Educating David Chapter 6
This is a story about man on man sex. If this offends you please do not read further. Otherwise please enjoy this story which is the sixth chapter of a longer piece outlining how I learnt about gay sex whilst an undergraduate in the 1970s. I'd be very interested to receive your feedback and suggestions for future chapters. My email is zlatyblbec@yahoo.com
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Smack!
Suddenly my arse was on fire.
Smack!
Warren had landed really hard – and I mean really hard – smacks, one on each of my buttocks. I hadn't felt such a sting on my bare arse for years – it would've been five or six years since I'd last had a bare arse spanking from my dad.
"Come on! Time to get clean and get you back to your digs!"
My hand reached round to my bum and started to rub. Now that the initial sting had gone the warmth and gentle pain that remained was actually quite nice and I felt myself start to stiffen a little. "What was that for?" I asked.
Warren moved my hand and started rubbing my arse himself. "You've got the most spankable of backsides," he said as he continued to rub around my cheeks. Then he moved his hand under and onto my dick which was by now at least half erect. "And it looks as if you might have enjoyed it." He gave my arse another couple of very light taps. "Come on! Shower!"
o-O-o
The house was pretty empty when I got back from Warren's. A few of the guys had decided to push off early for the Easter vacation (as if four weeks wasn't sufficient), and a few more were on field trips. So of the sixteen who lived in our house only five or six were left for the last week of term. And all of those were out when Warren dropped me off (round the corner so that no one would see and ask awkward questions).
As soon as I'd unpacked my bags and put my rugby kit and boots away I couldn't resist doing a tour of the house, taking a sneak peek into all the bedrooms. One of my fetishes is that I'm a bit of a voyeur – always have been – and just as watching people engage in private activities has always been a turn on, so is looking at their private spaces. Both activities give me an insight the true person they are, and I find that really erotic. I know it's not very ethical of me to do that, but I can't help it.
So I went through the house, knocking at each door before entering in to my housemates' bedrooms (we had no locks on the individual room doors back then). My cover story, of course, was that I was checking to see who was about. And although I'm ashamed to admit it, it wasn't just looking. It was closely examining the bedsheets to look for stains on them (and it was surprising how many of the lads appeared to just ejaculate all over the sheets rather than into a tissue or a cloth of some sort), it was picking up any used underwear I could easily find and having a good sniff, and in one case it was taking a used condom out of the waste paper basket and examining the huge semen deposit inside it. The guy who'd unloaded into the rubber – Robin – had a huge cock. I'd played him at squash a number of times and for me the shower afterwards was always as pleasurable as the game, to be honest. It made me rock hard to imagine his huge erect dick inside the condom, shooting such a copious amount of spunk into the end as he thrust into his girlfriend. I thought of his beautiful arse, and in my mind's eye could see it moving up and down as he pumped away, then his buttocks finally tightening as he reached orgasm. What I'd have done to be a fly on the wall during his sessions!
Having confirmed the house was empty I returned to the room I shared with William and stripped naked. I left the door open so I'd hear if anyone returned, and just luxuriated for a while clothed in nothing but my own skin. I naturally searched out William's used underwear and had a good sniff. Like most of us he'd not done any washing for a week or so, opting to take it home for his mum to do, I suppose. So there were a good half dozen pairs of pants to choose from.
William was fastidious about his personal hygiene, so there were no tell-tale skid marks in the rear end of the pants, which was a relief. I now know that (amazingly) such things turn some people on, but it does absolutely the opposite for me. The fronts, though, were a different story. Most had one or two yellow spots where he'd put his dick back into them a little early after having a piss, and a couple had either semen or pre-cum stains as well. I raised them pair by pair to my nose and inhaled the heady scent of his urine, and where it existed the other secretions that had come out of the end of his cock. One pair had a big patch of what could only've been seminal fluid almost at the side of them. I couldn't resist putting the tip of my tongue onto the patch to taste what had been left behind. The only way he could've got stains there was to have had a huge erection that he'd redirected sideways, and which had resulted in him leaking copious amounts of prostate fluid. I felt my knees weaken a little as I thought of it. If only it was me he'd been looking at when he made the deposit!
Another of his pairs had a big stain at the front that was clearly semen rather than piss. I had another sniff and another little taste and my mind again worked to put a scenario around how the stain got there. It clearly wasn't big enough for him to have wanked directly into his pants, so I assumed that he'd had to have an emergency wank sometime during the day, and after shooting most of his load into the toilet pan or wherever had put his cock away before his tube was completely empty such that the final bit of his orgasm leaked out afterwards. That was an exciting discovery – evidence that I wasn't the only one who got so desperate he had to nip off for a quickie just so he could refocus on the work he was supposed to be doing.
I wrapped my dick around the stain and began pumping away, focusing on the image I'd manufactured of William's beautiful circumcised half-hard, recently-spunked cock being pushed back into these pants, and then his exquisite exposed piss slit leaking the remains of his load onto the material in the exact place where my own penis now was. Despite the session I'd had with Warren a little earlier it didn't take me long to get to the point of no return, and as soon as I did I dropped William's pants on his bed, grabbed my own off my mattress and wrapped the inside of the crotch around my dick just in time to catch my load. The orgasm lasted for a fair while, but when I'd finished I noticed I hadn't produced that much spunk – a consequence I assume of having come so much over the preceding twenty four hours.
As my orgasm subsided and my mind moved to altogether more prosaic thoughts I folded my pants to stop the new deposit from staining the bedspread and threw it onto my mattress. Then I quickly put William's pants back where I'd found them and dressed myself. As I dragged my spunky pants up my legs I pulled my foreskin back and tucked it down onto the wet patch. I let go of the waistband and gave the whole area a little rub, sensing a bit of a thrill as the sticky mixture coated the tip of my cock.
I was now sated, so I finished dressing and went downstairs to phone my parents. To tell them that I wasn't coming home at the weekend. Instead I informed them that `commitments' meant I had to stay a week longer up at Uni, and had to go back a week earlier. So I'd only be at home for a fortnight, not the whole month. I wasn't specific about what I'd actually be doing during the extra time I was back, but Warren had invited me to stay with him for those two weeks and certainly in my mind one of those commitments was learning how to be soundly fucked.
o-O-o
"It's going to be a long day tomorrow", said William as he undressed.
He was the first of my housemates to return – the few others who were coming back that evening would be in the bar at the Students' Union until closing time and wouldn't get back until after midnight.
"I've got my last tutorial at ten, then it's straight to the station and a train home." He kicked his trainers off then unbuckled his belt, undid the button on his jeans and pulled them off. He was wearing fairly skimpy black fly-less briefs, a style that was just coming into fashion back then, almost the same cut as the Speedo style of swimming costumes that practically every man wore. "It doesn't get in until half past ten at night, so a big day tomorrow!"
I smiled. And, of course, watched him like a hawk as he pulled his tee shirt over his head. "I'm staying up for another week", I told him. "Helping out with the swimming group I do on Thursdays." So there – that was going to be my story, and I was sticking to it! Of course as in all the best lies there was an element of truth – I would be able to accompany Warren to the Thursday swimming sessions for an additional two weeks, which meant they wouldn't have to be cancelled for want of a second supervising adult.
William bent down and pulled off his socks, then grabbed his underpants and dropped them to the floor. I started to undress. As I was barefoot, having been in the house for quite a few hours, so didn't have a much to take off to get ready for bed. I unzipped the shorts I'd changed into when I'd got back, and let them fall to the floor. I picked them up and threw them onto the bed.
"Teeth and a piss", said William. "Or rather a piss and then teeth", laughing as he stretched across to grab his toilet bag from inside his open wardrobe and made his exit. I watched his arse as he left the room, aching in the knowledge that when he returned we wouldn't be sharing a bed for the night. Sharing a room with William was a delicious torture.
Obviously he left the toilet door open – this was an all-male environment, and he was a lifelong nudist anyway – so as soon as I heard his urine stream pouring into the loo I picked up his undies and examined them. They were still warm from the most stunning part of his stunning body, the aroma of his crotch still fresh from a minute or so earlier. And I hit the jackpot – there were distinct semen stains in the crotch, clearly visible on the black material, which must have been recent since I knew he wore clean underwear every day. I felt the patch. It was still a bit damp, so I put the tip of my tongue there for a little taste.
I knew I didn't have much time so that had to be that. I just put the pants back where I'd found them, with a sigh of longing for the dick that had made those stains. Then I pulled my tee shirt over my head, threw it onto the shorts and took off my own recently stained underpants. Initially I just threw them nonchalantly onto the pile, but then suddenly a light went on inside my head. I remembered what Warren said about underwear fetishes being very common, so instead of just leaving them there I carefully positioned them – a forty-five degree angle between the fly of my shorts and the tip of the side of the underpants. Facing crotch down. Then I grabbed my own toilet bag and went off to join William in the communal bathroom.
William finished before me and it was about five minutes after he'd left me alone at the sinks that I returned to our bedroom. As I came through the door I could see straightaway that my underpants had been examined. They were nowhere near the fly of the shorts, and were now crotch up. This was at least a prima facie case for Warren being right, and that William was also turned on by other people's used underwear.
And if he was turned on by my undies, was he also turned on by me? That was the massive question in my mind as I put my clothes away in the bottom of the wardrobe. For two terms – as long as we'd shared a room – I'd assumed that each night it was only me who was perving on William, searching for his intimate scents, watching him move around naked and savouring every glimpse of his cock and his arse. What if William was doing the same to me? Clearly some sort of strategy was needed to tease this out. It was too soon to commit myself based around one incident, but it was very very clear that my underpants had been interfered with. As I got into bed my mind began to work on strategies for finding out more about William's sexuality. And I couldn't help smiling to myself at the thought that the pants William had just examined had a big semen stain across the front.
o-O-o
Wednesday was the final rugby game of the season, the return match away at the borstal we'd played at the weekend. As I was a first year I'd never been there before and immediately sensed what a depressing and menacing feel the whole place had to it. From the second the coach entered through the sets of double gates with dead areas in between them it was clear we were in a prison. We got off the coach and were led through strong looking doors to an entrance hall where one set of doors was locked behind us before the next set were opened. All around us were very official and threatening posters warning us of the rules and regulations for visitors to the borstal, and of the penalties for breaking those. As a student back then we had a very free and easy existence. Clearly things were very different here. All the way from when we got inside the building to the changing rooms, and similarly from the changing rooms to the pitch there were locked doors and gates everywhere. Again, only to be expected I suppose, as this was a prison, albeit for teenagers. What they'd call a Young Offenders Institution these days. But it was my first visit to such a place and I wasn't really prepared for the bleak seriousness of it all.
They were a tough bunch to play against – I suppose many of them were inside for violence so they didn't skimp on the physical stuff and I had quite a tussle in the front row with my ginger-haired opposite number. But they didn't have much finesse – I doubt many of them would've played Rugby prior to getting to the borstal, and with the nature of sentences I suppose it was difficult for them to establish a stable team. Three or four of their star players who'd run us ragged a couple of times appeared to be missing. I suppose they'd have inmates coming and going all the time – either to other institutions or going home after finishing their sentences. Or perhaps in some sort of punishment for breaking the rules. They'd run us surprisingly close in the middle of the week, but this time we hammered them. And I scored! Well, it was a pushover try, so the whole pack was responsible really, but I was the one with my body over the ball when the heap of players was disentangled so I got the credit on the scoresheet.
We left the borstal pretty quickly after the game – we didn't share showers this time, so I didn't have the chance for another look at our (mostly) tattooed opposition, which was a disappointment. But to be honest I found it a bit erotic to be locked inside the changing area (for that's what they did), and then have a shower inside a facility that earlier and later that day would be in use by inmates. There was also no socialising after the game – we were just given a pot of tea and a plate of biscuits in the changing rooms and that was it. And nobody drank the tea because someone had said that they always put something in it that would curb a young man's sexual appetite. I don't whether that was true, but few of us wanted to risk that!
I looked forward to the journey home because I knew there'd be a lot of wanking going on. Two of the blokes had scored twice, so they'd have to try to cum a couple of times during the ninety minutes or so it would take us to get back to the university. And I knew I could legitimately get hard in front of everyone this time as the sexual activity went on around me because I was on the scoresheet and so I had to cum as well.
As we loaded onto the coach the first and second XVs split naturally to the back and the front of the coach respectively, and as I made my way down the aisle I spotted that Gerard, our winger, was sitting on his own so quickly grabbed the seat next to him. He'd scored two stunning tries so I knew he'd have to dump a couple of loads into his jockstrap and I was stoked that I was going to be next to him as he wacked off his enormous cut cock to achieve this. He was a third year, about to sit his finals, so I knew this was probably the last time I'd get to see his cock.
Those of us who'd scored during the game had all kept our jockstraps out of our sports bags and taken them to our seats with us. As we waited for the coach to load I couldn't help but stare at Gerard's jock. After a season during which he'd scored a couple of dozen tries at least the pouch was stained yellow – almost brown in places – with all the semen that had been pumped into it. My own had only had a couple of dumps into it so was far less impressive. I really wanted to reach out and touch it, and take it off him and examine it closely. I wondered if it was a bit hard because of all the dried semen on the inside of the crotch. And whether it'd be uncomfortable to wear. Mine had had a three loads dumped into it over the course of the season, but the material was still pretty soft.
"Gentlemen scorers," announced the First XV captain as soon as the coach had left the borstal site. "Please prepare yourselves for the sacred ritual."
At that all of us who had scored during their match that day undid our trousers and pulled them, together with our underpants, down to our ankles. Then we sat back down and began to coax our cocks to an erection. It wasn't difficult, and although we were all young men in our prime who were pumping out hormones like there was no tomorrow, the speed with which Gerard got fully erect made me think of what Warren had suggested. That some of my team mates would find the `sacred ritual' as much of a turn on as I did.
As he started to play with himself Gerard moved his legs in and out rhythmically, his left leg stopping each time only when it touched mine. This made my cock swell to its absolute maximum, and I started doing the same, timing my legs' movement to be at their widest at the same time as Gerard's. After a couple of hits I sensed his leg pushing into mind more strongly, and I pushed against him in the same way. I glanced to my right and had a good look at his cut cock, which had grown to an enormous eight inches or so with his head totally exposed. He was rubbing the area where the head met the shaft fairly gently, clearly enjoying the process and making it last. I raised my eyes to look at his face only to find he was staring at me. Then his leg touched mine again and this time he locked it and gave me a big smile. I almost shot my load there and then, but I was enjoying this too much so clenched my arse cheeks together and loosened my grip on my dick for a moment to bring myself back from the brink.
"It was a pushover try!"
I was brought back into full consciousness by the sound of Martin, one of our prop forwards, standing in the aisle next to me.
"It belongs to all of us, not just young David. He was just at the bottom of the heap".
"Fair point," I heard someone comment from behind me. "And there is a precedent."
"That's right," chipped in our Number 8. "When the First XV scored a pushover last season they all jerked off. Into the jock of the guy who got credited."
Within seconds Martin had his jeans and underpants around his ankles, and was leaning across me wanking his cock. Of course I'd seen him naked lots of times, and knew he had a small dick but now, getting a good look at it erect for the first time I saw that it had grown quite a bit. It was still on the small side – perhaps four inches or so – but it was very thick. Martin was uncut, and his wanking technique was to wrap his fist around the shaft of his cock, then to pull back as far as he could, totally uncovering the head, before moving back so that his foreskin was fully covering his cock. This was fascinating and a better end to the season I couldn't have imagined – a team mate on either side wanking themselves off while I had a totally legitimate excuse (in the eyes of everyone on the coach) to sit between them pleasuring myself. It was heaven.
I continued to pump my own cock gently, enjoying the moment in the assumption that this might never happen again, holding the jock just below the head of my dick in case I lost it and shot my load all over the back of the seat in front. Bits of precum were flowing from the end of my cock and already starting to stain the inside of my jock.
"Urrgh!" Martin let out a stifled groan from deep inside his throat then lurched forward, put his left hand under mine so that he could bring my jock a bit higher. Then he groaned more loudly and began to dump semen into my jock. And over my cock head. He continued to groan as he pumped away, eventually shooting five or six ropes into the pouch and onto my own dick.
When he was finally done he pull my jock a bit nearer to him still and wiped the slit of his cock on the waist band. Then he just shouted "Next!", pulled up his pants and jeans and went back to his seat.
"Wow!" said Gerard, staring at my erect cock, covered in some of Martin's cum. "You forwards!"
I couldn't help pushing my leg harder against him, and he reciprocated. I looked at his face. He smiled, and there was a look in his eye that seemed to say something. I continued to wank myself, working Martin's load up and down the shaft.
"My turn!" I looked left and it was one of the lock forwards. Simon was an Adonis – six foot six, muscular and in possession of a perfect cut cock. He leaned across and dipped his fingers into the pool of spunk Martin had deposited. "I need some lube!" he declared, smearing Martin's semen from his fingertips all around his cockhead. Then he started pumping away, his huge balls banging against his hand as he did so. He didn't take long. Within a minute or so his breathing became heavier and faster and he pushed the head of his cock into the pouch of the jock, touching the side of my own dick in the process, and he came. And came and came and came. I don't know whether that was his normal load, or if he'd been saving up, but semen literally flooded out of him. The first couple of spurts lasted several seconds each – it was almost like he was pissing rather than cumming, although it was definitely semen that came through his slit.
As soon as he was done he also wiped his cock on the waistband, dressed himself, and returned back down the coach.
By now the rest of the forward pack – five of them – were queuing down the aisle of the coach. The other prop took Simon's place, but before he could get lower his clothes and get his dick out Gerard took his hand off his cock and reached across to my jock.
"That was a good idea from Simon. Cut cocks need lube!" He dug his hand into the big pool of spunk Simon had left behind and took a palm full. But significantly, as he withdrew his hand from the pouch he grabbed my dick and ran his slippery fingers all the way down the shaft to the tip. I turned and looked at him. He just gave me an evil grin and a wink. "Oops! Slipped off", he said before digging into the pool for some more and returning his hand to his own cock.
The other prop had the same sort of cock as Martin, and in no time at all he'd shed his load into the pouch.
"I'm going to cum soon," said Gerard. He turned his head to whisper into my ear. "Let me throw my first load onto the heap you're being given," he said, then without waiting for me to respond he lifted himself off the seat slightly, turned a little and leant across me, then dumped a copious load into my jock. Or to be honest most of it went straight onto my own cock.
As he came down from his orgasm Gerard looked into the aisle to see that the second of our tall lock forwards had taken his clothes down and was standing next to me with his large cock sticking out at an angle of 45 degrees to his flat muscular stomach. Gerard smiled at him. "Showing a bit of solidarity with our friends in the forward pack", he smiled. Gerard had been to public school, and had one of those commanding ways of speaking that seemed to invite no debate. So everyone who was watching just accepted what he said. I know that if I'd have done that to him all my teammates would be screaming `Queer' at me by now.
So the second lock emptied himself into my jockstrap, and I continued to play with myself. I was determined that I'd be the last of us to shoot their load. The shaft of my penis was totally white now from who knows who's spunky deposit. To my right Gerard had managed to coax himself back to an erection and was rubbing quite quickly to try to deliver his second load, which I assumed this time would go into his own jock. "It's always more difficult second time around", he whispered to me. "I'm sure I'd come more quickly if you would give me a hand."
I turned to him. "Not now. Not here." I felt myself blush. I thought I'd said too much and hoped that this wasn't all a public-schoolboy wind up that he'd then related to everyone in the bar.
By the time all of my colleagues in the forward pack had shot their loads into my jock it was absolutely wet through, and semen was seeping through the material, out the other side and onto my thighs. After the sight of seven rugby forwards all wanking off, and similar (although more individual) exhibitions all through the coach, interest had waned, and so now there was no one obviously standing in the aisle, or leaning over the back of the seats to watch me and Gerard finish ourselves off.
"Just a little more lube", Gerard spoke very softly as he put his hand on my cock, pushed it down into the pool of semen to coat it, then grabbed my rock hard shaft and dragged his fist down to the end to cover his palm. Then he gave it a squeeze and returned his hand to his own cock.
I couldn't believe this. All around us were our teammates, and yet Gerard was prepared to risk his reputation for the sake of a quick grope. He'd got a beautiful body, and there was nothing I'd have enjoyed more at that moment than to put my head into his lap and suck him to his second required ejaculation. But of course, in those days, that was never going to happen.
So I just pumped away harder and harder, my right leg clamped against Gerald's left, my eyes fixed on his frothy white cock as he persuaded himself towards his second orgasm.
We came pretty much at the same time. As our legs were pushed against each other I could feel his orgasm build and then explode, and it did seem intense although second time around there wasn't much semen to add to the many loads he'd shot into his jockstrap since the start of the season in October. I, on the other hand, came buckets. Seven or eight good spurts, plus another couple to finish me off. As I came I looked down into the pool of spunk I was adding to, and it was one of the most erotic experiences of my life so far.
As I began to think of other things one thing that came into my head was that I was pretty sure Warren would be happy with my old jockstrap that he'd promised to swap for a new one.