This story deals with (highly) adult themes, and is really not at all appropriate for children. Copyright me.
This story is the story of a secondary school teacher who takes advantage of various overly confident teenagers with an annoying sense of self-entitlement. The difference between this happening in a story and this happening in real life is that in a story, nobody who actually exists gets hurt. Anyone seeking to practice this in the real world has serious moral and mental problems that they genuinely need to resolve. Also, as a cheery addition - my stories tend to be fairly ridiculous, and the odds of events panning out in the real world the way they pan out here is...remote, to say the very, very least.
All that being said, I would absolutely love to know what you think :-D My email is Just_Some_Chap@hotmail.co.uk.
Some of you may know me from my first story, 'New Direction for One Direction', a story of several parts (all of which deal with fairly similar themes as this story, lol...) available on Nifty under gay/celeb/new-direction-for-one-direction/.
I have recently established a website at http://www.asstr.org/~Just_Some_Chap/ It currently only lists my 'One Direction' story
I will add to this story, but will do so fairly irregularly, as I have to do a lot of writing for my job.
So with all that out the way...enjoy the story!
(M/t, authoritarian, oral, anal)
DEFINITIONS FOR POOR LOST FOREIGNERS: Chav; scally: A peculiarity of 21st century British society: usually between 16-25 years old, male or female, and usually unemployed, Chavs are rapidly becoming a new underclass within society, and are generally pretty combative. Found in British cities, where they can be found in groups. Identified by their baseball caps, tracksuit, hoodies, trainers, but also their poor education, lack of prospects, and overt hetrosexuality.
Electronic Tag: a device used to monitor the actions of those subject to a court order requiring them to obey a curfew, in order to prevent them from causing further distruption to their community. Those found in breach of their curfew, or to have intentionally damaged their tag, are subject to further, harsher punishment.
Straight Lads: Dale, the Chav Lad
When it comes to taking advantage of straight lads, one must also be adept at taking advantage of opportunities, when presented to you.
Take last Saturday as an example. My sister had made the decision to leave her husband, and I had to go over to my mother's -- where she was staying -- to console her and all that crap. As enjoyable as it was, after a few hours, I decided to make my way back home, and leave the rest of the consoling to my mother, who was far better at that sort of thing then I was.
So there I was in my car, at around 2am on Saturday, making the 15 minute journey back home. Driving through the quiet suburban streets, my thoughts began to wander, and my mind journeyed elsewhere. I wonder if Jamie's still awake? That thought was quickly abandoned; his parents would probably object to me calling round to fuck their son.
My mind was lurched back to the present, however, when a dark blur entered my field of vision on the left, which I quickly recognised was a person. I slammed on the brakes, just as the dipshit put his hand on the bonnet of my moving car, causing him to spin round like a Catherine wheel and collapse in the edge of the road. I got out and slammed the door of my car, with every intention of giving the stupid twat a piece of my mind.
Chapter One ----------- I quickly realised this was not going to be possible, however. Don't worry -- he wasn't dead or anything -- he was just so drunk that he was barely coherent. "Mate, jus', jus', mate, just list, listen, mate; wha? I...jus, yeah, I know, mate, mmm...my faul, faulT, mate," is but a sample of what I was having to put up with, him still in a heap at my feet as I looked down at him. The one good thing to come from him babbling incoherently was that I could look at him like he were a piece of meat, without complaint from him. He looked to be around 17 years old, and was a typical chav; dressed in blue tracksuit pants, white Adidas trainers with green stripes, black socks, and a cheap-looking white hoodie, covering a blue baseball cap. I spied a black device around his right ankle, which I knew from teaching offensive twats was an electronic tag, used to monitor those being kept under a control order. He was sitting in the street now, still chatting shit, as I reached out and flicked down the hood covering his head, and removed the Nike cap he wore under it, so I could get a proper look at him. When I did so, he suddenly stopped talking, staring at me through bleary, unfocused brown eyes. In the low light of the street, the skin on his face appeared to be lightly tanned, and clear.
His face was angular, almost square-jawed, and young, making him appear ever so slightly cherubic --the obvious intoxication giving him a certain naïve innocence which I loved. He appeared completely clean-shaven, whether by design or by genetics, I didn't know, but I began to get the feeling that I'd find out over the remainder of my evening. His brown hair was kept short, with gel sweeping it forward and making his wispy fringe with its blond highlights more pronounced. Quietly putting his cap back on his head and pulling his hood back up, I looked down at the rest of his body; his hoodie obscured his upper body, but he was boyishly lean, whilst his outstretched legs appeared strong, with big, trainered feet at the end of them. I spoke to him for the first time.
"Time to get up. Mate. What's your name?"
He half pointed, half waved down the road, "ma...Ive...friends're comin, jus' now. Im D-Dale." I smiled. Even in his drunken state, he knew this wasn't the best of situations to be in. I sat down next to him, and smelt the stink of spirits from his breath. I spoke slowly, and loudly. "How far away are they, then? Your friends? You've been here a little while. Maybe your lost?"
"Dey're...ma friends're comin, jus', right now, fanks mate," He rolled over, away from me, and began to get onto his hands and knees, no doubt intending to get up at some point -- but the show he gave me of his absolutely fantastic, peachy arse had me mesmerised for a few minutes, before I stood up, and held out my hand to help him up. Grabbing my hand, he pulled hard on it to bring himself up; I grabbed onto a lamp-post with my other hand.
After he was upright, he turned and toddled off down the road, mumbling "need'apish", falling into a lamppost as he moved. I quickly gripped his shoulder firmly with one hand, his flank with the other, and steered his six foot frame towards a low wall separating a front garden from the pavement. "Mate...mate, come, com'on mate; jus', Im jus' mindin' me ow, own busy-ness..." "Hang on, pal, you need a piss before you go, right?"
"Yea, but..."
"And you can barely stand! You obviously need some help, don't you?"
"Ssshh...n-nnoo, I'm, I'm fine"
By this time, we were before the wall, and I let go of him -- at which point he began to topple over the wall before him, before I pulled him back up. "Rubbish," I said. "I'll help."
Speaking to me, as I was standing behind him he began, "o-ok, jus', jus' hold me, like."
"Sure."
Keeping one hand on his shoulder, I brought myself forward so I could reach down with my other hand and, hooking my thumb into the waistband at the front, stretched down the front of his trackies and boxerbriefs, hooking them under his balls. In an instant, I had my hand wrapped around his soft organ, pointing it at the wall, whilst my other hand reached down and gently took his warm ballsack into my hand. He recoiled, but merely served to thrust his nice ass into my groin, which caused him to comically leap back forward. He shouted his whispers at me, angry but not wanting to be seen; "ww-what the fuck, man!? What the fuck ar'ya doin'?"
I spoke normally. "err, holding you, like you asked? Now come on, we haven't got all day."
"I-I didn't mean me fuckin' dick!"
"Didn't you? Oh. A case of crossed-wires, then, I think." The fingers of my hand were gripped around his dick mid-shaft, with my thumb and index finger stationary over the sheathed head at the end, `absentmindedly' rubbing him this way and that. My right hand, cradling his surprisingly hairy teenaged nads, was cupped entirely around his sack, the four fingers rubbing vertically along the bristly skin of his jewels, prodding and soothing his left sauce sac as I did so.
"Fuckin' let go!"
"What? No, no, no. Don't be silly. You might as well go now. You'll probably fall over and piss yourself if we all start moving our hands. Now come on; get on with it." I gently retracted his tight foreskin back as far as I could, which wasn't far at all.
"Jus'...jus' let GO of my dick, man. And leave me fuckin' bollocks alone!"
"The longer you delay, the longer we'll be here."
Silence for a minute; I could feel his body swaying this way and that, on either side of my arms, which were wrapped around his waist. I felt the piss flow up along the underside of his prick, before the silence of the public road was punctured with the sound of trickling liquid. I looked over his shoulder at his insubstantial soft organ, and began to direct his hose in different directions, making patterns on the wall; I haphazardly spelt out the letters of his name, leading him to chuckle when he realised what I was spelling out. After a long minute of pretty continuous flow, he trickled down to nothing, forcing out the last few spurts, before I used my index and second finger to squeeze out the last couple of drops from his cock, and quietly pulled his trackies back over his groin.
Without saying a word, he reached down to readjust himself, and swung for me -- which I dodged (or rather, stood there as he completely missed and went sailing, first first, besides me) -- before, with ego sufficiently bruised, he pulled himself up and began to walk off down the road, shouting "fuckin' queer. If I fuckin' see you again, I'm gonna kick yer fuckin' head in." Laughing as I did so, I once again grabbed his shoulder as he walked off, and directed him back to the road, saying "I just want you to see something before you go," as I steered him towards my car, which was parked on the side of the quiet house-lined road. I pointed at where he had impacted my silver Peugeot, saying, "see that dent?"
He squinted, and brought his head closer a few inches closer. "Um...ye, yeah...I guessh so, Im jus' goin' home, mate," at which point, he went to walk off again. I grabbed his shoulder again, harder this time, and swung him back round...you have to be very persistent with drunks. Bringing him back to my car, I pointed and said, "that, will cost £300 to repair. Now, do you have £300?"
He laughed. I asked, "do you have a job?"
"Fuck off! You sounds likess mees fuckin' dad!" he shouted back lucidly. That's a no, then.
I stuck my hand into his pocket, and extracted a cheap reebok wallet. Opening it up, I found a provisional drivers licence, which confirmed his age as 17, and his name which was indeed Dale. His address was on the tract of council houses that dominated this area, and wasn't far. Given his age, I presumed he lived with his parents. There was £1.27 in the wallet. I zipped it up, and put it in my pocket. He looked confused, and held out his hand. "Err, excuse me," I began, "but you've damaged my fucking car pal. I'm taking reparations."
"Wha?"
"And calling the police."
"No..now, what...jus', gimme a, a minute..." he held up his hand defensively as I stood there, arms crossed. I couldn't deny it, progress was being made; he WAS falling into my trap -- but very fucking slowly, and it was starting to get annoying. I tried to move things along. "You want me to not call the police, is that it?"
"Yeah...yesh, that's-"
"I don't know about that. What about my car, eh? I need some compensation."
"Well, I, I dunno, man, I-Im, likesh, skint, ain't I?"
I took a few steps closer to him, until I was right infront of him; he was clearly perturbed by this, but tried not to show it, standing his ground. "I tell you what, mate," I began, trying to keep my voice as quiet and as level as possible, "you suck my finger for a few minutes, and we'll call it quits."
He frowned and stumbled backwards, shouting, "wha? Fuckoff, man! Thash, thash fuckin queer!"
I took another couple of steps toward him, smiling reassuringly. "Yeah, it is. But either you do it, or I call the police. And when they come, I imagine they'll have questions about that electronic tag on your ankle, won't they?"
"Itsh...itsh broke...it, it ain't my fault, man."
"No, it's not, except that you're supposed to tell them if it's broke, so actually, yeah, it is completely and solely your fault. Now, what's it to be?" He looked at me suspiciously. Was he actually considering it?
"Jus', for a...a few minutes, like?" Hah, these chavs have absolutely no fucking self-respect.
"Yep, just for a few minutes. Get over by the car, so nobody'll see."
He scurried over, eager not to be seen. "Open wide." He opened his mouth, his tongue moving this way and that, not knowing what to do with itself, clearly unhappy about the whole thing. I put the index finger of my right hand into his mouth, resting it on the solid muscle of his tongue, which suddenly stopped moving. He looked at me imploringly with his big brown, puppy-dog eyes. Unsympathetically I said, "go on then. Your time doesn't start til you start sucking." He closed his eyes as the soft lips of his mouth closed around my finger, between the knuckle and the first joint, and I felt his teeth bob and graze against the joint itself. Then, his tongue slowly started moving, as I reiterated, like a friend this time, "suck it, mate...you have to suck it, or none of this counts, and the police'll be here in a flash." With my finger now all sloppy and wet, I felt a tentative suck; a slight vacuuming around my finger.
"More," I whispered, "this doesn't count. Needs to be more," at which point he clearly resigned himself to this in his head, and started to really go for it, his mouth vacuuming around my finger; his tongue (unintentionally no doubt) wrapping itself around my finger.
With his eyes closed, he didn't anticipate my hand reaching down and again taking possession of his homophobic 17 year old cock, the front of his trackies clammy with dick sweat and a pent up need to breed.
His eyes shot open as I whispered, "now keep sucking, kiddo; remember, I call the coppers if you don't. Yeah, that's it. That's it, mate. Just close your eyes, and keep on sucking; it'll soon all be over." Soon is such a relative concept. I had no intention of ending my fun until the sun started rising, although I freely admit my stamina might dictate otherwise. After about three minutes, I quickly slipped my hand out of the cold night air, and into the toasty confines of his boxers. He once again recoiled, but my hand meant he could only recoil as far as his elasticated waistband would allow. "ssshhh, Dale, or someone'll see. I'm just warming my hand up, that's all. Now keep on sucking; won't be long now." Saliva was now dripping down to the asphalt road, and was running all along my hand, as he kept on sucking.
"Ishnt it time yet?" he implored between sucks, his eyes damp as I worked my one finger still in his mouth, and my other hand down his trackies, freely fiddling with the drunk lad's pride and joy.
"No. Not yet." As I spoke, I wrapped my hand around the soft tube of flesh he kept in his underwear, my thumb buried in his bushy damp pubes, my little finger rubbing along the skin covered ridge that marked the beginning of his knob. He shook his head, as if trying to believe none of this was happening. Using both my hands, I effectively steered him around, so he was leaning back against the front passenger door of my car. His identity was obscured by the cap and hood he still wore, but mine wasn't -- the thrill of being in the open was a massive aphrodisiac, however, seeming to spur me on to greater and greater transgressions against this drunk kid.
Chapter Two ----------- I hit a snag, however: whether because of the situation, or the alcohol, he wasn't getting hard, and after about five minutes of getting to know his soft schlong, I was frankly getting a tiny bit bored, and wanted to move things along. "Want to stop now, Dale?" He nodded frantically. "Alright then, we can cut it short, if you really want -- but I still haven't really got you back for damaging my car yet, have I?" He just stood there, staring at me. "Remember? You breaking my car?" A frown, and a gentle nodding of the head. "Yeah, you did. So we can stop now -- but I have to give you a handjob, ok? And then that'll be it."
I extracted my finger from his mouth - both to let him speak, and because I thought he might bite it off.
"Fuc' youse, man! Y-you ARE a fuck'in queer!" He didn't notice as I wiped my wet hand on the hem of his hoodie.
He tried to get my hand out of his pants, but with his obvious intoxication and my hand wrapped tightly around his trunk, he didn't meet with much success, but he was quite frantic in his efforts.
"Now, just stop for a minute, Dale. STOP. STOP. STOP, or you'll pull my hand out with your dick still attached to it, ok? Just STOP for ten fucking seconds." With his hand still attached to the wrist which was attached to the hand which was attached to his dick, he stopped and looked at me. "Listen. Dale. Let's be honest. It's pretty obvious you haven't had the greatest of success with the ladies tonight, which is why you're walking down a suburban road on a Saturday night instead of shagging some bird."
As I spoke, I continued to run the pads of my fingers soothingly and methodically along the shaft of his organ, which I could tell was beginning to fill with blood. "So, rather than going home and having a wank, why don't I do it for you right here? You won't even fuckin remember in the morning, and you'll get out of paying for my car repairs. Whaddya say?"
He sighed and rolled his eyes, looking off into the distance behind me, as if thinking about it. I knew what I needed to do the seal the deal: I hated to lower myself to this level, but I fully intended to make him pay for it. "Please, Dale? Please?"
He tried to stifle the charming grin that cracked along the right side of his bleary-eyed boyish face, but failed miserably. "Yea, ok, man, I guess...but only cos I didn't pull tonight, mind."
I chuckled admiringly; sickeningly. I was going to fuck him so damn hard when the time came.
But that time wasn't yet. I momentarily withdrew my hand, which led to a puzzled look from my young quarry. "It's easier if I stand behind you, mate. So turn around." Leaning against my car, and still dizzy -- from more than just the drink, I suspect -- he turned around, shakily. I physically took his left hand, planting it on the edge of the car, placing his right hand on the opposite side, and then reaching around and grabbing hold of his family jewels through his trackies, I pulled him back a few steps, till his ass mashed into my own erect groin -- causing him to leap forward again like he'd been electrocuted.
"Calm the fuck down," I muttered. "You're a man, aren't you?"
"Yeah I'm a fuckin man; just don-"
"Then if you're a man, you don't have to worry about me fucking you, do you? Men don't fuck other men. Men fuck bitches."
He chuckled at that. We both did. For different reasons.
I pulled him back again, by planting each of my hands on his hips, getting a sense of the delicious curvature of his ass. This time, he complied with my directions. With his hands out the way, and his upturned hood and cap ensuring he couldn't see me, I was free to get on my knees and yank his trackies down to his ankles, revealing a pair of well-worn bright blue boxer-briefs which were melded to his ass, and had `TOPMAN' in bold white lettering along the black waistband. After admiring his round ass and firm, lightly furred thighs for a couple of seconds, I pulled those down, too.
His ass flexed a few times in surprise at the cold; I heard him mutter "f-fucker," but he didn't move an inch and, after returning to my feet, I moved closer and reached around, grasping his half hard dick. I stopped him from moving as I gently mashed my own hardon, covered in just my suit trousers (and underwear, of course), along the valley at the centre of his bare ass, the dark cheeks flexing strongly to deny me access, but only serving to make the sensation feel even better; nothing quite like a 17 year old ass; the road echoed with the slap I administered to his right cheek. My chin rested on his shoulder, and rubbed against the velvety softness of his hoody, breathing in the lynx deodorant and cigarette smoke that permeated his body.
The cold made his dick shrivel up somewhat; as we both stood there in the pale moonlight, leaning up against the side of my car, I whispered, "close your eyes, and think of some girl; it'll help," and after about five minutes of determined yanking and pulling, he started to firm up again. Neither of us spoke.
After a couple more minutes, he was as hard as only a 17 year old can be, but I couldn't really draw back what was a very tight foreskin, so I just jacked him, staccato style, with short, quick yanks, focussing on the enclosed glans of his prick. I guessed him to be around 6 inches, and averagely thick, but rock hard, like marble. I pushed forward with my groin slightly, moving him forward an inch or so, so the head of his cock, which was poking out the end of my hand, would frequently make contact with the slick, cold window of my car. Wanting to explore the chav's body, I ran my other hand up under his hoodie, rubbing the firm stomach and hairless, flat chest beneath it, running my nail over his nips as I nuzzled his neck, which he tolerated only because of what I was doing to do his cock. After another five minutes or so, we were both humming along nicely, with his arse inadvertently rubbing against my crotch as it flex and gently thrusting forwards, grunting manfully whenever his cock grazed the window before him.
I stopped.
"Right, let's get you home, then," I said, walking round to the drivers side of my car, sniffing and licking the acerbic sweat and precum on my hand as I did so.
He just stood there, hands on the roof of the car, trackies round his ankles.
"Get in," I said simply, getting into my car before he could respond. I turned on the ignition, looking through the passenger window at his dick; a nicely shaped stalk ending with a barely defined, lightly curved, completely sheathed head, all of which stood proudly and very stiffly from a gnarled bush of brown, auburn pubes, which led down and coated his balls in finer, but still clearly noticeable hairs.
I calmly lowered the window, reached across, and grabbed him by the balls, yanking them down for effect as I shouted, "get in the fucking car, now, pisshead." He went to move back, but once he realised I had no intention of letting go of his nuts, he meekly stood there in front of the car window as I said, "you need to have the concept of punishment in response for unacceptable behaviour reintroduced to your life, mate."
He stood there, seemingly waiting for his `punishment', but got increasingly agitated as my index finger rooted past his balls and through the hairy trench leading to his arse hole, necessitating me moving my whole body over the central console of my car -- really quite uncomfortably -- so I could reach around him and cup his teen ass cheek, holding him firmly in place, as the finger of my other hand traversed through the sweaty crack, locating and pushing against his unseen puckered portal. That really got him agitated, effectively thrusting his genitals through my car window. I could've breached him there and then, but I didn't; instead, I suckled on his unwashed adolescent nuts for a couple of minutes, tonguing the sacs and raking my teeth over the flesh, taking deep lungfulls of the boy's testosterone-laden scent, infused with the same deodorant adorning his upper body, whilst hoovering up the sharp tasting, acrid sweat that spiced his dank shaggy nuts with flavour. He stood there whilst I did so, just relieved that I wasn't fingering him, I think. When I was done -- and only when I was done - I let him go so he could pull his trackies up over his hardon, open the door and get in.
Pulling away from the curb, we began the short journey to his house, my right hand alternating between the gear stick between the seats and the gear stick between his legs. He sat there, legs spread, as I danced over the covered cock, tickling the corded waistband of his trackies where the head threatened, but never succeeded, in breaching to the outside. He looked outside the window as I did so, heavy eyelids fluttering over bleary eyes whilst emitting a low grumble of satisfaction whenever I hit a particular sweet spot. After just 30 minutes of forced play, he seemed normalised to me touching him. I was beginning to get the measure of Dale -- the real Dale; not the strutting peacock act he no doubt liked to put on when females were around.
I didn't do any more than fiddle with Dale's sex pipe; I just wanted to keep the drunk kid boned up and drippy; to make it even harder for him to think `straight'.
Chapter Three ------------- We pulled up outside his house. It was a fairly conventional 1960s council house, by the looks of it. Without speaking he opened the car door and shut it behind him, tottering off up the garden path to his front door. I watched his arse, tightly defined in his tracksuit bottoms, sway sexily for a minute before getting out myself, making sure to lockup the car. I ambled up the path to stand beside him, as he was engaged in a duel between his keys and his front door. Sliding one hand down the back of his bottoms and knickers to rub the ass I'd been admiring a few minutes before, I eased the key out of his fingers, slid it through the lock, and opened it with the words, "open sesame."
He stood there for a second, swaying, rubbing his eye like he was tired, before he looked at me and spoke in a whisper, "Ssh...shhtop, man. Ok? D-, da, dis is my house, so, ya' know, fuc' off an' that." He reached back for the wrist that was down the back of his trousers, but was unable to remove it. "Hang on, Dale-"
"NO, man...I, I don't care `bout yer fuckin' car, jus', jus't tell the coppers, if ya wanna, I, I ain't doin' this any more."
"But we were having such a good time," I said, my palm doing laps around his stupendous butt cheeks as I did so.
"NNNnno, we weren't! You, you tried to fuckin' rape me!"
"Well, I kinda DID rape you, actually, but that's beside the point-"
"An' I didn't even fuckin' cum like you promised," he whined, like a spoilt brat who hadn't gotten his lollypop after seeing the dentist.
"You're right. And I DO feel bad about that. Tell you what; how about we go inside, and I'll finished you off?" My finger dug deep into the cleft of his sweaty ass, once again locating his rosebud which I scratched my nail across methodically, insistently.
He thrusted forward, and grappled with the hand behind his back more animatedly then previously, but still unable to even grasp my wrist, let alone remove it. "JUS', PLEASE JUS' STOP. We-we-we've had a bit'o'fun, ok, but sherioushly, fuckin' leave it. Me mum'n'dad'll fuckin' kill you if they hear some weirdo in the house-" "Or, as an alternative -- I can leave, take your wallet with me, and report you to the police, after I give you a quick fingering here on your door step."
"Wha? Man, jus', jus' please man, jus' give me back my stuff, an', an' go."
"Sure. I'll go. Just after I've made you cum. Now `let's go inside."
Without any more discussion, I moved back from his arsehole, gripping his fleshy butt-cheek so I could push his ass, along with the rest of him, through the rickety front door, and close it behind me -- taking heed concerning Dale's apparently easily agitated father, I was careful not to slam it; but I wasn't sure if I would manage to stay as quiet when I was slamming into his son.
I took Dale on a forced tour of his own house, just to get the lay of the land. There wasn't much to see. A yapping dog told me it was best to avoid the front room, where his barking came from; so we took in the delights of his kitchen instead. As he was getting himself a glass of water, I stood in the door way and said, "well, come on then."
"Wha'd'ya mean?" He asked, with a frown.
"Take off your clothes."
He laughed loudly.
I put my fingers to my lips. "If you want to get your wallet back, and not spend time in a young offenders institution for violating your curfew, you're going to have to do what you're told. I know that's not something your used to doing, but that's the situation. Now, if you do what you're told, you'll get a reward; a nice strong orgasm, maybe? I'm sure Dale would like to end the night with a good cum; but if you don't, you'll get a punishment. Now, the ultimate punishment is your arrest, by police officers, but trust me, there's a lot more then just that which I can administer as punishment. Now, you have 45 seconds to remove your clothing, or I will walk out that front door, you can have a restful sleep, and in a few weeks time, we'll see each other again in a courtroom. Oh, and everything you've put up with to now -- the fondling, the hand job, the degradation of it all -- will all be for nothing. If you'd of told me to fuck off in the first minute of us meeting, you would've been in just the same position, except without the humiliation of having some bloke hold your cock whilst you pissed on a wall. So what's it to be? All or nothing. And the times ticking."
I looked at my watch, as he looked at me, for another five seconds or so. "30 seconds." I said simply. He took off his hoodie, leaving on the navy blue baseball cap adorned with a Nike tick, instead rushing to slip off his trainers, and yank off his trackies and the underwear beneath them in one fell swoop, his aching cock bouncing back up like a catapult, audibly thwacking against his stomach. I took the trackies and hoodie off him, fishing through them for the cheap Topshop boxers, putting them in my coat pocket.
"Right. Put your shoes back on. Time to put you to bed, administer any punishments and rewards as necessary, and then I'll be off, ok?"
He put his Adidas shoes back on, over his black sports socks, and walked out of the kitchen and towards the staircase, naked except for his cap, pint glass of water in hand. I followed behind, fishing around in my pocket for my phone, so that by the time we were walking up the stairs, I could take a few nice action shots of his butt in action, one of which included his straight little hole winking slyly at me through a forest of crinkly dark hairs.
When we reached his room, I walked in behind him, closing the white door. It was fairly small; a laptop computer was on the floor, along with a large number of clothes. The walls were adorned with...flirtatious, shall we say, posters of Megan Fox.
The room smelt of precum.
Dale, drunk but still bareass naked, carefully placed his water on the bedside table, revealing his anus to me once again, and toed his shoes off, leaving his thick black socks with a little white tick at the ankle on, as well as the electronic tag which was still adorning the right ankle. I simply said, "get on the bed. On all fours."
"Your not-"
"Call the fuck down; I'm not into that. Just do it', as your socks would say." He frowned, clearly not getting the Nike reference. Must be a 90s thing.
He grudgingly got on the bed, on his knees, presenting himself to me. With his back to me, I surreptitiously put my phone on an (empty) bookshelf and set it to record video, directed at the bed. Getting up behind him, I ran each of my hands over the two curved cushions of his hairless ass cheeks, running down the backs of his thighs. I really enjoyed the moment. "Play any sport, Dale?" I asked.
"Football."
"Yeah, thought so. All boys do these days, don't they? All the straight ones, anyway."
"'dat why you don' play, then?" He asked, sniggering.
"Hah. Good one, Dale. No, I don't play, because if I want to look at sweaty naked men who've just played a game, I go to an appropriate gay website, rather than feeling obliged to play said game with them beforehand in order to justify my voyeurism."
He didn't say anything to that. I returned to rubbing his ass with one hand, he emitting a throaty groan when the warm fingers of my other hand curled round his hot cock.
I leaned down and over him, so my weight was resting on him, but kept on jacking him slowly. I was getting motion sickness from his steady thrusting motion, as he sought to bring himself closer to orgasm. With my other hand, I reached for his wallet, still in my pocket and, leaning up as I did so, used my teeth to pull the Velcro back, and open it up on his upper back, between his shoulder blades. I checked the pockets for what I was looking for, him getting angry as my hand merely squeezed his cock, with my attention focussed on the wallet. He didn't like going off the boil; but he was going to have to get used to it. This was gonna be a long night, and it was never about me jacking him off.
I threw the wallet off to the side when I found what I wanted. He craned his neck to see what I was doing, but he couldn't see anything, and I pushed his head back to where it was, facing forward, at the poster above his bed -- the legs of some leather-clad woman. Still wanking him, and with his eyes fixed on the poster, I pushed his ass down, closer to the blue checked duvet covering his bed, and unzipped my trousers, quietly extracting my cock. "Don't move a fucking inch," I said, letting go of his dick to tear open the packet and slide the strawberry flavoured condom I'd found in his wallet down my own shaft. Within a few seconds, my hand returned to his cock, and as far as he was concerned, all was right with the world.
I leaned down, putting my chest back on his back, with my latexed erect cock resting within the warm crease of his arse. I placed my head next to his ear, now with my other hand joining his mate down in the lads groin, fingering and yanking his prickly gonads at will. "You know, when I nearly ran you over, mate, I thought: yeah, this'll be a lot of fun. This one'll have a lot of fight in him. And for a minute, I thought you did -- you REALLY didn't like me holding your dick for you whilst you went to the toilet -- but all that anger didn't do you a lot of good, did it? Nope. See, I think, you're not as drunk as you seem. I reckon you ain't as fuckin stupid as you seem, either. I think you saw an opportunity. An opportunity, to see what it's like. To see what it's like, when you're not in charge any more. It must be difficult; being around so many Alpha-males, having to compete with them -- all of you like a bunch of rutting bulls, all wanting to shove their stinky bollocks into some cow's face, but not really understanding why. And you, playing along, acting the big man, but secretly wanting to surrender to em; secretly wanting em to tell you what to do."
"F...fuck you..."
"Remember when I just started suckin' on your bollocks, cos I felt like it? And you just stood there, like a fucking horned up lemon, trackies round your ankles, letting me?"
"N...No, you made me."
I laughed, "yeah, made you! I made you stand at my fucking car door window with your genitals pushed through the window, like a fuckin whore!"
"Ssshut up, man! F-fuckin' shut up!" His voice quivered.
"And Jesus Christ, look at you right now -- here we are, Saturday night, and you're lying on your own fuckin' bed, legs splayed, some bloke you just met jerking you off!"
He didn't say anything, but I could tell he was shaking his head, wordlessly seeking to refute what I was saying.
I spoke to him more soothingly. "But Dale, you know what? It's fine. Really, it is. See, I'm changing the deal we made. And I think you'll like the new terms. I know, you have your rep to maintain -- getting drunk on cans of special brew, fucking those little chavettes I see on street corners looking adoringly at you alpha males -- that's all fine. You can do that, and then, when I get you on your own, you can be my big-boy bitch. How about that? You can drop your trackies, close your eyes, and I can take GOOD care of you."
He was thrusting forward into my hand insistently now, "J...Just...wanna...fuckin...CUM"
"But the thing is, Dale, it's a complete package -- I ain't just gonna jack you off. No, mate. I'm gonna fuckin BREAK you." I shoved my dick up into his arse, forcefully and as hard as I could, up to the hilt -- but it was a struggle; I was breaking new territory.
"ARRGHHHH!"
"Ssshhh," I whispered, "mummy and daddy might hear, remember? Now, this is how it is, Dale. I know, I know, it hurts now; but by the end, my lad, oh, by the end, you'll just take whatever I give you. And I'll take whatever I fuckin want from you. And do you know why?"
Part coughing, part crying, part enduring a heart attack, he stammered, "Y...you FUCK! I-I-I di-di-didn't think you'd," I suddenly pulled back, and savagely sawed up into his working-class straight ass again, "DO IT AGGGHHHH STOP, pleash for fucs' shake, PLEASE STOP!"
I reared myself up behind him, keeping one hand on his dick, putting the other to his neck, forcing him down into his pillow, saliva going everywhere as he coughed and cried. "Because, it's important that good, taxpaying citizens like me, take a stand," I said, and pulled back momentarily before pushing forward again with all my strength, far easier this time, as I could now use my entire body to push myself forward into him. "This is my reparations, mate. And you know what else? Whenever I fuckin' want more reparations, I don't care how drunk you are, or what state you're in, I'm gonna come back here, and fuckin' take it. Maybe in future, I'll take your ass again -- it's such a nice one, after all. Or maybe, if you've been a good boy, doing what you're told -- whether it's helping old ladies with their shopping, or sucking my nuts whilst I finish my marking, I'll help myself to some of that baby slop in your bollocks? After all, once you get into this new system, kiddo, you'll be taking whatever relief you can get -- you'll be in no position to complain, will you? Flat on your back, legs in the air. Oh, and it'll be up to YOU to explain to mum and dad. Good deal, huh?"
"AHAGH," he moaned, loudly, but not as loudly as previously.
I went on, knowing that reinforcement and repetition was key to cementing his new way of life in his sex-addled head. "Yeah, you like the deal. Ya know, right from the start, I've been wantin to get a piece of this butt. I didn't know if you played sport, but I guessed at football -- you runners and kickers have the best asses, AND you fuckin' know it. But I know how close-minded you peacocks can be, so I thought it'd be pretty damn difficult to get into your guts -- but you, you little fuckin' slut, you made it SOOOO easy for me, didn't you? You were no fucking challenge; you were barely sport." Again, again and again I went into him, maintaining a good, strong rhythm, which allowed me to continue talking. "Yeah, you made it easy for me. You didn't want it, to begin with, as such,"
"P-PLEASEEEEE STOPPPP" He still struggled against me, sometimes exercising great effort in attempting to break free, often less so; but his freedom of movement was limited, given the heel of my hand was pressing down onto the skinny shrimp's neck.
"But I reckon you were pretty fuckin' intrigued by it all -- by surrendering yourself to a proper man; to see what it's like. Well NOW. YOU. FUCKING. KNOW. And it ain't that bad, is it, kiddo?"
"Just...please,"
"Yeah, don't worry, mate, you'll get that cum I've been promising you. But I get my fill first, ok? That's the way it works. I always come first, because I'm always in charge, right? You're never in charge, because you're too fucking stupid to be in charge. I get your ass, and then, you get your cum as a little treat. That's how it works now kiddo, ok?"
The faster I fucked the smashed chav, the more resigned he became to it all; he initially tried to move one way or the other, in an effort to `avoid' my dick, and as it just made the feeling more intense for me, him inadvertently flexing and straining the muscles in his rectum, I didn't object; but after a while, he simply gave up, no doubt hoping it'd soon all be over. At that point, I knew it was only a matter of time until his groans of dismay turned into groans of pleasure, with me letting go of his neck so he could raise his capped head and put one hand on the wall infront of him to steady himself as he panted, "Urgh...urgh...urghhhh...umm, ahhhh..."
Sensing he was on the verge of erupting, I stopped jacking him, my hand returned to fondling his nuts whilst I forced the index and second finger, slick with sweat, past his unresisting mouth and teeth. Like a learned response, he immediately started sucking.
"Taste that, Dale? That's what you fuckin' smell of. You smell like your cock when it's ready to breed. You fuckin' stink of it."
As he sucked like a contented baby, on a whim, I reached down for one of his heavy Adidas trainers. Raising it above the prone lad's back, I brought it down on his ass hard, in time with my thrusts, the loud slap and the resulting scream dominating the boy's bedroom, although the scream sounded more like a pained gurgle given he had half my hand in his mouth.
"Yeah, this means I fucking OWN you, you stupid daft cunt. How much did these designer trainers cost you? Eh? Remember standing in the shop, with your mates, buying em? Handing over the dole money and getting a nice shiny shoe box in return? Maybe you only bought em because you wanted to get chatting with the pretty sales girl? Well now some bloke you just met is spanking yer ass with `em whilst he fucks you. Pretty unwise purchase in the grand scheme of things, eh? Stupid fuckwit." I whacked him again, and again, leaving a big red mark on his butt cheek, seared with the indentations of the zig-zag shapes on the sole of his shoe.
Dropping the shoe and removing my hand from his mouth, I pulled out, and putting both hands under his armpits, tossed him over onto his back like a rag-doll. He laid there, beaten, still playing the big boy trying to stifle his whimpers, as I put a socked size 10 foot on each of my shoulders, being careful to avoid the electronic tag, before re-entering him again, looking into his angular, hard-edged, tear-stained face as I did so: delighting in the wide-eyed stare as my cock head once again pierced his unhappy sphincter, the smell of sex momentarily overtaken in my senses by the natural, but clean smell of his feet.
As I thrusted in and out more slowly this time, I leant down, slobbering over each of his nipples, small, delicately erect little things, licking and biting each one. I felt his heart beat ten to the dozen as I ran my tongue along the fine, invisible hairs that layered his juvenile chest, the only movement from him coming when I thrust into him, his black toes curling in disgustingly sweet pleasure. Wanting to see exactly how flexible the lean teen was, I pushed his legs back towards him, so they were nearly perpendicular to his torso. I reinforced it by bearing down on him; me lying flat on his chest, keeping him stable with one hand on his shoulder whilst the other caressed, teased, and steadily milked the lad's red-hot poker, its taut flesh sticky with chav sweat and sandwiched between the two of us. I was nuzzling, kissing and gently biting his neck like a pro; making his heart go all-a-flutter, I'm sure.
I licked his ear as I spoke into it. "Yeah, Dale, you're such a good little bitch, aren't you."
"Hmm." He didn't like how much he liked it. He wrapped one of his arms around my back, no doubt hating himself for doing so. "That's right mate; tthhaatt'ss right, get a good grip; get some purchase; the fuck'll be better that way. Just think back to what a girl does when you're fuckin her, and do that, ok, mate? Yeah, think back to how bitches you've really fuckin ploughed into have coped with it all. Cos you're in pretty much the same situation as them, mate. And I bet you really fuckin love it, don't you?"
"Hurgh," he grunted in response, his face contorted in pleasure, hoping to hide from the shame of it all by burrowing his head into the crook of my neck.
I laughed between grunts of my own. "Don't worry, kiddo. You don't have to say anything. We both know you fuckin love it. That's why you're on your back, legs on your chest, fermenting a nice big load of filthy slime in your balls for me, ain't it?"
"Ahhaa..."
"Yeah, don't worry, I ain't forgotten; you've been a very good boy today, Dale, which means you get a good, hard cum -- but not before your good, hard fuck, ok?"
My little speech was interrupted by a loud banging on the door; every muscle in Dale's body tensed in fear. We both knew there was no lock on his door. His wide brown eyes stared at me intently in the silence as I very slowly withdrew my cock. A male voice boomed through the room. "I don't care HOW GOOD A FUCK SHE IS, would you two SHUT THE FUCK UP."
Dale silently mouthed to me, "my brother."
I smiled. I felt like shouting, "easier said than done, Dale's brother! She's getting the fucking of her life!" But obviously, I didn't, choosing instead to leave it to Dale to sort out. After all, I was a little preoccupied. "Yer, s-sorry, CA-HAHA-HAARL," I'd decided to ram back into his insides at that point, causing one of his legs, which had broken free, to wrap around my back and his lean arms wrap around my neck, binding the two of us together.
"Jesus fuckin' Christ," I heard Carl mumble, "sounds like a good'un."
I leaned down to Dale's face again, kissing his cheek; biting his fat ruby-red lips, as I muttered so only the lad I was fucking could hear, "oh, she is a good'un, Carl. Ain't you, Dale? Tell your bro what a good lay you are."
"Uggh..."
"Aren't you, Dale? You're the best bitch a man could have, aren't you? Fucking say it."
"I'm the...b-b-b-est, bbbbITCH, a m-man could...have..."
"Sure you are, sweetie. And you know what saying that means? It means you're a good boy. And what do good boys get?"
"T-too...cum?"
"That's right, Dale. You get to shoot that load you've been brewin' in your nuts all night, getting all randy and half-hard with your mates. I know you were hoping to dump it in some bird but, well, I guess this'll just have to do, won't it? But first we have to take care of me, don't we?"
"Hmmmm..."
Pulling out of him, I straddled his chest, yanking off the bright red prophylactic, jacking myself as I looked at his sweet young face, slick with sweat and spit, his eyes, now a lot more focussed then they had been an hour before -- think I must of fucked the intoxication out of him. "Open wide, baby. Open up," I said soothingly. He frowned, and very gently shook his head.
"I said," I began, sticking my two fingers in his mouth and forcing it open, "Open...fucking...wide, baby. And keep it open." He did, staring at me, with his mouth open as far as it'd go. "Now for that, you're gonna get a punishment before you get your reward. Stick out your tongue. STICK OUT YOUR FUCKING TONGUE."
He suddenly stuck out his tongue. "Close your eyes, Daley. If you really are straight, you'll want to close your eyes for this bit." With his eyes closed, no doubt expecting me to shoot over his face; may try and get a few squirts in his mouth, he was unprepared for me as, just as I reached the point of no return, I got a good grip on his skull and slid my cock firmly down his gullet, firing off 5 good, long streams of jizz. He coughed and spluttered, heavily, with some of my pearly white cum dripping down out of his noise.
"Keep breathing," I intoned, my cock still down his throat, "keep breathing, and drink it all down. Drink it all down, or you'll suffocate. It's that simple. Now go on, drink it all down, then you can cum." I delighted in seeing his Adams Apple bob as, with his eyes still closed, he gulped down the protein I'd just fed him. "Good lad," I said, patting him on the head. "Time for Dale to cum, eh? He's been SUCH a good boy, after all."
Chapter Four ------------ He grudgingly nodded as I reached behind his head, helping myself to the pillow he was resting on, and quickly scooted down the bed, off his chest and between his long legs. I once again picked each of his feet up in my hands, and pushed them towards his chest. "Take these," I instructed. He grabbed his legs at the knee, and I forcefully pushed them back until they were more or less resting on his chest, the black Nike socked feet at a 90 degree angle to the rest of him, pointing skyward, his electronic tag still securely fastened to the right ankle. "Hold them there." I shoved the pillow under his ass, raising it, and settled myself down on my knees in the space between his stinky, upturned thighs.
Running my nose along the shaft like it were a fine cigar, I finally got to relish the breeding scent of the boy up close, direct from the source. I separated my lips to take in the head, and swiped my tongue across it, taking up some of the sticky lad-dew that had collected there. Because Dale wasn't a dripper, I relished it even more, given how little of it his body secreted. Whilst my mouth was busy pleasing his cock, the nails of my fingers sensuously raked through the little damp hairs on the back on his firm thighs; up and down, up and down.
Running my tongue down the side of the obelisk-like shaft, my tongue descended into the long, salty, curly brown hairs framing his dick, which I proceeded to suck and chew on, with my nose immersed in the stale unwashed bush above his cock. I went on to chew and suck on the matted hairs of the compliant chav's bursting, succulent ballsack, before softly taking each of his full nuts in my mouth, giving them both the clean they sorely needed.
Dale, who was grunting and mewling like a dog, holding onto his long legs like his life depended on it, constantly reminded me of the orgasm he sorely needed.
Leaving his nuts be, I returned to the fleshy stalk protruding with need from between his legs, planting kisses along it, my lips sticky and salted by the time I reached the tip, where my lips separated and began to take him into my mouth, inch by inch. By the time my nose was being tickled by the wet hairs in his bush once again, His legs were solid; his toes, scrunched into a tight bundle of contracted muscle, and he was moaning loudly, crunching his abs and curling his entire body in an effort to somehow get deeper into my mouth. Putting one hand on his butt cheek to keep control over the boy, I withdrew my mouth entirely from his dick for the briefest of moments, swiping my tongue greedily across the head, before again descending, this time, as quickly as I could -- which was pretty damn quick.
"Ah-AH-ARGHH," he moaned in pleasure, unintentionally doing a pretty good pirate impression. I only did this a couple more times before I could tell he was close; removing my mouth from his groin completely, I gripped his cock in my fist, and it took just a few firm tugs before he was shooting with wild abandon, with two streams hitting his face, him growling animalistically, trying in vain to stay quiet, but screaming, "YER, oh YER, FUCKer," with another couple of white pellets hitting his chest, and the rest flowing down the shaft into his pubes.
I took great delight in licking up the scally sap from his undefined chest, before licking his face and neck, too, whispering, "see, Dale? I'm a man of my word, aren't I? And that was a pretty strong cum from you, wasn't it? I'd wager your dole money that the council estate girls you fuck to pass the time don't manage to wring as much juice out of your balls as I just did, do they?"
"Mmm...N..nnooo..."
"Good boy for being honest. Now clean yourself off," I shoved my hand in his mouth before he could say anything or react, causing him to cough again, but knowing what fingers in his mouth meant, he sucked away, either knowingly or unknowingly greedily sucking down his own babies from my fingers as he did so.
"Good boy. So I'm gonna take off, and get some sleep. When you wake up tomorrow, you're probably gonna think this was some terrible, slightly interesting, dream. So I'm gonna write my name, and my phone number, on this piece of paper here. And when you see it, this conversation will come flooding back to you, and you'll remember that it wasn't a dream -- that it actually fucking happened, and that it was the best experience of your life to date. Then, RIGHT then, you're gonna dial this number, from your mobile, with you here in your room, lying on the bed I just fucked you on, and we'll do a little interview, when your sober, about what a good little bitch you can be for me, and that'll make our deal go ahead -- and I don't care how fuckin hungover you are; it has to be tomorrow, or the deal's off. Ok? It's your choice kiddo."
A man of my word, I left Dale's council house, and went back to my own place, in a far leafier part of town. I had set my terms with Dale, but of course, I intended to win the lad over, regardless -- if he didn't contact me, well, I'll just send him a portion of the video I taped -- the bit where I shot my seed down his throat, maybe, along with a note, telling him how it'd be a REALLY good idea for him to contact me, if he didn't want to get outed as the only gay on the council estate. But, given what a natural bitch Dale was -- really, a first class little cum slut -- I had a feeling that wouldn't be necessary.
Sure enough, at 10am on Sunday, my ringing phone interrupted my restful slumber.