This story deals with (highly) adult themes, and is really not at all appropriate for children. Copyright me.
The intimate details revealed in this story is not to be construed as an admission on my part that I'm really quite good friends with the boys of One Direction. I do not know them, and this is complete fiction. As far as I know.
Thanks to all those kind of enough to email. I try to reply to all emails sent, and suggestions for what to do with Zayn Malik (I have 'plans' for Louis (the next part) and Liam (the last part)) are more then welcome. This chapter includes entirely too much stuff, and whilst I contemplated cutting the second half of it, I thought; well, I wrote it, so why not post it? Hence the whole truncated thing is here, albeit split into two slightly more manageable parts. My source of inspiration for this chapter was the news that Niall was getting close to one of the girls in the house (although it seems like they all are, the randy fuckers).
This should go without saying, but incase it does need to be said: I have absolutely no idea how hypnotism works, and I use it in this story as a plot device, which I mold to suit my own individual tastes and desires for the story, nothing more.
The product of my somewhat fanciful mind, this story follows the exploits of a man who is, quite simply, mad. As a result, aspiring to follow in his footsteps should itself be considered a sign of mental instability.
The second part of my first story, submitted after over a decade of dutifully reading the nifty archieves, I would be most grateful for any comments to be sent to: just_some_chap@hotmail.co.uk But please, unlike the mad doctor, don't be too harsh :)
It is not necessary to read the first part prior to this part, but if you enjoy this, you will probably enjoy part 1.
(Gay, celeb, auth, mc, adult/youth)
Chapter the Second: Niall Horan: The Innocent One
I have to be honest, I never really expected Harry to get back to me. Prior to putting him into a trance, he seemed uninterested and distant, and after the trance, he seemed confused and, still, distant. I think the suspicion on his part that I had systematically raped both his mind and supple body whilst in said trance might explain his confusion (he was quite insistent that he was straight, the poor lad), but as for the perplexing distant, ill-defined attitude? Who knows. Maybe he didn't like the taste of my spunk.
In any event, Harry was not the one who called me a few days ago; it was Simon. He was having trouble with other members of the 'band', as he called them, and wanted me to help. I enquired as to the nature of the problem, but he 'didn't want to talk about it on the phone'; honestly, the guy is so full of himself - as if some vast technologically advanced organisation would be monitoring his telephone calls in order to discover the latest nitty-gritty details of One Direction's progress on the X-Factor. Then I remembered that the News of the World was owned by Rupert Murdoch and thought, well, Simon might be justified in his concerns. Naturally, regardless of the problem, my cure was going to hypnotherapy, and I was happy to oblige Mr. Cowell, in exchange for my usual fee, as well as free reign over the group's firm young bodies - not that I mentioned that. We decided on seeing them the next morning - time waits for no man, and given the schedule of the show, Simon wanted me to visit within 24 hours, or not at all. As he didn't want to risk paparazzi seeing him take the various members of One Direction to see a psychiatrist, he insisted I visit the house where the boys were staying. This annoyed me, as I had to cancel my monthly visit to Her Majesty's Young Offenders Institute, Huntercombe - one of my favourite days. But, I thought, the boys of One Direction should more than make up for it.
Tuesday 26th October, 2010
I arrived at the house at 8.45am, wanting to get started early and either amuse myself with the boys all day, or wrap up early and manage to meet at least some of my appointments with the imprisoned criminal fraternity of Oxfordshire. I asked my secretary to phone up the Governor, apologise for my inability to spend the entire day there, and have my more spunky subjects (or 'troubling cases', as I'd put it to my secretary) ready for me in case I can make it there by late afternoon. After being buzzed through the exterior gates, Simon met me outside the house. He said he himself had only just arrived, but that the boys should be up by now. A burly chap in a suit opened the front door, and eyed me suspiciously as I shuffled past him, behind Simon. Standing in a large lobby with a wide staircase creeping round the right side of the hall, I stood still, listening to the voices emanating from other parts of the house, whilst Simon conferred with Mr. Burly. I was struck by how warm it was in the house, even at this early hour; I felt myself perspiring. He came over after a minute or two, not looking happy.
"Right. Bit of a balls up; Niall's not up yet."
I was stunned. "What?! Not up in this bloody temperature? I don't know how anyone can sleep through this."
"Yeah. We had problems with getting them up early when they first moved in, so we started putting the heating up early on, to get them awake. It worked for a while, but after a few weeks, some of them have...well, adjusted, shall we say."
"Oh. Well, I can get started with the rest of the group, anyway," I replied, a little too eagerly for my own good.
"Calm down, cowboy. You're not here to see the entire group. You're here to see Niall. He's the one having trouble."
"Oh." Niall was not my favourite one. But then again, neither was Harry, yet I had a bloody smashing time with him. "Well," I continued, "exactly what is the trouble with Niall?"
"He's just being a bloody teenager. He's started getting a lot moodier recently, and I hear he has some sort of relationship with Sophia Wardman." A girl from a rival pop act within the group, Belle Amie; the whores I'd mentioned previously. "I have no problem with relationships when I'm making them up to get votes," he went on, "but actual sexual relationships are a major no-no. It upsets the group dynamic, and if one of them gets voted out, the inclination is for the other to try and follow them." Simon wasn't much of a believer in true love. But then, I was hardly one to criticise. "So, let me get this straight. You want me to make him...stop liking this girl he fancies?"
"I have no problem with him fancying her - Jesus, I fancy her - I just have a problem with him fucking her. Is it possible to do something about that?"
I smiled. "Well. Maybe, in a fashion...with boys his age, it tends to be lust, rather than love, which will certainly make doing what you ask a lot easier. I think it's a case of replacing one infatuation with another...an infatuation which he can realise when properly conditioned, I think."
"Right. Well, whatever. Just do it."
At that moment, Harry traipsed down the stairs, dressed in grey tracksuit bottoms, white socks and the hoodie he had worn when I'd seen him previously. It had white, opaque stains at the bottom, when I'd wiped my jizz from his face - now very crusty. He was yawning as he came down, still shaking the sleep from his body. Acting purely on irrational impulse, I said "you want to wash that hoodie, Harry, or those stains'll never come out."
Looking down, he looked at me impassively. "Yeah. Thanks. Alright," he said to Simon as he passed. "He's up. Waiting upstairs." When he'd gone, Simon looked at me, smiling, and shook his head.
"Come on. Lets go up." Yes, lets, I thought.
As we ascended the stairs, Simon went on. "Thanks for your help with Harry. He's been a lot more settled since you saw him. Almost introverted. But free of nerves. Also, he's stopped this really fucking annoying habit of wandering around in a bloody thong." I didn't say anything. But he did. "I just don't understand how you seeing him for his nerves could affect something like that?" Fingering Harry's silky gold thong in the pocket of my suit trousers (I carried it for luck), I simply replied, "the mind works in mysterious ways, Simon." He slowly nodded, and by this time we had come before a thick wooden door, which Simon knocked on. "Yeah," we heard from the other side, and walked in.
Niall was in a bedroom; presumably, his own. It was as hot here as it was everywhere else in the house. He was sitting on the bed, playing a PSP. He wore a fairly tight fitting, white T-shirt which had a three leaf clover and the words '100% Irish' on the front in green (which he probably picked up at the Tower of London giftshop), and loose navy blue jogging bottoms, leading to feet clad in grey Addidas sports socks, sheathing a pair of cute, wide feet. Niall was the least well-built of the group, with a ruddy complexion and boyish face that made him look younger than his sixteen years. He looked cute with his blond hair dishevelled from sleep, and I smiled. The boy looked up as we entered, and Simon spoke. "Morning, Niall. Remember the man I told you about, here to help you with your vocals?" Oh, I see. "This is him. He'll take good care of you."
Yep, no doubt about that. I smiled, and Niall returned the smile. "Hello," he said to me in a delightfully quaint, yet surprisingly deep, southern Irish accent.
"Hello, Niall. Sorry to get you out of bed early."
"S'alright," he said. "I need to start getting up earlier, anyway. Just enjoying the lie-ins whilst I don't have to go to school," he replied with a broad grin. For all his faults, in that moment, I so wanted to fuck him.
"I hear you're having a bit of trouble. Hopefully, we'll be able to get to the bottom of it," I said. Quickly taking charge of the situation, I turned to Simon. "Simon, I think it best if I see Niall alone."
Simon frowned, and Niall piped up. "Um, if the problems with my voice, shouldn't my voice mentor be here? And Simon, too?"
I didn't look at him; I simply held my hand up in his direction and said, "Niall, please." Resuming my discussion with Simon, I added, "Simon, you know as well as I do that for me to do my job properly," I emphasised the word 'job', hoping to get the message through his seemingly thick skull, "I need to be alone, and free of distractions."
Simon stared at me for a moment. "Yeah," he replied slowly. "Yeah. Ok. If you need me, Niall, just dial nine on the phone." Before waiting for a response, Simon turned on his heels, and stomped out of the room. I followed him, closing the door securely and turning the gold key in the lock.
I turned back, and sat myself on a computer chair put before a desk, with Niall staring at me as I did so, sat on the edge of the bed. "Right." Now I had to think of a way to put him into a trance, which conformed with Simon's ridiculous story that I was here to 'help with his vocals'. I hope the lad didn't have any questions; I didn't know the first thing about vocals, and whilst I could offer a suggestion on how to make his voice go up an octave, I'd rather do that for him myself. "Vocals. Niall, voices are funny things. A lot of external stimuli can affect them; even things you might not think could affect them. Changes in environment, changes in circumstance - new people, literally anything. Do you have any idea what might be affecting your voice?"
He slowly shook his head. "No. Not really. I mean, if it could be anything, though...well, I wouldn't really be able to tell. I mean, what with all the changes we've had - the new house, the new people. I wouldn't really be able to be specific...would I?"
The little pseudo-smart arse played right into my hands. A brain surgeon of Harry Styles' calibre, this one. "No, quite right. Which is why I think it's probably best if I put you under a light trance so we can explore your personality more directly, with the help of some neo-regressive techniques."
"Is that what you did to Harry?"
"Oh he mentioned me did he?"
Niall broke eye contact and looked at the carpet. "Yeah. A little."
"I'm sure he told you what a brilliant time he had round my office, then. Shall we get started?"
Niall smiled slyly. "Yeah...alright. Let's do it." I told him to rest back on the bed, which he did, his head on the pillow, his arms by his sides, his legs slightly spread as they rested on the duvet. After retrieving my induction aid from my briefcase, I switched it on, and making sure to select a calming, melodic pattern, I held it up before his eyes and asked him to look at it. After about 30 seconds, his blue eyes became unfocussed, and started to droop. I began my induction.
"Ok, Niall. I want you to close your eyes, and empty your mind, so that only the sound of my voice remains. In your mind's eye, you see all the distractions in your life slowly fading into darkness, so that only you exist; only you, and my voice which, although unseen, serves your guide through your mind. Do you know why you need a guide, Niall?"
"N...no?" His voice was already slowing, and slurring.
"You need a guide because the brain is a complex place, Niall. The brain is a complex place, and you don't know very much about it. I, however, know lots and lots about your mind, Niall, and that is what makes me the ideal guide for you. Don't worry; I shall be your guide, for free, and not demand anything in return. Isn't that good of me?"
"Yyyeah..."
"So as you stand in the darkness of your mind, alone, you might find yourself feeling scared. But you find peace in listening to my voice, Niall. You find it reassuring, and relaxing, and listening to my voice is like being wrapped up in a warm blanket, safe and cozy; at peace, like you were an hour ago, before you awoke. Do you understand?"
"Think...so..."
"But, Niall, for me to fulfil my role as guide, there is one thing I must ask of you. And that is your trust. You must trust me completely, because otherwise, I won't be able to lead you through your mind, will I?"
"No..." His voice was a little shaky. The fear I spoke of had made it into his subconscious, which was good. As I suspected when I basically told him to shut-up during my discussion with Simon - which he did - he was a natural submissive, already well trained in doing what he was told. That would explain why my induction was going so easily.
"No. And it's important to you that I can lead you, Niall. I help bring illumination to the darkness. And as you stand in the darkness, you realise that the darkness is indeed not absolute: that you can perceive something beyond your immediate vicinity. Stare into it, Niall. You can so nearly make it out...but not quite. But keep looking. As you stare, you will feel yourself slipping deeper and deeper into your trance. With each passing second, you slip further in; like sliding into a warm, relaxing bath. " His head resting on the pillow, he would of looked at peace, were it not for the fact that his eyes were open, and vacant, staring into the middle distance.
He was now well and truly under; and in record time, too. I was about to move on to some more substantive abuse, when something caught my attention. That something was between the boy's legs. It seemed that the act of induction had aroused him, and now his cock was tenting the loose material of his sweats.
"Niall," I said, genuine confusion in my voice, "are you wearing any underpants?"
He replied conclusively, "no." As if that was the end of the matter.
"Err, why are you not wearing any underpants, Niall?"
He frowned as he considered his answer, before responding, "I just got up, didn' I?"
I chuckled. Fair enough, I thought. Unlike Harry, Niall appeared significantly more malleable to sexual subversion when in a trance; so knowing that I wouldn't face any opposition, I decided to forgo my usual efforts to initially shield the mind from what I was doing, and simply reached over and gripped Niall's fleshy poker through the soft, yielding fabric, like it were a joystick. Which, of course, it was. My hands deftly roamed over his shaft, in an attempt to get the measure of the lad, which was more considerable then I might otherwise expect. Seeing Niall, I always imagined him with a perfectly respectable, if average, mid-teen cock. Feeling him now, though, made me realise how wrong I was in making such a baseless assumption. In length he was around 5 and a half inches, perhaps a little bit less, but the thing was thick, like he had a spark plug down there, and delving lower into his crotch, I felt a pair of nuts that felt like fat plums in a crinkly leather sack. He murmured as I did this, and the lids of his eyes fluttered, but otherwise he didn't react. Intrigued (both professionally and sexually) by his reaction, I decided to explore him further. Withdrawing my hand for a moment, I gripped the waistband of his sweats, and stretched them out and down, nimbly tucking them behind his weighty Gaelic bollocks, which I took a moment to cradle in my palm, weighing them out of admiration. His legs, chunkier then I might otherwise expect from his overall build, spread and hunched up slightly in response. His groin had a small patch of blond pubes directly around his cock, shorter than that of an adult, and sparser, too, like newly sprouting grass. As I ran my fingers over the ridges and furrows of his ballbag (which I was still holding for him), I could tell that his sack was completely smooth. I ran the fingers of my unoccupied hand through the hairs he had; they were silky smooth. In doing so, the back of my hand rubbed the shaft and pink glans of his turgid spike, and as it pulsed and produced a dewy drop of prejizz, I was reminded to get back to the issue in hand.
Wrapping my hand around his prick, I coyly asked him, "so what's going on between you and Sophia," yanking his bollocks down as I did so, causing him to reflexively open his legs further, and purr like a kitty cat. This turned me on so much, I rewarded him by leaning down and deftly swiping my tongue across his knob, taking in the juices that had collected on the sweaty head. He groaned at this.
"MMMmmm...we...we're just friends, is all." I slowly but firmly jacked him for five minutes or so, just to get settled into a good rhythm. As I did so, continuing to fondle his balls, it was obvious his sexual experience was limited, and that he could spew before long. I knew I would have to keep my mind on controlling his cock.
Running my hand up and down his taut Irish cock in reasonably quick time, gripping the head and gently twisting on occasion, I said, "Niall, I know there's more to it than that. I suggest you think about being honest with me...because boys who aren't honest with me-" as I said this, my hand slowed to a maddening crawl up and down his length. "-don't get rewarded. So, let me ask again, what's going on between you and the girl?"
"AHH-HA, it's just, you know, I'm just talkin' to her, tryin to fuck her!" As he said this, I moved my hand more quickly, and with my other hand ran my blunt fingernails across the taut, damp sack of his bollocks, now sticky with sweat after having my hand glued to them all this time. He sighed appreciatively.
"Why are you trying to fuck her, Niall? You seem like such a nice boy, and I don't see your band mates rutting anything in sight." Harry's previous experience of rutting my hand didn't count, principally because he still didn't know it'd happened.
"Sooo...hornyy..." he moaned in response. Might sound stupid, but this confused me, as I didn't know if that was some sort of answer, or if he was just expressing how he felt at the moment. Not wanting to take any chances, I slowed my hand down.
His eyes widened, and he had a kind of scared, deer-in-the-headlights look on his face, indicating he didn't approve. "I...I...get so horny hereeEEE-" I'd sped up again at this point, and ran my thumb over his angry red dome, causing his voice to go up an octave - see? I said I could help with his vocals. "-AAaand I can't wank, so I have'ta find a girl ta fuck around with!" He started thrusting into my hand now, with my two hands pretty much remaining stationary; it was amusing to watch him thrust up, and cause me to pull down on his own fat balls as he did so, before thrusting back down onto the bedcovers with a bounce, resheathing his cock, time and time again in a very determined fashion.
"Why can't you masturbate?"
"ARGHh....its...its a s-s-SIN!"
Oh, how delightful. "Yes, Niall, I thought your balls were a little bloated," I squeezed them as I spoke. "And it does explain why you're on a bit of a....um...hair trigger, shall we say-" although he was doing admirably at the moment. "But fucking the girl in the room next door, so to speak, will prove problematic for your future career." I don't think this argument carried much weight with him, in his current state. "What we need to do, Niall, is find a way for you to get your rocks off, without compromising your closely held Roman Catholic belief structure. And I think I have just the ticket for you." At this point I stopped wanking him, letting his gooey cock slap against his T-Shirt, and removing my hand from his balls, which were so over-heated that it was like removing my hand from a pair of juggling balls left out in the rain. He emitted a sort of disappointed grunt, so out of sympathy for the Irish lad, I removed the joggers from his legs, revealing a surprisingly compact, tightly defined pair of legs, with wonderfully muscled thighs, sprinkled with barely perceptible peach-fuzz. This left him in his white T-Shirt, now sticking to him and slightly transparent, and his grey socks; it also gave his prodigious testicles some breathing room, allowing them to coalesce on the blissfully cool, starched white bedcover he was lying on. Knowing that poor Niall couldn't cum from his own hand, I simply told him that he had contracted a life-threatening disease, which would kill him if he ejaculated. As his doctor, I insisted, he must seek my permission before cumming, or he could DIE. He implicitly believed me. At this point, I told him to wank away. No fuss, no muss. Extricating myself from the situation, I unlocked the door and went into the cooler, but still stifling hallway.
Part 2b: This Week's Special Guest Star: Harry Styles, as Himself
As I walked to the staircase, I sniffed the hand which had held his balls, still sticky with sweat. Hmmm. Fresh teenage bollocks, still sweaty from a night's sleep. What an exquisite scent. I was ripped away from my reverie by a more-moody-than-usual Harry Styles, just at the top of the stairs. Watching me as I approached he said bluntly, "What the fuck are you doing?"
It was a fair question. But its fairness didn't make me any less angered by it, the arrogant little fucker. My response, I knew, would certainly ensure I'd manage to take him down a peg or two, right now. "Betty Boothroyd Bludgeon's Boris." An odd response? Certainly, but it was the trip word I had planted in his brain at the end of our last session, in order to circumvent the laborious process of inducing him yet again. It's actually a fairly standard technique, employed for all patients, many of whom require several sessions in order to resolve their issues. Of course...it's open to abuse, as the gently swaying form of Harry now standing before was a testament to. I placed my hand on his developed shoulder. "Harry, when I count to three, you will open your eyes and follow me. You will also do exactly as I tell you, because if you don't, I will leave you like this forever. Do you understand?" It was, of course, nonsense, and impossible, but he wasn't to know that, and I knew that unlike Niall, he would need an implicit threat in the back of his mind in order for him to do what I had planned.
I led Harry back to Niall's room, opened it, entered, and relocked it. Upon opening the door, I was overwhelmed by the smell of boy-sex. I was pleased to see Niall do as he was told; lying on his bed, head resting on the headboard, legs stertched and splayed open before him, wanking his fat Catholic dick for all it was worth, prejizz flying all over the place as he did so. I sat on the bed next to him, and looked at the two boys for a moment. "Harry, come over here." He moved like a zombie to the side of the bed, where I was. I reached for the waistband of his trackies, and pulled them and the grey striped boxer-briefs he wore under them down to his lower thighs, which I stroked for a moment. His cock was soft, although it began to lengthen as I gripped his loose foreskin, and idly pushed, pulled and prodded it. My other hand returned to the Niall's nutsack. My other hand "Harry," I said, "you and Niall are mates, yes?"
"Yeah," he responded, in the monotone he seemed to speak with when both in and out of a trance.
"And as mates, you help each other out, right?"
"I...guess so," he replied, his cock now stiff and demanding attention, which I was happy to provide, with my hand now methodically gliding up and down, occasionally slipping down to his hairy coconuts.
"Niall needs a favour. You see, he's a strict Roman Catholic, which means he's not allowed to spill his seed using his own hand. So, out of respect for his faith, I thought you could offer up your arse to him, whenever he needed to get his rocks off; that's alright, isn't it Harry?"
"N...nnnooo...." he replied, with difficulty.
"Harry, Harry, Harry," I said disapprovingly, "we must respect each other's religious difference. Tolerance is what makes this country great, Harry."
"I do, but-"
"Great, then if you do, then you'll help your mate continue to live by the religious teaching he holds dear, won't you?" I yanked both the Celtic and the English crinkly teen ballbags that were in my hands as I said this, causing Niall, who was still wanking, to groan, and Harry to take in a deep intake of breath.
"Well, I guess if there's nothing else he can do..."
"There isn't." With that, I released the four sixteen year old bollocks I had in my hands, and helped Harry remove his trackies and underwear. "I think, Harry, to make sure this is going to work, we'd best test you out. So stand up the bed, yes, that's it, right onto the bed, with one foot on either side of Niall's flanks. That's it. Now just move up a little bit so your over his middle. And kneel down." Harry was now on his knees, placed over Niall's cock, looking down towards Niall's feet with his own feet upturned, on either side of Niall's flanks. He was still dressed in the grey hoodie and white socks, with his fit long legs being the only part of him uncovered. It was the only bit of him I needed. "Now, Harry, reach behind yourself, use your hands to grip your arse cheeks, and pull them apart, please." He did so, revealing his puckered, hairy little hole, which my tongue had already become familiar with. I instructed Niall to stop wanking his red, angry looking cock, which he reluctantly did so. Taking his cock in my left hand, and Harry's shoulder in my right, I proceeded to compel the two band members to dock with one another. Holding Niall's cock delicately, directing the fiery head towards the darkened epicentre of Harry's crack, I gripped Harry's shoulder tightly, and pushed him further down. Would lube be necessary? Probably not. Niall's cock was certainly slip-sliding all over the place as I was holding it, and it wasn't like I'd used any when I shoved practically my entire hand up Harry's arse. Heh. And I wondered why the boy was stroppy around me.
It wasn't long before I made 'contact', requiring me to take Niall's cock in hand a little more firmly, in order to slide the bullet-shaped head into his mate's anus, making both boys groan and curl their socked toes in unison, each for very different reasons. Taking my hand from Niall's cock, I wiped the cummy residue in Harry's full head of hair, before standing on the bed myself, placing my hands on both of the boy's shoulders, and pushing, really quite firmly. Harry groaned all the way down Niall's thick pipe, till his arse-cheeks were ground into Niall's sweet downy pubes. Harry looked like he was about to cry, and Niall looked like...well, looked like he was enjoying lad-on-lad anal sex far more than a Catholic boy should be. I knelt and stared at Harry's face as I said,"Harry, push yourself up, so just the tip is in you." Planting his hands on the bedspread, his thighs demonstrated some tight definition as he pushed himself up; I ran my hand along their prickly, damp expanse as he did so. "...and down." He returned back to a sitting position, doing so more easily than he did the first time, with both boys moaning as he did so. "Now keep doing that until I stay stop."
"AR......GH......ARGH......AHHH....AHHH....AHHH..." like a puffing choo-choo train pulling away from a station, Harry steadily built up a faster and faster rhythm, the more he bounced on Niall's stiff prick. I stood, unzipped the flies on my black suit trousers, and extracted my cock, beginning a slow and methodical wank about six inches from Harry's face as I took in the vista before me; the facial expressions, the interplay of firm, teenaged muscles at work, and the smell of teenage boys bedroom; lynx deodorant, and churning, sweaty bollocks. It all helped bring me closer to climax. Nobody spoke; just occasional animalistic grunts as Niall thrusted with all his might to meet Harry's downward thrusts with a loud 'slap', shoving his knob into his bandmate as deeply as he could. I took the opportunity to extract my blackberry from my trouser pocket, and took a couple of pictures. What, out of all this, tipped me over the edge, you might ask? The deep blue eyes and pained expression on Niall's sweaty, hair-matted face, and his masculine, testosterone-laden voice saying between deep breaths, "Please...please, can I cum, please?"
"Ahhhh...ye, yes, cum now," I whispered, as my own orgasm overtook me, coating Harry's ascending and descending face, neck and hair in spunk, whilst Niall fired unseen jet after unseen jet up into his bowels. Without any instruction from me, Harry's cock also fired white-hot stream after white-hot stream of spunk, straight through my legs and onto the bedspread of Niall's bed, a few feet away. After five good shots, he began to subside, coating his cock in the dregs. As I myself recovered, I reached into Harry's hair, and rubbed the semen into the long locks. My legs feeling weak, I stood down from the bed, and sat down.
"Alright, alright, stop Harry, for Christ's sake, stop." Harry, still raising and lowering himself like an energiser bunny, stopped. "Get the fuck off him," I said. He did. Standing on the bed, his head nearly reaching the ceiling, he looked a magnificent teenage male specimen, albeit somewhat sullied by the fact that he clearly been used for the purposes of sodomy, and his grey hoodie detracting somewhat from his classical beauty. "Harry, get off the bed." He did, nearly falling off it in the process.
"Niall," I said, "there's an ointment that'll help with your vocal chords. It's smeared all over Harry's face; you'll have to lick it off him."
Niall frowned in disapproval. "Listen, fuckwit, context is everything." He now frowned in confusion. "Normally, you'd be right to avoid licking your friends face. But the context of this situation is, Harry's just let you fuck him up the arse so you don't offend the Pope - so I'd say that what I just asked isn't too big a deal. Okay? Just fucking do it." Natural submissive that he is, he stood up from his position on the bed, and dutifully started licking Harry's face. "Gulp it all down," I said encouragingly. When he reached Harry's full pouty lips, he delicately licked each one in turn, like a curious cat, before slipping his tongue into his mouth. Harry, for his part, still just standing there, opened his mouth further, letting Niall explore in the insides of his mouth. They did this for a few minutes, during which time I took four or five more pictures, before Niall withdrew, and looked at the floor, as though embarrassed. Niall's cock, slick with various juices, jutted out of his groin.
"Still frisky, Niall?"
"Hmmm..." he replied, unable to form words since his orgasm.
"Harry," I said, looking at the sweat soaked teen, "get on your knees." He wordlessly slipped to his knees. "Do you remember me saying, in our last session, how much you liked the taste of that medicine I gave you?"
"Yeah..."
"Well, Niall's got a nasty buildup of the stuff, and as your such good friends, he'll let you have some. You just have to get it. Before you is a thick straw; just put your lips around it nice and tight, and suck. Mind your teeth. Niall, cum whenever you want."
"Thanks," Niall responded. Such good manners. I laid back on the floor, and just watched them go at it. Harry slid his lips around Niall's prick, formed a tight seal, and began to suck, somewhat clumsily. Without saying anything, I stood, moved behind Niall, and knelt. Spreading the lads cheeks, I slid my tongue into his musky depths, and licked from the back of his pendulous babymakers, which were now most excellent, having collected and stored all of the boy's tastes and smells from the previous hour and a half of fucking and jacking, up to his lower back - confirming that his crack was almost completely (and presumably naturally) devoid of hair, with just a small outcropping lining his hole. I ran my tongue back down to his shiny penny, and proceeded to make love to him, gripping and relishing in the feel of the firm curves of his thighs as I did so. I felt them tense and become hard as granite when my tongue breached his virgin portal, and he emitted a scared little yelp. As I investigated the teen's musky depths, he started to emit other, more gutteral sounds, and backed his arse up as far as he could into my face. After five minutes or so, I withdrew my sweat and saliva strewn face from his posterior, and stood behind the small boy. Soothingly running my hands up and down his flanks before running them up under his now sodden T-Shirt, across his hard, flat stomach and up to his sloping pecs to tweak first his left, and then his right nipple, I put my chin on his shoulder, watching Harry's clumsy blow-job whilst sandwiching my semi-erect cock firmly between Niall's flaming-hot ass. As ever, he didn't seem to object.
Watching Harry for a moment, kissing Niall's ear as I did so, I thought it best to give the confused straight lad a few directions.
Placing my hand on the back of his head, I firmly shoved him down onto Niall's plug, until his nose was in his golden curls and he was coughing and spluttering like a bitch. He naturally tried to extricate his mouth from this uncomfortable position, sliding his tongue back up the way it had come, and much like Don Corleone in the third Godfather film, just when he thought he was out, I pushed him back in, causing him to emit yet more coughs. After a couple of minutes of this, his saliva had matted Niall's pubes and was dripping down onto his balls, or rather my fingers, as I had once again taken charge of them. His breathing was incredibly laboured, and as it would be difficult to explain why he had passed out, naked and covered in sperm, I felt it best to let him catch his breath, and allowed him to remove himself entirely from his pal's prick, with my hand taking up the position his lips had just vacated, luxuriating in the feel of Niall's stone-hard cock, and wide-domed knob. I slowly cork-screwed my hand up, and down, up, and down, whilst squeezing his puffy tits through his T, on occasion running my hand up the T, visiting all the points of interest on his sweaty torso and firm abdominals. My cock would sensually saw up into the moist furrow of his crack...but I didn't want to fuck him. Not yet, at least. I found the idea of turning Niall from a submissive into a dominant not only personally stimulating, but professionally, also. If it wasn't highly illegal, I'd write a paper on it. Wanking him, first slowly, then steadily building up speed, I would every so often smack Harry in the face with Niall's stubby cock; Harry would flinch, whereas Niall would simply keep on looking down, impassively. One thing I liked about Niall is that when he got close, he would really start to moan and groan and wriggle; not only did his writhing arse feel great on my cock, but it would be a good sign for me to stop wanking him; scratch his balls, flick his nipples, or gently baste his sopping wet knob. I did this two or three times, before finally going for gold with the lad, and bringing him off to another orgasm. He fired six firm shots straight into Harry's face, where it joined my own previous contribution, before drizzling onto the floor, the base of his cock, and my hand. I removed my sticky fingers from his well-used cock, and licked my fingers and palm clean of his tasty sacred spunk. '100% Irish' indeed. It was quite sweet, and still wonderfully thick. I wondered whether Harry's arse got the best of the boy, but I was perfectly happy with these leftovers.
Speaking of Harry, he looked quite a sight, and was quite a site, with two loads of spunk coating his face in a thick paste; one from a forty-two year old professional, the other from a sixteen year old Catholic boy. I used my fingers to one again scrape a load of the stuff from his face, causing globlets to drip down onto his top. Offering the soup to Harry, I instructed him to open his mouth and stick out his tongue, at which point I smeared the stuff on his pallet, before instructing him to gulp it down. Taking another finger-full, I this time offered it to Niall, shoving my fingers into his mouth; he as vey compliant, and allowed me to shove nearly my whole hand in there, before I instructed him to suck my fingers clean. He grimaced. "I don't know what your fucking problem is, Niall," I said, "this is a fine delicacy, and you love the taste of it." He was soon sucking on my rank fingers with wild abandon. "What you should do, Niall, is get down there and lick it straight off your mates face, if you like it that much." Niall got down on all fours in order to reach the still kneeling Harry, and made great, broad-sweeping licks across Harry's impassive face, slurping up his own produce, like a happy, uncaring dog. I rubbed his upturned rump as he did so, wondering if it really would be such a big deal, were I to fuck him.
It was at this point that there was a loud, piercing knock on the door. Running to the door, remembering to put my cock away as I did so, I opened it a crack to see a young Louis Tomlinson wearing trainers, white socks, football shorts and a T-Shirt. "Alright; you the hypnotist bloke? Was sent up to tell you lunch is in an hour and half, but the we're all playing a football game against the boys in the garden in half an hour. So Niall needs to be up and about by then."
Somewhat understandably, I was eager to get back and finish up. "OK, thanks Louis."
I went to turn, when he continued. "I was wondering..."
"Yes?"
"I was wondering, about this football game-"
"I can't play."
He smiled. "Yeah, no, I...I guessed that; no, my girlfriends here, watching...do you reckon you could make me play a little bit better?" He smiled, "I'd like to impress her."
I thought for a minute. "I'm sure we can work something out, Louis. Give me five minutes."
Slamming the door in his face, I turned back, just to see Niall licking the last strands of jizz from Harry's face. "Right, both of you, get you're fucking clothes on. You've got a football game to play." Turning to Harry, I took the dirty sweater he was still wearing and wiped his face with it, adding to the dried strands of jizz already on it. He slipped on his boxer-briefs and trackies. I vigorously rubbed his hair, to try and work out the most visible clumps of spunk. "When you close this bedroom's door behind you, you will awaken, and not recall anything that occurred in this room. This does not bother you. Any pain from your arse you will blame on your own sexual peccadilloes, recalling that the last time you had a wank, you shoved a cold carrot up there, and liked it. This also explains why you don't have much of a problem with Niall here giving you a good fucking whenever he feels like it. Now fuck off, Harry, and stop giving me the evil eye all the time." He slowly moved to leave the room. I'm somewhat ashamed to say that, for pure vindictiveness and spite, I added as he left, "oh, and Harry, don't bother having a shower or changing your clothes; you think you look fine."
Soon, it was just me and Niall left in the room. "Niall, now you've got free reign over Harry's backside, you've got no need to find relief from the cows in the house, have you. It doesn't make you gay; you're just finding relief, in accordance with your religious convictions. That's all. And to that end, you must always be nice to Harrry, and not let anyone find out about the two of you. Do you understand?"
He nodded in ascent. "Right. When I click my fingers, you're going to wake up. Whenever I say the words, 'Felicity Fucks Philanderers', you will return to the state you are currently in. Do you understand?"
He again nodded, and I clicked my fingers. His eyes opened, and he rubbed them, as though he'd just woken up. He looked at the wall clock and smiled, "Well, I caught up on my sleep, anyway."
Err, yeah.
He looked worried, "Jesus, the game's in half an hour; I have to get changed." I went to leave the room, when he ran to the door. I asked in confusion, "Isn't this your room?"
"No! It's Harry's room. I just came in to have a go on his PSP."
With that, he ran out the door, slamming it behind him. I looked at the room, in something of a new light, I guess. It was then that I noticed the white translucent stain streaked over the duvet...ah, yes. Harry's load. I wasn't particularly keen on changing the boys sheets for him. Although the room generally, and the duvet specifically, smelt very strongly of Niall Horan's sex organs, and Harry's ass. Shrugging, I just turned over the duvet; problem solved. With that, I went off to find Louis Tomlinson.