Our encompassing absorption in one another had set us both back in terms of make-up work. To tell the truth, I'd barely done more than glance over my e-mailed assignments the night before. How well could I be expected to concentrate after the heady activity of the day? I spoke to Amir first thing the following morning. He--the little rebel--hadn't even checked his. We decided we ought to spend some time actually studying today. And that it would be more effective if we did so separately, as I knew and he knew that the nearness of our bodies would prove far too magnetic a distraction.
So I forced myself to lie on my bed and do the reading for English Lit--normally a favorite subject, if I could be said to have a favorite at T___, but today an unwelcome piece of drudgery--and the "critical thinking" questions for history, half-successfully banishing thoughts of Amir. Naturally, I could do little to prevent the occasional brief musing about how his formerly caramel-colored butt might look after yesterday's tangle (no pun intended) with the hairbrush. Yummy visions of dull red and livid dark purple spread over sweet firm curves, contrasting with the pure creamy brown of the narrow hips, the long elegant muscles of the legs. I imagined his squirming body under my insistent hands, his legs twitching, the large feet curling, moaning as I spread his battered buttocks apart, crying out at the first wet feathery touch of my tongue. Once or twice, I jumped up to have a look at my ass in the full- length mirror on my door. It was well-bruised, and I tried by studying it to better predict the condition of Amir's darker butt. .
At around noon, Amir called to say he had bad news. Rahman, may he rot in hell, was home again, and had friends over. He had even gone so far as to ground Amir--probably still pissed about yesterday's little "spill" -- confining him to his bedroom. There was no way he was going to let me come over; the day was shot.
Amir was angry and apologetic, even--I was touched by this--somewhat sad:
"I'm really sorry, Aaron. He's such an asshole. He says he's so busy and has so much work and then he blows off school to get stoned with all the rest of these fucking hyenas... You know I want to see you. I've been wanting it all morning. Didn't do much for my concentration. You realize I'm gonna have to jerk it if I want to get anything done."
I could picture his shy sexy smile, the way the lush skin around the shimmering eyes would crinkle, creating a complex work of shadow.
"There's a nice image to get me through the day."
Right now, he would be stroking himself through his flannel pajama pants, lazily rubbing the length of the hard shaft between his thumb and his first two fingers, in preparation for a long and satisfying session. What else is a boy to do, sequestered in his room for an entire day?
"Yeah--but I wanted you."
He spoke in a low voice. Even though his door was, I can only presume, closed, I could still hear the raucous laughter of Rahman and his "hyenas" out in the living room.
"Well--I should go. If he finds out I'm on the phone... Anyway, he'll be gone again tomorrow. You can come over really early, okay?"
On the not-quite-utterly-shitty side, I'd be able to get even more done today, and spend all of tomorrow naked beside him, soothing his ass--which I hoped would still be bruised enough to need soothing.
I hung up and faced the bleak day ahead. The sound of his voice alone had given me the beginnings of an erection, too, and I'd looked forward to relieving it with his increasingly expert assistance. Instead, I took care of it myself before trudging to the kitchen to make more coffee. Then I hit the books with a frustrated vengeance.
Day three of our suspension, my last day to have Amir to myself uninterrupted. I fretted over whether to bring the condoms, finally decided to be prepared for any eventuality and stuffed the lube and a few rubbers into the front part of my backpack. If things drifted naturally in a fortuitous direction, I would offer--but otherwise wouldn't mention them.
He greeted me at the door, pulling it tightly shut before turning on me and kissing my mouth wetly and with almost alarming hunger. He had just woken up, maybe a half hour ago, right before he called me. Wearing a thin wife-beater shirt (fresh white cotton against hot olive skin, small silky curls showing under his pits) and the pajama pants, he looked every ounce as delicious as he had the day before yesterday. He'd shaved--the skin was like damp silk along his jaw--and brushed his teeth. I licked residue from the corners of his luscious mouth. My messy boy.
"I was just about to shower," he said.
"I like you a little ripe." I buried my face in the side of his neck, in the natural scent of his heavy soft hair.
"I thought maybe you'd want to help me wash." He nibbled my ear lightly with his two front teeth. "I'll do you too."
I was intrigued, as much as I liked the aroma of yesterday's sweat--perhaps because I'd had a hand in creating it. We'd forgone the pleasure of washing together after our punishment Monday, in favor of the filthy kick of buttoning our school shirts over each other's congealing jizz, but the thought of our two bodies slick and writhing under the water contributed as much as his slowly massaging hand to the rapidly-growing stiffy in my jeans.
"We'll use my bathroom."
"You have your own bathroom?"
I'd used the one in the hall off the kitchen on Tuesday. It was clean, with a wide deep tub. I pictured us reclining in a hot bath, imagined wrapping my finger in a soapy washcloth and working it in between his cheeks.
"Yeah, between Qasim's room and mine. I can lock it on his side so he can't come in. It's the door near the bookshelf. Kind of a mess, but it's more private than the main one."
He was right; we didn't want any nasty surprises. I was thinking, of course, of one particular nasty surprise--one with big black eyes, beautiful black curls, and a mean streak.
We went into Amir's room, shut and locked the door. We'd shut and lock the bathroom door too. Mean streak or no, Rahman couldn't come through two locked doors. At least, not without causing damage that was bound to make his daddy very angry with him.
Amir moved to lift his shirt, but he'd revealed only the smallest perfect band of honey-brown belly when I suddenly tackled him. We fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs.
"I'll undress you," I growled, running both hands through the curls framing his delighted face as I lay on top of him.
"No, I'll undress you," Amir countered, laughing, taking hold of my wrists and rolling me onto my back. He forced my arms above my head, held them with one hand, went up under my shirt with the other.
"How about I get you back for that titty-twister you gave me the other day?"
A sharp shot of thrilling pain went from my left nipple down to my swollen cock. He rolled the tenderized nub between his thumb and forefinger, slowly, grinning cruelly. Didn't let go til I twisted my hand free, grabbed him by the hair, reached up and latched my teeth onto his neck. I bit the supple, salty skin hard enough to make him cry out. When I released him, he punched me lightly in the chest. I grabbed his fist in my hand and struggled to throw him off me. He worked my shirt up over my head, and I raised my arms, letting him remove it. Those cool hands felt marvelous as he ran them all over my chest and belly.
"You're so white," he said. "If I bit you back, it would show up bright red, wouldn't it?"
Before I knew it, he moved down and clamped his teeth on my side, just below the ribs. I grunted, but it felt oddly good. He looked up and I saw the shining black eyes, the blinking lashes, the white grin--and the pink ring of indentations from his teeth on my pale flesh.
"You little bastard." I kneed him in the belly. The hard muscle had no give, but he fell on his side from the surprise. And I pounced on him. As always, Amir's wiry slimness and the smooth agility of his body gave a definite feline impression, and indeed we play-fought like a pair of cats, vigorous yet instinctively gentle. It was a bit like the day we first came home to his house, after the real fight, except that today the object was clear--to get his, or my, pants off--and thus we went at it with purpose.
I eventually wrestled Amir to the bed, pinning his firm thighs with my own legs. I began to tug the pajama pants down off his butt. In his white briefs and skimpy white wife-beater he was irresistible. There were the neatly-separated buns in his thin cotton briefs. Probably the pair from yesterday, still imbued with his horny sweat. I squeezed his mounds through the cotton and he gave a sharp yelp.
"Tender, huh?"
"Very tender."
I pulled the underpants off his tail, and was surprised to see--over the faded suggestions of cane marks and the violet bruises from the hairbrush--what looked like fresh, ruddy strap-marks across the middle of his crack. He'd been punished just this morning.
"Rahman belted me," he said, looking back over his shoulder, a hard glint in his eyes. "Jealous?"
"What'd you do?" I asked, stroking his back under the thin shirt, not bothering to keep the glee out of my voice.
"You know. Yesterday. While you were punishing me. He always belts me for... for that kind of mess. He says it isn't punishment if I enjoy it. I--I mostly don't like the belt. But he didn't hit me too hard, just a couple strokes."
"Mostly?"
"Sometimes. Depends." Amir smiled evasively.
I kissed him, sliding my tongue along his lips. "On?"
"He... on what he... sometimes... he talks to me..."
"Talks to you?"
"He says certain things. Certain things get me hot." The smile got bigger. He was beginning to look flushed, with instantly made me hot. Well, hotter.
Amir reached behind him and patted his own butt. "I had it coming. I was acting up all yesterday when he wouldn't let me out of the house. And I never did my laundry." He grinned. "I'm just lucky he didn't whip my ass in front of his friends."
"How did he do it?"
"Made me get on all fours on the bed like I was yesterday. Then he whipped me about six times."
"So that's why you were all boned up..."
"Yeah--he saw that. So when I was bending down to get my pants, he kind of kicked me in my butt, and I fell over. Then he left."
I raised my eyebrows, fascinated. "He kicked you in the butt?"
"Not hard." Amir glanced away from me. "Just to show he was disgusted with me."
"You're still so hot," I said, caressing his rigid cock, then his bare warm bottom.
"I know. Want to help me with it?"
"Gladly." I turned him on his back and closed my fingers around the shaft of his blood-engorged cock, thinking I knew what he wanted. I had just pressed my lips to the soft-skinned head when he stopped me.
"Not that, Aaron."
"What, then?" I flicked my thumb over his leaking piss-slit, provoking a small but visible shiver.
I got an extremely palatable view of his pink rear as he bent over, fishing in the clothes scattered on his floor. He came up with a brown belt of medium thickness--the same one Rahman had used, no doubt.
"Do it this way."
My eyes must have gotten as big as silver dollars.
"You want me to hit you with it?"
"Until I cum, yeah."
He was looking at me with earnest eagerness in his black eyes--that unmistakable shine, that look of vulnerable beauty and dark want that made me slip up yesterday, that made me neglect my politics and my work and everything except the boy who looked at me through those eyes, sweeping away all objections, annihilating all defenses, the blushing sweat-fragrant, half-naked angel who now pleaded with me to beat him into "submission" one more time. To tell the truth, I was afraid of really hurting him after all he'd already been through. But he seemed so hot for it.
"I want to see you jerk off while I do it."
"Really?"
I sat up and drew close to him, whispered in his ear. "You are being punished for being a dirty boy, aren't you?"
"Mmm-hmm..."
"Then I think it's appropriate, don't you?"
Amir stood up, his hand clasped uncertainly around the shaft of his rock-hard penis. His long eyelashes and the curly hair falling over his forehead hid his lowered dark eyes; his lips trembled. His nuts knocked between his lovely thighs. The white wife-beater was slightly too long and covered the black pubic hair over his cock, and also the top of his butt, where the two golden-brown globes split from the tapered back. I debated ordering him to roll up his shirt, but decided to leave him like that. It was the bottoms of his cheeks that really mattered--the soft fold of his sit-spot.
"Stand facing the wall," I said.
He turned and went to the wall, stood with his long elegant nose bare inches from the paint. I remembered us both bare-assed, sore, hard, facing the walls in Edgy's office, longing to finish grappling with each other.
He was now perspiring visibly. It was a humid day--still rainy--and a very humid situation. I reached to push the damp black curls from his glowing forehead.
"One hand against the wall, Amir," I said, "and the other stays on your naughty hard cock."
He placed his left hand, fingers spread, on the wall.
"Start stroking yourself, Amir. Slow."
The long-fingered hand moved up and down the smooth brown shaft, from the base to the dark purplish head. Meanwhile, I placed my own hand on his round butt. It tensed up exactly as I'd expected. The crack closed tight; the sexy dimples on the sides grew more pronounced. I wondered: Where did he come by this instinct to protect his hole? Perhaps Rahman's fingers wandered during his spankings. Did he sometimes lay Amir over his knees and rub his hot red bottom between swats? Did he tell him the slow, sensuous butt-rub was for "maximum humiliation", or to rub the sting in? Did his fingers sometimes graze his beautiful brother's sweat-damp little pucker? Or maybe, when Dad wasn't home, a finger or two up the butt-hole was a routine extra punishment for an errant Khalili boy...
"Legs apart."
I stood very close behind Amir. My hand still cupped around his bottom, I nudged his bare feet apart with the toe of my sneaker. I felt his crack open under my palm, so I slid a slow careful finger down the hot cleft.
"Stop," whispered Amir.
"Why?" I tickled him between his squirming buns with my finger-tip.
"`Cause I'm not... not clean back there..."
"My dear Mr. Khalili," I said into the back of his neck, "we've already established that we are both dirty boys."
With more force, I ran my forefinger up and down his quivering crack, tracing the bud.
"Now play with your balls," I ordered, "Cup them, weigh them in your hand. Massage them."
Over his silken shoulder, I watched him dazedly carry out my commands in front, while I continued to violate/stimulate him in back.
"Now, stroke your shaft again. Stroke it harder." I kissed his neck. "Rub your hand over the head. Thumb on the slit. Down the shaft again."
He did everything I said.
"Lick your hand. Get it wet. Spit on it. Rub it on your cock. Nice and soft., just like this."
I caressed the line of his crack gently. When I found the rose, I felt it shrink from my touch. I gave the timid pucker several light taps with my fingertip.
"You want it now?" My lips pressed to top nub of his spine.
"Yeah." Husky, breathy voice. A voice that would've made me rigid had I not already been.
"Alright. Keep those thighs apart, balance against the wall. And perk that behind out, since you want it so bad. Come on--let's see how much your butt wants it."
He arched his spine, and pushed his perky ass out, bumping my crotch and making my already erect penis do somersaults in my pants. That's what it felt like, anyway. I wanted to play with his crack a little more, to prolong the wait for the desired belting. His ass was up and asking for it.
I took the belt, doubled it over, and laid it against his eager cheeks. He immediately moaned and began to pump his cock harder. I massaged his cheeks with the doubled strap for the next thirty seconds or so, softly, as he stuck his ass out--almost pitiful, the way he was wordlessly begging.
I slid the tip of the belt down his crack, prodding his secret place with the cool leather.
"Ohhh..."
Fisting his cock, he pushed his ass out again so he was almost doubled over. As if he wanted me to fuck him with that belt-tip. He spread his legs more; his butt split open. Ample golden cheeks on either side, dark sultry cleft between, now spread to the air, and the little dark flower kissing the tip of the punishment implement.
I used my fingers to push his mounds open further, and this time he was too busy stroking from the base of his cock to the head to care that his brown peach had been split wide, revealing all its splendor. I moved the belt away, taking my time tickling his sensitized buns with it on the way out. Then I replaced it with my first two fingers. I danced them up and down the crack; he groaned and wiggled his butt helplessly.
I stuck the fingers in my mouth, coated them with saliva, then put them back in his crack before he could come to his senses and clench up that beautiful rear-end. I poked the small indentation that was his bud. And it yielded to me. In fact, the forbidden hole seemed to suck my finger in. Amir almost screamed.
"Shh." I gave him a wet kiss on the side of his neck.
It was so hot and moist in there, very soft and constricting. There was an almost mealy feeling of glistening inside-flesh, flesh that wasn't meant to be touched, and yet it was firm and tight, so much tighter than his mouth, a wet velvet glove around my finger. A good part of the arousal at this act came, I suppose, from knowing I wasn't supposed to be back there; under normal circumstances, he didn't even want me back there. But right now he seemed to crave it. At least, he wasn't trying to pull away. I slid my finger in to the second knuckle. His butt moved against my finger to the increasing rhythm of his masturbation. I gave the slick hole a moment to adapt to my invading finger. Then I rammed it in to the last knuckle. His ass tensed up in surprise; I could feel his insides trying involuntarily to expel me. Oh, no. I was in and I was staying in. I slapped him hard on one buttock, then the other.
"Relax."
He moaned, moved his backside out so his obediently-slackened buns were smushed against my knuckles.
"Spank me harder," he said in a quiet, plaintive tone.
I twisted my finger inside him.
"You like that?"
"Yes!" he cried, abusing himself feverishly. I grinned. I saw that a flush of blood had come up under the olive skin of his neck. "Hit me, please. Hit me or I won't cum."
I laughed at him. "Maybe Rahman should beat you when you're a good boy instead of when you're bad."
"You can beat me when I'm good," he said, and though he was facing the wall I could hear a wicked grin in his voice. "Rahman can do it when I'm bad."
"Are you often bad, Amir?" I asked, my finger deep in the heat of his hole, while I teased his buns with a few light licks of the belt at the same time. I could see him seize up slightly, as though someone had blown a breath of cool air along his crack.
"I think you're bad on purpose when you want your ass warmed. I think you were bad on purpose yesterday, to make sure you got belted today."
I curled my finger inside him, twisted it deeper, moved around in there like I was looking for gold. He convulsed. I finger-fucked him; his hole flexed around me. As I pumped inside his hole and his pumped his swollen stiffy in front, three hard shots of cream arched from the purple knob. The first plastered the wall; the rest he managed divert onto the carpet. I removed my finger slowly, teasing the sensitive rim of his hole.
Smiling to myself, I swung back the doubled belt and applied a strong smack to the undersides of his buns.
"Ahh!"
I gave him four strokes in a row, and they hissed before they landed with successive dry CRACKs on his bottom. He yelled each time, cum dribbling down his thighs, matting up his leg hair. His butt clenched beautifully at each stroke. I could see every hard tense muscle in his thighs and bottom. His flesh got that dark rosy just-spanked glow, so much like a delighted blush.
His right hand was coated in thick jizz, the other he quickly clapped over his behind. I let him rub for a moment before grabbing him by the shoulder and spinning him around.
"You saw the mess you made on your wall," I said, smoothing his sweaty curls away from his blushing face. "You needed to be hit for that. Besides, you wanted to be hit."
"Yeah. Before I came, not after."
But he didn't look angry; his smile was soft and contented. I looked into his eyes. You could barely see the marks from our fight now. The flesh around the one eye was just a bit darker than around the other. Both eyes were hypnotically lovely, and peering into mine with great tenderness.
"Come on, Mr. Eisen," he said, tugging at my jeans. "Get those clothes off. We have to clean me up." He smirked, opening my fly. My erection had moistened the light fabric of my boxers. "And it looks like you could use my assistance down there first, am I wrong?"
He pushed me down on the bed.