Date: Sat, 26 Jan 2002 00:43:17 -0500 From: a gloomy pharmacist Subject: making a man out of mark, part 6 F. F for failure. F for fucked. Mark was fucked. Really, really fucked. He really hadn't been concentrating on his schoolwork much, between working out and fucking everybody he could get his hands on. Mark was going to be on the football team when he got to the high school the next year. If he didn't fail English first. The coach form the high school had recruited him that fall, showing him how things got done when you got to high school. They gave each other blowjobs, and over the course of the winter they started fucking. Mark also sucked off quite a few of the current high school team, and some of them returned the favor. Every day he wasn't at the high school he was playing with his friend Christian. The prior fall the two boys had gone to see Christian's brother, who was in college, and Mark ended up fucking not only Christian and his brother, but also his brother's girlfriend. Since then Mark had taken every opportunity to get his hands on pussy, too, and he'd popped about half the cherries in his class by the time spring rolled around. But now he had an F in English. His average for the year was a D-, and if he didn't bring it up at least a full letter he wouldn't be able to go to high school, and worse, he wouldn't be able to play football. He was hopeless by this point, and thought about crying as his teacher stood over him, showing him all his work. He threw the test papers and essays onto Mark's desk carelessly, treating them like the shit they were. 47. 54. 28. These were Mark's most recent test scores. Mark hated his teacher, but deep down knew it was his own fault. Still, if he didn't get into high school Mark vowed he'd get back at his teacher, who was prattling on and on about how he was always there to help if Mark would go after school. Fuck that, Mark thought. I've got better things to do after school. He sighed. As soon as his meeting with the teacher was over, Mark jumped on his bike and pedaled the short distance to the high school. Once his parents got his report card, which would arrive by the end of the week, he'd be grounded for sure. So he thought he'd meet with the Coach, to see if he could think of something to get out of this. He parked his bike outside the school and ran down the stairs to the basement, where Coach Walker's office was. They met on the stairs. The Coach had his coat on and looked like he was on his way out. He was talking to one of the gym teachers. "Oh, Hi Mark," he said. "What's wrong? You look kinda tense." "Can I talk to you for a minute?" Mark said, not really pausing in-between words. Coach Walker looked at the gym teacher. "Sure," he said to Mark. "Wait for me," he said to the gym teacher, and they made their way down to the Coach's office. He unlocked the door, turned on the light, and they went in. "You know, Mark, today might not be the best day." "It's okay," said Mark. "But I need to talk to you. I might be failing English." The Coach looked at him, surprised. He'd been under the impression that Mark was pretty brainy, for a jock. "You know what that means, Mark?" Mark nodded, and looked panicked. "Look, just relax," the coach said, making his way over to Mark. He started rubbing the boy's shoulders. "God, you're tense. You need to relax. Now, how bad is it? Can you bring the grade up?" "I doubt it," Mark said. "I haven't got a chance, especially since Mr. Bartlett hates me." "Hates you? Don't say that, he doesn't hate you. Wait a sec, did you say Mr. Bartlett?" "Yeah." "Joe Bartlett?" "Yeah, I think so. Why?" "Shit, kid, I know Joe. He taught here for fifteen years before he went over to the middle school. He's a pushover!" "What do you mean?" Mark asked, knowing what the Coach meant but not believing it. "I mean you can fuck him! Jesus, kid, I thought you'd have been good enough to sniff out a pansy by now. The guy's a freak." "You're.... kidding..... right?" "Mark, the guy used to come down here and make my kids tie him up." "Really?" "Yeah, kid. Go back there and tell him to give you a B or else you'll fuck him up the ass so hard your dick'll pop out of his nose. See what he does." "I don't know...." "Do you think he's still there now? I can go with you, we can tag team him. He loves it." "No," Mark said. "He was leaving right when I came over here, he'll be gone by now." "Well, how about this? I can meet you over there after school tomorrow.... Oh, no, wait, tomorrow's out, I have to go somewhere. Look, you can do this on your own. I've got--" He was cut off by a knocking at the door. Without waiting for an answer, the gym teacher came in and saw the Coach rubbing Mark's shoulders. He looked a little bit disappointed. "Sorry, I was just, uh, wondering if you were gonna be long." "It's okay, Bill. I was just telling Mark here how he needs to go visit Joe Bartlett and not take no for an answer." "Joe Bartlett? Fuck, you're lucky if you get to ball him, kid. He'll do whatever you say. I used to piss on him sometimes." Mark looked at the gym teacher, whom he'd never even met before, and thought about this piece of information. He tried to imagine Mr Bartlett getting pissed on. It was almost a turn-on, in a way, to see the bastard degraded after standing there so smugly, throwing Mark's papers around like they weren't worth anything. "And pull on his balls," the gym teacher said. "Hard. He loves that. Pull on them with your teeth." The gym teacher looked over at Coach Walker, who was getting a visible bulge in his khaki shorts. Coach Walker looked back at the gym teacher, whose hard nipples were almost breaking through his cotton t-shirt. Then they both looked at Mark, who looked really, really tense. "Mark," Coach Walker said. "You need to relax." "Yeah," said the gym teacher. "Relax." Mark didn't resist when the gym teacher walked over to him and knelt down in front of him. Not did he resist when the gym teacher unzipped Mark's jeans and gripped his member. He didn't resist when the gym teacher started jerking him off, either, or when the gym teacher grabbed the boy's cock, which was hard by now, and slid it into his mouth. Mark may have been tense, but he was horny as hell, and the sight of this perfect stranger kneeling down to give him a blowjob was a turn-on. The gym teacher was probably almost thirty, muscular but not really built like the Coach was. He looked like a swimmer. He had dark brown hair, cut like a Marine, but he had a sweet face and reddish cheeks that made him look a little like the boy next door, or the kind of boy you always dreamed lived next door. Instinctively, Mark reached behind him and fumbled in the Coach's pants. The Coach never let go on Mark's shoulders as Mark fished out the Coach's massive dong. He kneaded it in his hands, and then reached behind the Coach and drew him nearer. The Coach was now standing with his back pressed to Mark, and out of the corner of his eye Mark could see the head of the great juicy beast. He turned his head to the side and began to lick up and down Coach Walker's shaft. By now they knew each other's likes and dislikes, and the Coach liked his dick licked rather than sucked. It was a weird position they were in, but Mark reached up and with his thumb started prodding the head. The kid wasn't very tense anymore. It wasn't long before Mark busted his nut in the gym teacher's mouth, setting forth a flood of goo. The gym teacher kept sucking as Mark's dick deflated, a strange feeling. He looked down and saw the teacher, still pounding away, strands of jizz hanging from his lips. Coach Walker interrupted. "Okay, Bill, you got the kid off. Now let him go home and you can work on me." Mark turned around. He thought he would have been the one to get the Coach off. "You've got some homework to do, kid," Walker said. "And I don't want you to tire yourself out before your date with the freak tomorrow afternoon." Reluctantly, Mark zipped up his jeans and left. The next day came, and Mark was getting so nervous about his plan for the afternoon that it was all he could think about. He wondered about the sex lives of his other teachers. Mr Baker, the science teacher, probably hadn't fucked his wife in three years, maybe longer. Mr Smith who taught algebra was probably a stallion, with a nine-inch dick that probably got quite a lot of use back in the day. Now that he was about fifty he probably calmed down a little, but he wondered if maybe he didn't keep a girl or two around. Mr Kaplan who taught history had a reputation around the school for being a flirt. It was said by some of the students that he'd gotten caught balling one of the other teachers in the book room, although Mark doubted it. Still, it gave him an idea.... By English class, Mark's plan was set. He sat through the period thinking about the things he could do to get back at Mr Bartlett. Piss was a nice idea, but Mark didn't really see it as very erotic. He studied Mr Bartlett. He was probably in his mid-40's, skinny and balding. He wore blue corduroy pants and a blue shirt that was unbuttoned at the top, letting his chest hair peek out. He was about six feet even. His hair had been dark brown once, although now it was mostly gray, what was left of it. He wouldn't be the cutest guy Mark had ever fucked, but a boy has to do who a boy has to do. English was the last class of the day, so when the bell rang the rest of the class was especially eager to get their asses out of there as fast as they could. Mark lingered, though, a little bit nervous but feeling pretty confident now that he'd talked to the coach and gotten some tips from the gym teacher. Bartlett was sitting at his desk, looking down. Mark wasn't sure if he even knew he was there, or if he thought he was alone. After a minute or so the teacher looked up. "Yes, Mark? What can I do for you?" Mark was ready. He was wearing a sweatshirt that made him look bigger, and shorts that showed off his newly hairy legs, despite the fact it was cold as hell outside. "I think you know what you can do for me," Mark said. "Excuse me?" Mr Bartlett said, looking up, probably afraid Mark was going to pull a gun or something. But instead he was just standing there. "You know what you can do for me. You can give me a B," Mark said. "Now why on earth would I give you a B?" the teacher said. "I give my students the grades they deserve." "And I deserve a B," Mark said, with an edge of authority in his voice. "Look, Mark, I don't really have time for this...." But Mark cut him off: "You have time for what I tell you you have time for." Mr Bartlett looked up. More precisely he looked up at Mark's shorts, which had a poke in them. God, the teacher thought, I'd love to get that in me. He stammered, trying to say something, but Mark cut him off again. "Take your shirt off," Mark said, and Mr Bartlett smiled. "Oh, I see what you're doing. You're trying to embarrass me. You've probably got a camera somewhere, and you're going to tell me to take off my shirt and I'm going to take my shirt off and you're going to tell everybody that I'm a fag and I hit on you and you're going to get me fired. Is that what you think? Because I'm not falling for it, I'm not going to sacrifice my----" He stopped, because Mark's shorts were down around his ankles, and the boy wans't wearing any underwear. "Take off your shirt, motherfucker," Mark said, and this time there was no hiding the edge in his voice. He took off his own shirt. Still, the teacher didn't move. He was in awe. Mark's body, while young, was incredibly muscular. He was still young enough that his skin was smooth and clean, although he'd gotten quite a bit of hir in his armpits and on his legs. His pubic hair had also grown in quite nicely. In a few years, Mr Bartlett thought, the kid's going to be really fierce. But now, he's just stunning. Mr Bartlett took his shirt off almost involuntarily, so swept away was he by Mark's body. He had a nice chest, not muscular but defined, with a lot of wiry black chest hair that got thicker as it moved down to his cute stomach. Mark found himself strangely turned on by the old bastard. "Good," he said. "I like that. Now your pants." The teacher stood up and pulled down his pants and boxers in one swipe. Mark saw that the man's legs were very hairy, and he gauged the man's dick at about seven inches, give or take. It wasn't the biggest he's come across, but it was sizable enough. What threw Mark off though was the teacher's foreskin. He'd never seen one of those before, in person. He hadn't realised how much of a pushover the guy really was, though; school hadn't even ended ten minutes ago and he was already naked. The halls probably weren't even empty yet. With that thought Mark walked over to the door and put a desk in front of it. It wouldn't actually stop anything, since the door opened out of the room, but at least it would buy them a second or two in case anybody should walk in. "You horny bastard. Can't even wait to get your hands on me, can you? What if somebody walks in? Did you think of that? What if somebody walks in in a minute and sees me fucking your dirty old asshole? I bet you'd like that, wouldn't you? You'd probably get off if you knew somebody was watching you, you sad bastard." Mr Bartlett looked hurt, cute. Mark wanted to kiss him and punch him at the same time. He reached out and grabbed his teacher's thick mass of black pubic hair, yanking it to draw the older man into him. When they were face to face Mark spoke, angrily, spitting the words out. "I want you to get down on your knees right now, and I want you to suck my cock. Mr Bartlett obeyed, expertly deep throating Mark's schlong so that the whole length of it was stuffed down his throat in seconds. Mark was immediately satisfied, but tried to keep up his front, so he grabbed hold of Mr Bartlett's head and forced it into him, hard, so that his own body quaked with the impact. He tried to think of something to say. "Good boy," was all he could come up with, but it seemed to work just fine. It gave him a strange pleasure to act this out, to see the motherfucker on his knees. Mark got so hot thinking about his teacher that in a few minutes he yanked the guy's head off his cock, for fear he'd blow his load too soon. "Lie down," Mark said. "On your back." Mr Bartlett looked at Mark and then did as he was told. "Now," the boy said, "I'm going to sit on your face. And you're going to eat my asshole." Mark had never experienced rimming firsthand before, because it seemed kind of degrading. Still, he was curious when he heard the older guys talking about it, and his teacher seemed to get off on being degraded, so he figured what the hell. He knelt down over his teacher's neck, which needed to be shaved, and backed down so that the cheeks of his ass gently graced Mr Bartlett's lips. The teacher responded eagerly, first licking Mark's smooth white ass and then forcing his face deep inside, spreading the cheeks with his own cheeks. His tongue reached out and struck gold. Mark squeaked with glee as Mr Bartlett began to slurp on his master's anus. He blew and sucked, licked and probed in ways Mark had never felt before. Atop his bitch, Mark felt like a king. He began to jack himself off, looking at the body underneath him: the dark chest hair that led down to the tanned stomach, which in turn led to a great mane of pubic hair. Standing tall in the dark garden was Mr Bartlett's seven inch obelisk, complete with foreskin. Cirously, Mark leaned over and grabbed at it, pulled it. Mr Bartlett stiffened. "Keep eating, bitch," Mark said. "Don't mind what I'm doing." Secretly he wanted to suck his teacher's cock, but their roles didn't allow for anything mutual, and Mark didn't want to fuck up his grade. "You ready to get your ass stretched, you filthy bastard?" Mr Bartlett said something, although his voice was muffled by the ass that was burying his face. Without warning Mark stood up. Mr Bartlett actually wimpered. "Shut up," Mark growled, grabbing the hairy stalks that were his teacher's legs, swinging them up into the air. Clutching them tightly, Mark got down on the ground, his dick leading the way. Soon after Mr Bartlett was moaning loudly as Mark roughly plunged his dick into his teacher's asshole. Mark put his arms under Mr Bartlett's furry armpits, to that every thrust was like doing push-ups. His face was pushed close against his teacher's unshaven chin, which had so recently ticked his ass. He wanted to bite into the older man's neck, but he controlled himself. He wanted to pass English, not pop the bastard's jugular. With every thrust the teacher moaned, and the harder Mark pushed the louder he moaned. Finally, Mark feared somebody might hear them, so he instinctively raised his head up and spit in the older man's mouth. Mr Bartlett gasped with ecstasy, so Mark did it again. "You sick fuck," he muttered. "You're a sick, sick fuck." Mr Bartlett nodded. He really was a sick fuck, who liked nothing better than having thirteen-year old boys rape him. Mark knew this, so he wasn't gentle like he was with Christian or any of the girls he got into bed; he fucked hard and deep, rocking the older man's body until they were both completely covered in sweat. Finally, Mark was ready to come. Mr Bartlett was ready to come too, but Mark didn't care. He pulled out of his teacher's ass and rammed his dick down Mr Bartlett's throat once more. The dark, ugly smell from deep within the teacher's asshole was now deep in his mouth, and he loved it. He sucked with even more enthusiasm than he did the first time. Mark wanted to see the action, though, so he pulled Bartlett's head off his prick once again; just looking at the guy's eyes, sad because they couldn't suck any more, drove Mark to orgasm. He fired round after round of hot goo onto Mr Bartlett's face, even getting it in his eyes and hair. The cum hung off his unshaven cheeks, and he licked what he could from his lips. The guy was soaked. "God," Mark said. "Look at yourself. You sad, sorry, sick son of a bitch. You're covered in cum and you're just begging for more. You need to be cleaned up, that's what you need. You need to be washed down." Mark knew what he was doing. As he talked his dick deflated somewhat quickly, and soon he was filled with the usual post-fuck need to piss. Mr Bartlett still lay on the floor, clumsily fumbling with his cock; Mark stood over him, his dick still so close to the teacher's face that he could feel the breath against his balls. He backed up a little, and let out a torrent of piss on Mr Bartlett's face. The bastard opened his mouth to srink in what he could; Mark didn't get it, really, but he liked being in the position of power. He enjoyed doing this. The post-fuck piss is always a messy one, and Mark's flew in all directions. By the time he was done he felt something hitting his back. It was his teacher, finally blowing his own load. Mark was pounded with seven or eight gushes of the juice. By now he wasn't sure what to do with it, so he lay on his stomach on the floor. "Lick it off me," he commanded, and his teacher obeyed. He climbed atop Mark and attempted with relish to lick the boy's back clean. When he was done he leaned into the boy's ear and whispered, the piss still on his breath, "Don't worry about your grade, Mark." Mark smiled.