; another thing I picked up in the Scouts. You don’t need to worry about it.” I reached up and sliced cleanly through the rope, causing him to collapse to the floor. 
I leant down. “Now, the blood’ll return to your arms and legs soon enough, kiddo. So, whilst your lying there immobile, allow me to explain how I see things. Basically, you can accept the agreement I put to you earlier – when I was fucking you-“ he looked at the floor again in shame, “and you’ll get a decent mark in a subject you’ll otherwise fail, and whilst you’ll never admit it, you’ll have a fucking great sex life thanks to the fact I’m better than that blonde bimbo your seeing. Oh, and of course, it means no-one has to find out about how you offered your body to me in exchange for a good mark.”
He frowned in confusion, bless him. “Yeah. Ya’ see, that’s what I’ll say if you tell anyone, Jamie. And I hate to say this, I really do – but your such a brainless fucking trouble maker, mate, that the powers-that-be will believe me. And because they’ll believe me from the get-go, their investigation will discover exactly that. Lose my job? Yep. I will have to get another job. But I ain’t going to prison, kiddo. And meanwhile, all your friends will think your a puff. So...we’ll keep this to ourselves, ok? And in that way, in the end, everyone’s a winner.”

A shaky, stunned Jamie left my classroom that day a changed man – minus his boxers, which I’d kept as a keepsake. If I kept his underwear from all of our encounters over the remainder of that, his final year at school, of course, he wouldn’t have any left; yes, I had lots of fun and games with Jamie. A real favourite of mine was when I paid for the two of us to go to the cinema to see the new Harry Potter film – as my treat; although I think he probably had to go again with his mates, because I kept him distracted for pretty much the entire movie by calmly frigging the knob of his cock, which was trapped by his boxers down the right leg of his trackies. He was worried we’d be seen, because the theatre was over half packed; but we were fine in the shadows, provided he scooted down in his chair, and kept his toned legs spread nice and wide. His seventeenth birthday was a real humdinger, too; fucking him in the bogs of the pub, holding his own legs up against his chest, allowing me to admire the new trainers he’d bought with his birthday money whilst his mates and girlfriend at the bar were wondering why he hadn’t turned up yet.

Yeah, what me and Jamie had was a good thing. Not the only good thing, though.
