Self Taught

"SELF TAUGHT"

[MM,Oral,Rimming,Fingering,College]

Copyright (C) 2021, Dark Bandit, All Rights Reserved.

Licensed to nifty.org and to the public pursuant to the

Creative Commons- Attribution - Non-Commercial-Share Alike license.

author contact: darkbandit@airmail.cc

This story involves sexual activity between two adult males. If this offends you, please exit this text document now. If you are underage, you should not be reading this- vamoose. The incidents, persons, and locations depicted in this story are purely fictional and are from the author's own imagination. Any simularities with actual people, places, or locations are purely coincidental, and are unintended by the author. Now, on with the story. Enjoy!!! --------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I was majoring in pre-law at a Midewestern liberal arts college. My Classes ran the educational gamut: poltical science, philosophy, English, nothing I Couldn't handle. Still, I had to take at least once science or math class in order to get my degree. Math was out; my GPA couldn't tollerate what was sure to be a less than stellar grade. I opted, instead, for biology. I knew my ass from my elbow, so I thought I had a fair shot at it. It had been easy enough in high school, anyway. Then again college wasn't high school. And asses and elbows weren't listed on the syllabus.

Meaning, I was royally fucked, and no lube for miles. Still there was one saving grace: Professor Marks may have been a hard grader, but he was easy on the eyes. Tall, thin, scruffy, wearing tweed jackets, bow ties, loose-fitting slacks, horn- rimmed glasses, he was a sexy braniac. Not that any of that helped me with my grades, which were lackluster at best, but at least I had reason to show up for class every day.

Then came midterms and I was fucked again. Hell, I was fisted, still with no lube, not even a gob of spit. My hopes for law school were in danger, my parrents were pissed. But there was a saving grace, a glimmer of hope-- a fickle finger of fate to loosen me up, two fingers in fact.

One showed up in the unlikeliest of places: library stacks, archeology section, quiet bathroom. There, a guy could whack his willie in private, in between studying. A guy like me, that is. With one foot on the toliet paper dispenser, legs wide, neck arched down, the tip of my longish cock just making it into my mouth, practice made perfect. see, by my junior year, I could suck myself off, sending a stream of cum down my throat, and making it back to my books in no time flat. A nifty trick, to say the least.

Thats how I spotted it, sitting there with my jeans down to the linoleum, my dick head throbbing in my mouth close, so fucking close. It was in black ink: Mister Marks trades blow jobs. I shot a heafty load just thinking about it, a trickle of spunk gliding down my chin.

"Huh," I whispered. "What's he trade 'em for?"

And that second fated finger? Well, turned out Mister Marks kept after hours tutoring. You just had to sign up and show up, twenty minutes per student. By then, I needed the help, desperately. But how does a student broach the subject of trading blow jobs without getting expelled-- or having his butt kicked? Or both?

I guessed I'd have to play that one by ear.

I signed up, showing up in his office at seven, the last after hours slot. The walls were covered in diplomas, no family snapshots. That was a good sign. Marks showed up. He was dressed casuallyu in jeans, a button-down, short sleeves revealing hairy forearms and sinew. He smalied, got right down to business. We sat with books open, no small talk, him across from me barely catching my eye, try as I might. The guy had stellar eyes, too, strikingly blue, dazzling under the florecent lighting. In Truth, the one-on-one studying was helpful, though it did little for my throbbing cock.

Still, I'd get my chance. It was two weeks until my finals. I'd had two months of tutoring. My grades had climbed. I just needed a little boost now. Time for a trade?

"You're doing much better, Mr. Peters," he commented at the end of our last session. He smiled, his teeth white, even. The dude obviously had a good orthodontist as a kid. "Thanks to you," I replied. He shrugged, reached for his jacket. "I like my students to succeed."

The way he said succeed, emphasis on the 'suck', sent my mind spinning. Yeah, I was grasping at straws. Still, it was worth it to go for broke. We'd becomes, if not friends, then at least friendly.

"Um. I thought you should know, I saw, well, some degrogatory comments about you in a bathroom in the library." I paused, swallowed hard. "I, um, scratched them out."

Then he paused, turning my way, jacket in hand. "Students can be cruel," he replied. his eyes suddenly on mine, drilling down deep. "What, um, did it say?"

I coughed, my nerves suddenly leaving me, legs trembling a bit. "Oh, nothing really. Never mind. I just...just wanted to repay you for, well, you know." Still, I wasn't dumb. If he could emphasize the 'suck', I could emphasize the 'repay'.

We stood there like that, his small office seemingly growing smaller, the air suddenly hot, the sound of our breathing getting louder. "Thank you, Mr. Peters." He nodded, slightly, his eyes remaining on mine. "Still, I'm curious what my students have to say about me."

Was he baiting me, or, as he said, just curious? In any case, my answering him now wouldn't end up with that kicked ass. I looked down, focussing on his brown penny loaferes. "It, um, said, 'Mister Marks trades blow jobs.'" The last word came out sotto voce.

He chuckled. "What do I trade them for?" I looked back up, echoing his laughter with my own. "I asked myself the exact same thing." He paused agan, the stare continuing, scrutinizing me while a lemmon-sized pit formed in my stomach. "And what did you come up with?"

Empahsis on the 'come'. Not imagined this time. His voice was tinged with something now, a nervousness, an edge. "Better grades, I'd imagine, sir," I replied. This time, I stared back at him, eye to eye, muddy brown on dazzling blue. He laughed again shortly. "That would have to be one hell of a blow job, Mr. Peters."

My head began to sweim, the sound of his wall clock nearly deafening. "Guess so," I replied, a spasm to my smile, a lone bead of swet forming on my brow. "Too bad." Then quick as a wink, "Too bad, what? That i don't, or you don't?"

I sat back down, the terror forming in my chest almost unbearable. "Oh, I...um, I've never, well, given one." And then, strangely, I relaxed, regrouped. "I mean, to anyone other than myself." He returned his jacket to the rack. Bing-fucking-O. "To yourself?" I blushed, a flush of crimson spreading across my cheeks. "Sure. Not too difficult."

"Trust me, Mr. Peters, if such was the case, every man would be doing it. And bragging about it." Again I looked up at him, my knees bouncing in place, my voice catching in my throat. "You've never tired to... well,...you know?"

He scratched his head, clearly thinking of his next move. This was difficult ground; he had to tread lightly. "Maybe in my younder days. Just to see if I could."

"And?"

His smile returned- big, bright, and glorious. "Not even close." I laughed. "Just takes some practice." Heasitating, holding my knees still, I added, "I could, um, show you how. I mean, look at all you've taught me; its the least I can do."

He shook his head, curly hair, shoulder length, moving from side to side. "That wouldn't be appropriate, Mr. Peters." I stood, now an inch in front of him. "Yeah, you're right, sir. Sorry." I moved to the door, my hand reaching out, not inadvertently brushing the front of his jeans, the bulge obvious. I glanced back up. "You could just watch, though. No trading. Nothing wrong with that. A teaching thing." His breathing became erratic. He blinked- once, twice, then came a short raspy, "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Something new." He nodded. "Fine, lets just see this talent of yours, Mr. Peters."

Again I reached for the doorknob, but only to lock it. Then I moved away, a space of about two feet forming between us, enough for him to watch and for me to undress. I kicked off my sneakers, placing them neatly by the door, joining them with my socks. He watched, in silence. I continued, also without a word, yanking my T-shirt out of my jeans and then off, folding it and placing it atop my shoes and socks. I moved methodically, clinically, my heart pounding. The belt was unbuckled, the jeans slid down, off, folded as well. Then it was just me and my boxers, the tenting noticable. He stood there, arms akimbo, waiting for the crescendo. I nodded, gulped, and slid down my underwear, my cock springing out, swaying as I set the final article on the floor. I sat in the chair staring up at him, naked, ridgid. I started to speak, the words getting stuck, then begain again.

"I, um, need to but a foot up on your desk, sir."

"Oh, sure," he managed.

I raised my foot, my legs splaying far apart, and craned my neck down, the leaking helmuted head just a fraction of an inch away. "See, I can get the tip in, sir. Gotta strain my back, but..." And then I was sucking the head, a jold of adrenalin shooting down my spine and up through my still- thickening cock. I stared at him while sucking away. He stared down in rapt attention.

"That as far you can go, Mr Peters?"

I popped it out. "Like I said, just the head, sir." I laughed. "Still it seems to do the trick."

He moved to my side, his hand suddenly on my upper back. "Mind if I, um, help? Push you down a bit?" A novel approach. I liked the sound of it. "Please. That would be, um, awesome."

And, like he said, it helped. A great deal. His pushing was all I needed, my one inch of downed flesh quickly becoming two, three, my mouth bobbing up and down on my granite-hard prick, sucking the length of it, my eyes fluttering in newfound ecstasy.

He eased up, my cock popping out. "Thanks," I said. "See, thats why you're the teacher, sir." He grinned, moving back to a couple of feet in front of me. "You're welcome, and you're a good student." I sat back up, my dick pointing at him. I clenched, made it bob. "But I could, um, show you how though. The student becomes the teacher." Now it was my turn to emphasize the wored 'come'.

He sighed, scratched his chin, smiled wider. I supposed since I was already naked and hard in his office, he had little left to lose. He kicked off his joes with a nod. "Okay, Mr. Peters." I sat and watched, my throat suddenly dry, my own breathing now irregular, my cock coursing with blood. He rolled down his socks, unhooked his tie, and placed them both next to my stuff. Slowly, he unbuttoned his shirt, a matting of chest hair suddenly revealed, trailing down to a flat belly, rife with dense muscle, two hard pink nipples. He looked up, still smiling, noticed my ogling and leering. "Yoga. Keeps me in shape." He patted his stomach as he sat his shirt down. "Should make our, um, 'session' easier. You being bendy, and all," I commented.

He snickered, reaching for his belt, unbuckling it before flipping open his jeans and sliding down his zipper. Then he was standing before me in nothing but a pair of tenting boxers, and then-- not even those. My eyes roamed up and down his lean body, hairy jogger's legs, heavy balls swaying as he set his boxers down, a thick prick, even hard inches, curved to the side, veined, a wiry bush, jet black. "Um, ready," he announced, pointing down to his raging boner. "Um, yeah, I can see that," I replied, standing up to offer him my seat. He walked by, his hand brushing my cock. I jumped, groaned, "Sorry." He ignored the remark and sat down, staring up at me. "Now what, Mr. Peters?"

"Um, try doing what I did, sir. Put a foot on your desk. Lets see how close you can get your mouth to your, um, your dick." We were two naked hard men, alone, and yes, I found it difficult to speak that way in front of him. Still, I persevered. Of course, I gently stroked my cock all the while. He did as I asked, his legs suddenly far apart, his pink crinkled hole in view, a whirl of hair surrounding it, balls hanging low, cock pointing up. Dude was a sight to see-- best biology lesson I ever had.

Still, his mouth was a good several inches away from where it needed to be, try as he might to get there. I walked over, placing my hand on his back, as he had done for me. At the touch of flesh on flesh a spark traveled from him to me before eddying joyously around my stomach. I pushed down. He grunted, his tongue darting out. Close, but no cigar.

"This way isn't going to work," I eventually told him. "Any other ideas, Mr. Peters?" He looked up, still smiling. Guy was enjoying this, no doubt about it. I moved back in front of him, squinting my eyes in thought. "Try putting your feet back on the floor and grabbing the bottom of the seat. That should give you some leverage while you're craning your neck." This got him closer to his goal, but with his hard cock against his belly and his hands now busy, he wasn't in the right sucking position. I crouched in front of him, placing my hand on the back of his neck as I shoved downward. Again he grunted. Closer than before. Almost there. "Um, mind if I hold it for you, sir?" I asked, timidly, excitedly, eager to grab hold of his fat cock.

We were now eye to eye, him in the chair, me in front, one hand still on his neck, the other firmly gripping his prick, holding it just beneeth his mouth, feeling it pulse, widen in my hand. He moaned upon contact, still trying to get his mouth around it. A final push and we were there, his lips sucking the tip, licking the precum off. It was beautiful to witness so up close and personal. Too beautiful, in fact, not to participate. I moved his prick away from his mouth and leaned in. He watched me, silently, as I mirrored his actions, licking the tip, sucking the head, then handing it back to him to do the same. Back and forth it went, soon slick with spit, the room filling with the sound of his moans each time I'd suck and lick and gulp down on his rod. And then, at last, we met in the middle, both of us sucking the head, our lips collding, soft as down.

"Um, Mr. Peters," he eventually said. "Yes, Mr. Marks?" I replied his cock now betwen us, my hand slowly jerking it. He chuckled. "I think my neck and back are about to give out. Mind if we try a new position?" I moved away standing back up. he now had in store for us, the teacher, apparently, back to his teaching ways. He greabbed his coat and placed it agianst a wall. Soon enough his neck and shoulders were on top of it, his back flush against the wall, his legs hanging over, apart, dick dangling down. I knew my role in this. I walked in, my body pressing down on his feet, pushing his cock low, lower still, near his opened mouth. I had a super view of his ass now. I ran my hands across each alabaster cheek, down the hair-lined crack, my fingers swirling around his twitching asshole.

When I could hear him sucking the tip of his dick, I leaned in for a whiff, the smell of musk and sweat invading my sinus cavity. I took a cursory lick around the ring, zooming in to the winking center; diving my toungue inside. He groaned loudly while I reamed him out, parting him for better access, filling his chute with my slithering appendage. He popped his prick out of his mouth. "That feels good, Mr. Peters."

But I had one more trick up my sleeve- or up his ass, as was the case. I got on my knees, again taking his cock from him for a suck, my free hand roaming his butt until it found the sweet spot, a lone index finger gliding in and up and back, soon joined by its shorter neighbor, nothing fickle or fated about them. I placed his dick back in his mouth for him, jerking my own cock while he sucked himself off and I fucked his ass silly with my digits, his moans now loud and muffled, mine gaining momentum as we both coaxed the cum out of our balls.

With my fingers now entrenched up his ass, ramming up against his stone-solid prostate, I knew we didn't have long. I sped up the pace on my cock and his hole. Seconds later, he groaned long, low, and deep; his back and legs quaking as he shot his load down his throat, much of it spilling out and over, dripping across his facce. My cock exploded a split second later, dousing the floor with ounce after sticky ounce of molten-hot cum. My body spasamed, my head jerked back, mouth open, a raspy exhale released.

He tumbled over, panting, flat on the floor. I stared down at him, all hair and muscle, his face sticky and white, his cock still hard, dribbling. "That is a useful talent, Mr. Peters," he managedd, gulping to catch his breath. "Yes sir," I replied. "Comes in, um, handy." He laughed and rolled over, watching me as I got dressed. "Good luck on your final," he eventually said as I reached for the knob, opening the door. "But you'll have to earn whatever grade you get; I don't trade blow jobs for that."

I echoed his laugh as I stared down at him. "What 'do' you trade them for, sir?" He sat back up, Indian style. "Why for other blow jobs, of course, Mr. Peters. Looks like I owe you one." I smiled, nodded, and exited his office, closing the door behind me, though not for the last time. Not by a long shot. Thankfully, I aced the test and the class, the exam counting for a whopping 60 percent of my final grade. But, like he said, he owed me one. And I eagerly cashed in on that promise, repeatedly, teacher becoming student, student becoming teacher. Emphasis on the 'come' -- ample, throat-soaking quantities of it.