Date: Sun, 13 Aug 2023 19:54:28 +0000 From: kleiner.gespenst Subject: Lessons from the Granny Flat | Part 3 A 7th Grader's relationship with his tutor deepens. If you enjoy this story, or any of the works here on Nifty, please chip in to keep the lights on: http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html ====================== I may have detested math, but I was learning all about ratios while Michael was visiting his family during the Christmas break. Basically, every day he was gone, I grew geometrically hornier, and I could only dream of what my homework tutor would have in store for the next time we'd roll around in the guest house he rented from my parents. Such is the power of a young boy's wishful thinking. Michael and I had only shared sex once before, and yet I was sure "the next time" was a done deal. My imagination was working on overtime. Thankfully, Michael had clued me in on hand lotion before he left, or I might have ended up in the emergency room, with my dick in traction. For Christmas, he'd given me the gift of homosexual pornography. At 12-and-a-half, I hadn't even known such a thing existed, until I'd opened the package of two mags. And for the next two weeks, I'd been beating my meat senseless to images of twinks doing things to one another I could only hope Michael might do with me. Time seemed frozen until his return, with me acting like a love-sick puppy. My dad thought it hero-worship, while my mom and sister guessed more accurately (though they said nothing at the time). Anyway, when Michel finally made it back, on New Year's Eve, I'd pictured us watching the count-down together, then kiss until morning. So, you can imagine how bummed I was when he barely stopped by to say hello, before heading out for the night with his "best friend" Chuck. And then, he disappeared for a week, sending me into a quiet spiral of rejection. My parents had cut Michael's rent, because he was tutoring me through math and science, so he couldn't avoid me forever. I can't remember specifics, given that it was back in the late 1980s, but at our next session, he seemed a little nervous and formal, while helping me through homework. Also, he'd started our work later than usual, so there wouldn't be much time to play video games, afterwards. It seemed clear he was trying to cut down on alone time with me, and I sank into disappointment. While we worked, I had a tough time concentrating, day dreaming about sucking on Michael's big boy meat. Eventually, my left hand slipped down onto his steely, gymnast's thigh. I'd only caressed it for a moment before he moved it back onto the table, and admonished me to focus on the work. I whined, and that lead to A Serious Talk. "T, you're a special boy - my special friend. You're like a little brother. But..." Chuck was more than his best friend. He was Michael's boyfriend - something they kept on the down low in that intolerant state, in that homophobic time. Michael and I had a unique friendship - one where he said we could express ourselves physically - but I wouldn't be replacing his secret boyfriend. I must have radiated sadness, because Michael quickly emphasized we'd play around, if I wanted; that we could, effectively, be friends with benefits. But just not his boyfriend. I perked up. This would be fine with me, I told him. "When we do things together, though, it has to be as special as our friendship," he said, and not as gratuitous as jerking off. For that, he'd always keep me well supplied with porn. "Um, when can we..?" Michael paused to think, then smiled, inwardly amused. "When's your next math quiz?" "Thursday. We'll get our grades on Friday." "OK. If you get a `B,' that get's you a boner rub. A `C' and you're `cashed out.'" "What about an A?" I asked with a smirk. Michael chuckled with amused disbelief. Still, he didn't throw a wet blanket on my wet dreams. "Let's say an `A' gets you something `awesome.'" And that's how my tutor helped me get to a 4.0 average by the end of the year, motivating me through my fleshy STEM. The work was hard - painfully, ecstatically hard. Meantime, that afternoon, I tore into algebra and cell biology like a gopher in a vegetable patch. And I yearned to "solve for X," if it meant the solution lay in Michael's pants. When we finished, I expected Michael to usher me out, given it was like 15 minutes before my family usually had dinner. But instead, Michael wrote out a pop quiz. Giving me a sly smile, he pulled me onto his lap. Looking down at the five hand-written problems laying on the table, I felt a distinct swelling under my little buns, and my heart started pounding. "Let's see how many you get right," he said, handing me the pencil. His left hand caressed my skinny chest. The first question, about cellular walls, was easy. In reward, Michael hugged me with one hand, while the other glided between my legs. His big, 20-year-old finger stroked the front of sweat pants, drawing all the blood into my corpus spongiosum. Though the second question was almost as easy, it was tough to concentrate. I mean, you try answering a question about mitosis when a finger is steam-rolling your pipe. Still, I got it right. "You're doing great, bud. Hard work pays off." Michael's lips touched my ear, and I shivered. Then I groaned, because he'd untied my sweat pants, and slipped his hand in. Now, his finger was coasting on the Hallelujah Highway along my snug and steamy briefs. I had to grit my teeth for an algebra problem. It was similar to one we'd covered earlier, so it should have been a snap. But that light, steady tickling - flesh separated from flesh by a fluffy cotton membrane - made a simple problem very complex. Still, I got the third right, and felt the immediate reward of two fingers around my turgid little prong - albeit, still through my underwear. "You're almost there, T." Fucking friction on both sides of my dick. Feather-light, but twice as powerful, polishing me with soft cotton. It was wonderful, and a horrible distraction for a more difficult equation. But I bit my lip, doing my best to ignore the friction, and actually solved the problem. He kissed my ear again, and told me I was killing it. "Please, Michael. Jack it harder!" But he wouldn't. Not until I solved the last two problems, and it was excruciating working through the fourth with him wanking me at a glacial speed. It was like two caterpillars crawling on either side of my wee teen willy. I tried my best to ignore that gentle rubbing. And dammit, with about 5 minutes to go, before my mom would inevitably call me back home for dinner, I got it right. "Yess!!" "Just one more to go, T, and I'll make you cum like a goddam race horse." I'd expected Michael would pull my dick out and wack it, skin-to-skin, but he merely tightened his grip through my briefs. At the same time, his other hand dove into the depths, to tickle my balls through their cotton basket. Waves of pleasure rolled back and forth on my little penis mercilessly. It was just fast enough that my breathing grew tattered, and I groaned with agonized pleasure. But it was nowhere near enough to pull my train into Ejaculation Station. "Gaaah! Michael..?!" "Just solve the problem, bud." Looking down at my lap, and seeing his hands in my sweatpants was a vision almost enough to push me over - but not enough. Growling with frustration and need, I studied the final problem, and did my best to work it out. But it wasn't based on what we'd covered that afternoon. In fact, it wasn't anything I'd gone through in my math class. And yet, the logic seemed to follow a familiar pattern. Why couldn't I get it? I took a couple of stabs, and both were wrong. "Here's where you should have gone, T," Michael murmured quietly into my ear. I whimpered when he pulled his hands out of my sweatpants, and took my pencil. He made sure I understood the logic, before lifting me off his lap. I started to beg him to finish what he started in my pants, but just then, the phone rang, with my mom calling me home to dinner. As I pulled on my boots, Michael stripped off his hoodie, and started to change for an evening gymnastics team workout. I wanted to linger and watch him suit up. Did he wear a jockstrap for practice? I wouldn't find out just then, because Michael smiled and pointed at the door with his chin. "See you Thursday, T. Oh, there'll be another another pop quiz." Another boner-popping quiz. I'd be ready. In the meantime, I trudged home, with my swollen hardness held tightly against my hairless pubic mound by my snug briefs. It ached so badly, and yet I couldn't submit to its demands until I went to bed much earlier than usual. My parents were baffled by my dedication to homework, on Wednesday. After swim practice on Thursday, I was drunk with images of the teens and tweens in the shower: wet, rubbery bodies streaming with the crystalline rivulets I wished were my cum. What a daydream, given that I could barely produce more than a dribble. Stopping by my room, and swapping out my school clothes for sweat pants and a t-shirt, I briefly considering fast and furious relief from my fantasies. But I was sure I'd pass Michael's exam. And even if I didn't, I loaded my deck by skipping underwear. How could he stop pleasuring me, once his fingers were on my real thing? I practically skipped through the snow to the granny flat. "How'd the test go, T?" I grinned, and told him truthfully I thought he'd be owing me a serious treat, when I got the grade the next day. Also, I wouldn't have swim practice, so I could show up at his place earlier. "That's a lot of time to play Zelda, if you got anything less than a "B," buddy. Let's get to work." Side by side, we were all business. Exercising mental muscles that hurt using, I was getting more rigorous about this kind of workout. The next 90 minutes didn't exactly sail by, but it was getting a little easier, despite my lurking desires. Finally, it was Quiz Time, and Michael wrote out 5 questions, then I sat myself on his swollen fly. I know he wanted to mess around as much as me, but I had the self-control of an almost-13-year-old, and he was a 20-year-old master of his domain. I breezed through the first question. Over time, I'd figure out he deliberately made these easy, so that by the second question, his index finger would always be doing laps along the front of my sweatpants. And usually, I dispensed with the second problem almost as quickly as the first, inviting his fingers into my track bottoms. But that afternoon, while Michael untied my sweats, I inwardly grinned at the surprise in store for him. Sure enough, touching my hard little surprise, he briefly froze. "Going commando today, T?" Michael chuckled, then his finger lightly caressed my pounding pestle. "Pretty sneaky, buddy." He read my plan exactly, and wasn't taking the bait. He merely tickled my length at an even slower pace than normal, making me squirm, and I struggled through the third question, trying to ignore the itchy twinges tormenting my tool. Still, I nailed it, and I hoped he'd grown uncontrollably horny from touching me. I pushed my slender little ass onto groin meaningfully, while I turned to give him a quick peck on the lips. Michael chuckled at my sadly amateurish ploy. "The test ain't over, bud." Instead of stroking me with two fingers, like on Tuesday, Michael slid his fingers down to my half-emergent scrotum. He tickled each of my nuts through the tight, smooth wrapper, then palmed them. I groaned. This was even worse. How could I even think about the fourth problem, with my 3 incher beating helplessly against my sweat pants? Every time my tender tip smacked against the course cotton, fierce sparkles burst down my insanely hard rod, driving me crazy. All the while, Michael slowly caressed my immature testicles with tender squeezes, and occasionally rubbed the spot half-way to my anus. With Herculean effort, I solved the equation correctly. "Good work, my man! Just one to go." His free hand slid into my sweats to join the party, and two fingertips held my rigid, quaking shaft, gently stroking me with the lightest caress. At the same time, Michael massaged my testicles steadily, and his middle finger crept into my crevice! I was sure that even if I didn't solve the final problem, his resistance would crumble. After all, his hard man meat was practically bursting through his jeans, throbbing with need against my cotton covered ass. As with our previous session, the fifth problem was just beyond my mental means. And that was part of the pattern Michael set for the rest of the academic year: increasingly difficult challenges, leading to a frustrating crescendo of failure, if I hadn't worked well beyond the bare minimum. Anyway, that day, I failed with two or three attempts. Michael defied reason (or at least my reasoning), pulling both of his out of my pants so he could show me how to solve the problem. I barely paid attention, pondering how he could defy the sorcery of my bare-fleshed magic wand. He lifted me off his lap, and I whined about how it was "unfair." "You just gotta work harder, T. Wanna play Zelda? Or Street fighter?" He walked over to game console, and I followed. When he turned around, I wrapped my fingers around the massive bulge stretching up his jeans. But he gently pulled my hand away. "Can't we..pleeease?" "Not today, amigo. Maybe tomorrow, depending on your math score." He wasn't going mess around, no matter how I pled. For once, I had no interest in gaming, needing to rush home and rub one out. That's when I found my "clever" plan was a double edged sword. With no underwear to secure my erection, my loose sweat pants were crowned with an obvious cone. Trying to get past my mom in the kitchen, I held my books awkwardly in front of my crotch, while she interrogated me about my day. Fuck! When I finally got to my room, I practically flayed my dick. And since that day, I've rarely gone commando. Still, my libido - insatiable already, well before the hormonal storm to come - was on full display the next day, when the graded test landed on my math class desk. Who gets a boner from a big, circled "A" on an algebra exam? This guy did. Angie - the girl sitting on my right - gasped, looking down with disgusted wonder at my hand, while I reflexively rubbed myself. I'm sure the rumors about the cute boy who ignored girls only grew weirder. Anyway, after school got out, I ran from the bus up to my room. I couldn't wait to get to the granny flat, but first, I wanted to wash up. I jumped in the shower for the third time that day (after getting up, and P.E.), scrubbing myself from head to toe. Mindful of how Michael had played with my behind the last, and only time we really messed around, I got on my knees, and docked the hand sprayer with backside. After Michael had fingered me, I'd been playing around back there every day, and in the shower I'd discovered the indescribable pleasure of a warm water douche. Of course, I'd lose track of time with that geyser flooding me, and rippling around my prostate. Sliding my fingers all over my soapy cock and balls, I'd whacked it so savagely, I almost fell on my face on the shower floor. Once, my sister had cracked the bathroom door and yelled at me to quit beating off and using all the hot water. That was the wake-up call to not be obvious in the bathroom. Sorry for the digression. Back to that Friday. I was much more efficient with the hand sprayer, cleaning myself thoroughly, while ignoring my raging hardness. Tucking my erection into my snug briefs and pulling on a nice pair of trousers and a long-sleeve shirt, I shot out of the still empty house, and trotted over to the cottage with my graded exam in hand. Michael could read the triumph on my smirking face. "Looks like someone's got some good news." "Looks like someone's going to have to pay up." "An `A?' Tommy, that's so rad!" Michael swept me up in his big powerful arms, and hugged me with uninhibited joy. "I'm so proud of you!" He set me down, and gazed into my eyes for a moment. "To the champion comes the prize." He led me by the hand into his small bedroom. I just wanted to just get naked and roll around, but I let him undress me slowly, button by button. Then, he undid his own shirt. The contrast between our upper bodies couldn't be more obvious. I was lean, and starting to build muscle from competitive swimming, while Michael's broad chest lead to thickly corded arms: the kind you can only get from rigorous gymnastics training. He caressed my torso for a few moments, and I copied him, wishing I had pecs and abs like Michael. With the grace of a waterfall, his fingertips cascaded down to my pants, and he undid them a little too slowly for my liking. He chuckled, clearly enjoying my squirming impatience. When my trousers dropped to my ankles, I stepped out of them, leaving skinny little 7th grade me in only my socks and underpants. My rigid desire was evident, tenting straight up the front my snug tighty whities. "You're so sexy, T," Michael muttered, and licked his lips. "You're just so fucking hot." Sitting me on the bed, he removed one sock, then kissed each of my toes, making me giggle. Then, he shocked me, by slowly sucking on my big toe. I moaned. I'd never thought of such a thing, and it was driving me nuts. It was even worse when he followed suit on my other foot. My cock lurched with the foreshadowing. Hoping to hurry things along when he released my foot, I sat back up, and undid Michael's belt and trousers. Unzipping him, I could feel his gargantuan man-sex lurking behind the woolen curtains. Pulling them down, I barely bothered to pull Michael's trousers away from his bare feet. I was too enthralled with six inches of love muscle stretching diagonally up his red bikini briefs. Bisecting a muscular, pelvic V, his skimpy Jockeys were all that hid the confluence of his leanly muscled torso, and his tremendously powerful thighs. A dot of dark of crimson marked where his cock leaked with anticipation, just below the waistband. Some instinct took over, and I clasped his hardness in a fist, and kissed his knob through his briefs. Michael sighed, and before I could do much more with him, he pulled me up lengthwise on the bed, then lay beside me. We gazed into each other's eyes for only a moment, before our lips met. It was the second time I'd ever been romantically kissed, and both times were with Michael. So, by then, I had a better idea of the rhythms of gentle smacks, the play of lips upon lips, all leading to tender tussling with our tongues. But familiarity didn't mean I'd grown any more patient, nor did it lessen the electric shock of his touch. All the while, he fondled and squeezed my buns like they were some rare treasures, and my erection throbbed into his solid belly. When I gave it a moment's thought, I couldn't see what he found alluring about little boy buns. Sure, mine were firm from swimming. But they were small, like little grapefruits. Meanwhile, I could never get a hand all the way around either of his hard-as-steel hams. Michael rolled me on my back, and knelt on either side of my legs. Crouching down, he kissed one of my nipples, then gently suckled on it, hardening it in a flash. His gentle bite made me gasp and shiver. Holding my nipple in place with his teeth, Michael throttled the blood-engorged cone with his tongue tip, and I spasmed and moaned. My hips were already in motion, pumping up at him, but met only air, and doing nothing more than make me fuck my own underpants. Michael held my hips down, until the moment passed. Knee-walking back, Michael kissed down to my belly button, while caressing my chest with one hand. His other index finger was delicately skating up and down my little piston, tickling me through my undies. His tongue drilled into my navel, tickling delightfully, and promising so much more. A moment later, he kissed down to my waistband, and he looked up at me, questioningly. The first and only other time we'd gotten this far, I'd been very shy, nervous about unveiling my undeveloped loins to a post-teenager. But by this time Michael had my complete trust, and I couldn't wait. Grinning widely, I nodded. "Go for it, man." Michael nuzzled my wagging bulge for a moment, then slowly pulled my stretchy underwear down. He loved a slow reveal, for sure, but at last, my hairless junk was freed, and I lifted my ass, so Michael could pull my briefs all the way off. I was so much more confident this time. When I was totally naked, I spread my legs widely, flopping them on either side of Michael. His gaze was like a heat ray on my prong. "You're such a little hottie, T." "Says the total stud," I replied, laughing. Michael rubbed his hands up and down the insides of my thighs for a moment, then clasped my little love hammer by the shaft, with a thumb and index finger. Delicately stroking me with one hand, he tickled my tight little scrotum with his other forefinger. Clearly, he was really into it, because the crimson dot of dampness was now the size of a quarter, and his tent pole stretched the fabric outward a couple of times, as if reaching for me. Michael's stroking digits halted, and he held me in place, while he curled down toward my cock. He kissed my knob reverentially, then licked the underside with his tongue tip. A shock surged down my tool, curling my toes. Then, I groaned, while he dragged his tongue around the circumference several times. At the same time, he started stroking me again, a little more firmly, while his other fingers pinched my ball sack skin, gently tugging on it. Michael sealed his lips around my helmet, and he continued licking it, while rhythmically sucking. The sensations combined into a wild fire sweeping through through my groin. I could feel my climax building, and I begged him to do me faster. Instead, he pulled both hands away, and I groaned with frustration. He'd only just begun. Michel bent my legs until my knees rested against my chest, converting my crack into a ovoid bowl, and exposing my tiny starfish to the air. Guiding my hands to the crooks, he told me to hold my knees in place. While he stuffed a nearby throw pillow under my lower back for support, I knew he was was going to play with my ass, but couldn't have guessed at how. Giving each of my buns tender kisses, he paused for a moment to study my clenching glory with a smile. Then, he submerged between my butt cheeks. I felt his lips peck my pucker. I giggled - but only for a moment. Then, Michael's tongue touched down on my tender landing zone. "AAAAAHHH! What are you DOING??" Michael answered without words. Sponging hot saliva all over my little anus, his tongue worked my ass like it were my mouth. Yeah, he was Frenching my butt and I cackled and squealed. My legs kicked out reflexively, and my hips jerked my ass away from Michael. He chuckled. "You're really digging this." "Oh, man, yes!...But isn't it kinda gross?" "Nope, bud. You're squeaky clean." In fact, he hadn't been sure he was gonna go down on me, until he lifted my legs up and smelled soap, and found my rectal bowl to be dishwasher clean. "You think you can hold your legs still?" "Uh-huh!" I pulled my knees back in position, and Michael caressed my thighs and buns. After a moment, he spread my firm little buttocks with both hands, and dove in again. Hot meat between my cheeks, twirling around my crinkled star. It was electric, and there was nothing like it. Yeah, I'd learned my ass was sensitive, but now it was as ticklishly tender as my cock. Speaking of which, my little soldier was pounding on my pre-pubescent pubis like it a parade drummer. Michael had barely started up before my legs kicked out again. He was amused, but after a couple more tries, declared that I was too ticklish. I begged him to keep eating me out. I'd heard "butt munch" as an insult at school. But now, it seemed like the gold standard of sex, and I craved more. Michael was suddenly inspired, and asked if I trusted him. Of course I did! Getting up to rummage in his closet, Michael's thighs were like rippling oaks, and his steely gymnast's buns dimpled with each stride, under his skin-tight bikini briefs. Jeez, he was so fucking luscious, I barely paid attention to what he pulled out of the closet: a couple of belts and bathrobe ties. Making sure I was OK with it, Michael tied each of my wrists to my ankles, then my elbows to my knees. When I was secured with my knees to my chest, I was totally helpless, and I didn't care. Michael, my tutor and friend would never hurt me. Moreover, being so vulnerable was kind of thrilling, and my turgid tool just fucking ached. Michael admired his work with a smile, while I studied the lurching anaconda in his red underpants. "So spankable, my man." "I dare you," I boldly replied, quite sure he wouldn't take me up on it. At the same time, I kind of wished he would. Though I'd never gotten more than a swat as a tot - humiliating but never painful - I'd once seen my best friend Justin take a serious bare-butt spanking, and always wondered what it felt like. Obviously, not great, judging by Justin's tears and wailing. "You think I won't?" "Never." I stuck my tongue out at him. I didn't even see his hand flying before I heard the slapping sound, and felt a sharp sting on one bun. Before I could open my mouth, he spanked my other cheek. "Ow!" It hadn't really hurt that much, but I had to say something. "Will you behave, naughty boy?" I sighed, and dragged out an "OK," with fake resignation. At the same time, those spanks had connected with nerve endings in my cock, making it throb even more painfully. What if he'd given me a real walloping? Michael curled down to kiss each of the pink handprints he'd left on my buns, then slowly licked the entire surface of each butt cheek. It was such exquisite teasing, but thankfully, Michael finally got back to business. I loudly giggled-squealed, while his tongue slowly lapped at my clenching ring. My whole body spasmed, but my kicking legs could go nowhere, flailing in vain against my arms. On and on, Michael kissed and licked my rose bud for what seemed like forever. More than once, I begged him to jack me off, but in vain. I felt myself opening up. Spreading my buns with firmly gripping fingers, Michael slowly excavated into me. When he could get about half of his tongue in, he flickered around my tunnel for a minute. Then, he flexed his tongue into a soft, blunt missile, and plunged in and out. He was tongue fucking me! His right hand left my butt cheek, finger gliding over to the spot between my anus and nuts. Rubbing into my taint, he massaged my prostate with the same rhythm as his tongue. The tingles in my boy hole combined with the dull aching pressure on my taint into a single Vesuvian force. Without warning, tissues pulled my undescended nuts even further into me, and my cocklet burst. I screamed so loudly Michael instinctively pulled away with concern. I didn't even notice. My little love cannon blasted with a barrage of explosions, and my head echoed with my own tattered shrieks. When my cock finished retching, drops of clear boy sap were scattered all over my lower torso. It was a minuscule spray, but I'd never cum that much, nor as hard. I mean, while a few driblets usually drooled out, I'd just painted my pubis and tummy. "My man! That was hellacious!" I couldn't answer, because I was out of breath. But he should have seen it from my side. "I guess you're super sensitive there. I didn't even touch your dick." It was still rock hard, and he playfully held it between his thumb and index finger, and slid it side-to-side through some of my seed, like a windshield wiper. Curling down, he cleaned me up with his tongue, and savored the flavor before swallowing the minuscule load. "God, you're tasty." Leaning forward, he pressed his lips against mine for a long kiss. I opened my mouth, and when his tongue met mine for a delicate dance, I discerned the slightly sweet spice of what I knew was my own infertile jizz. I sighed, while we kissed some more, and I felt Michael's fingers gently stroking my hardness. "Are you ready for more, T?" I nodded enthusiastically. "Want me to play with your ass some more?" I nodded again, super eager for his tongue. "You were kinda loud, though. Can we do something about it?" I agreed, sharing his concern about how far my cries could be heard outside the cottage. Searching around the bed, he found my little briefs, and got my permission to stuff them in my mouth, as a silencer. When my makeshift gag was in place, he made sure I could breath OK. Leaving me bound in position, he started noshing again, though much more slowly. Thankfully, my anus was ready for the onslaught, and it took a good 10 minutes of him sucking on my hole, and licking in my tunnel, before I could feel my orgasm approaching. Thought my tattered breathing was muffled, my moans poured through my nostrils and my gag, and Michael could read the signs that I was close. Leaning forward, he kissed me on the forehead. "Still good, bud?" I nodded, and gave him a muffled "Yeah!" Rolling over to the bedside table, Michael pulled a mysterious bottle out. Pouring out some viscous liquid into one palm, he quickly greased up his right fingers. A coconut aroma filled the air. While caressing my still tender buns with one hand, he slid the other into my crevice. His fingers were warm and wet, and I shivered while he slid all around the ovoid valley, then twirled around my loose, wet pucker. It would be the second time he'd fingered me - but not the last. I'd anticipated a brief burst of pain, but I was so loose, I only felt tingles. Really good tingles. Then, his finger found my button, and he played with it for a few moments. I was gasping and groaning, and fighting my restraints. He stopped, and then I felt a sharp pain, while a second finger slid in, next to the first. He paused for a moment, letting my sphincter relax and stretch. Slowly but surely, he pressed into my prostate with both fingers, then pulled back out, to a knuckle deep. He pumped back and forth, steady as a metronome. Every time he touched down, I groaned into my now-soggy gag. As his fingers rolled through my gateway, pulling the tender tissue to and fro, my anus sparkled with prickles that resonated in my nuts. My breathing grew harder, and my nascent trace of abs undulated. Michael fingered me faster, and my gag stifled moans with every breath. But just when I was on the edge, Michael slowed to a crawl, avoiding my prostate, until my breathing became slow and regular. Then, he sped back up again. He did this a couple of times, reducing me to a bag of shuddering whimpers. In vain, I tried pushing the gag out of my mouth with my tongue, so I could beg Michael to stop toying with me. Michael was becoming fluent in my body language, and facetiously asked if I were finally ready to cum. Hollering "YES!" into a mouth full of cotton, I threw my head up and down in a violent desperate nod. Michael quickly drilled into me, jackhammering my prostate, and every muscle in my bowels and groin tightened. Thankfully, my panting howls mere muffled, or I might have ruptured both our ear drums. "That's it, T. Cum for me, baby! Cum for me!' Leaning down, he sealed his lips around my scrotum. His tongue lashed, seeking out each of my testicles, and then he sucked on them, and it was all over. The pressure on my button detonated something like dynamite in my ass and nuts. It all came shooting out of me in jet after jet of white, hot fire. I came close to blacking out, with the 4th of July spread across my eyelids. But finally, the delicious pulsations subsided, and my erection collapsed. Exhausted and coated with a sheen of sweat, I didn't open my eyes for a minute or two. Catching my breath, I shook with random, post-climactic shudders. When I finally peeled open my lids, expecting to see a lake of cum all over my belly, I spied only a few drops on my pubic mound. "Now we know what really turns on the King of Algebra," Michael purred, kissing my cheek. "I guess `A' is for `asshole." I giggled. Yeah, I'd do anything for him to play with mine, again. Michael pulled my saliva-drenched undies out of my mouth, then untied me. I stretched, while he lay down beside me. My cock wasn't totally soft, and I knew I could go another round. But first, I wanted to play with Michael. "Now, it's your turn, Mikey." Shaking off my fatigue, I rolled him onto his back, and lay on his chest for a moment. We kissed gently, extremely comfortable with one another. His fingers lightly caressed my bottom, and my dick quivered, ready to come alive. It would have to wait. Crawling down to Michael's groin, I stared in awe at his rigid manhood, practically tearing through his moist, skin-tight bikini briefs. I figured I should try to torment him the way he teased me. Honestly, I gave it my best shot. I caressed from his nut basket up to the large wet spot, and back, light as feather with one hand. With the other, I burrowed between his thighs to massage his balls and taint. He spread his legs a little to give me better access. After a few moments, I licked his length, enjoying a slightly musky and yeasty fragrance. When I got to his knob, I sucked his slightly salty pre-cum through his underpants. He sighed, and I sucked a little harder. To hell with teasing him. I didn't have the patience. Michael chuckled as I quickly fumbled his briefs down his legs and off. And there my 20-year-old friend - my big brother from another mother - lay naked and gorgeous. Lean and sinewy with powerfully sculpted, late adolescent muscles, his entire body was as hairless as mine, but from monthly depilation. I'd have liked to play with his bush, but at the same time, there was nothing to obscure every detail of his massive man meat. "Massive." Well, to an almost-13-year-old, sure, it was big. But at a little over 6 inches, it was about average for a grown up, and not terribly thick. Nonetheless, at the time, his big boy bat, and smooth, sagging nuts awed me. Kneeling between his legs, I took his shaft in one hand, and his warm, doughy sack in the other. While rolling his nuts around, I slowly stroked him, delighted to pump more milky pre-cum out of his nozzle. "That's so nice, T." I sped up for a few moments, then slowed down to glacial pace. I'd been practicing on myself for the last two weeks, and I gave him a more mature hand job than the last time. Sighing, he closed his eyes for a brief moment. They shot open again when my tongue dragged up and down his frenulum. Grinning at me, Michael locked his fingers behind his head, and watched me get to work. His pre-cum wasn't sweet like mine. But I wanted it all, and I licked all around his head. Pursing my lips, I kissed it all over, and sucked on small sections of his lascivious lollipop. Leaning back for a moment to see the delight spreading across Michael's face, I masturbated my man at a steady pace, then held him firmly while I sealed my lips around his entire head. I couldn't yet lick and suck on him at the same time, so I alternated between the two, though my lips never left his helmet's ridge. At Michael's suggestion, I opened a little wider, and rubbed his glans back and forth along one cheek, and then the other. Patiently, he coached me into giving better head. I slid about half of his cock into my mouth, until his tip was at the back. Sucking on it, and swallowing my pre-cum-flavored saliva, I pulled back to his knob. Then, I gobbled him in again. I slobbered forward and sucked backwards, starting to get a rhythm, and Michael cooed his encouragement. His breath grew faster, then the room echoed with a baritone moan. Proud to be giving this older boy so much pleasure, I gave up any idea of edging him the way he'd done me. Nope. I wanted to make him nut savagely. So I bobbed on him faster, then too fast. His knob hit partially into my throat, and my gag reflex kicked in. Coughing, I almost puked. "You OK, Tommy?" Michael leaned forward, and combed his fingers through my longish hair. I swallowed, and told him everything was cool. Then I kind of giggled. He'd warned me before this might happen. Filling my mouth again, I was more careful. I sucked on him steadily for several minutes, careful of my limitations, until my mouth grew sore. Following Michael's advice, I sat back on my heels, and rubbed his wet knob with my fingertips for a minute, then stroked his shaft for a while. He trembled a little, and his breathing breathing grew deeper. When I was ready to blow him again, he had one more pointer. Gripping his shaft tightly with a thumb and three fingers, I stroked him in time with my oral locomotion. Wetly swabbing his first three inches, and roughly buffing his shaft's base, I encased his entire cock in glory. "Don't forget...the balls." Oh shit. At some point, I'd shifted, resting my hand on the bed for balance, and neglected his boys. I filled my hand with his scrotum again. While I sucked and stroked, and massaged his nuts with steady squeezes, I thought of the ways he'd lit up my prostate. I still wasn't ready to put my finger up anyone's butthole, but I could still rub his big, rounded taint. "That's it, baby...Rub it a little harder!" I'm making it sound like complicated multitasking. But I could massage his balls and prostate with one continuous wrist motion, in time with my mouth and other hand working his cock. My whole body rocked back and forth on my knees. I only needed to really concentrate on slobbering forward and sucking back. Michael started quivering, and his breath grew deep and ragged. "So close, T! Almost...THERE!" Though he warned me, I kept sucking on him. The last time I'd tried orally pleasing my friend, he'd blinded me with a facial. Though I'd relished the sensation of hat man lava hosing across my face, this time, I wanted to devour his seed. Michael growled, and I got my wish. His knob seemed to increase in volume, and then: POW! A powerful geyser of thick man stew filled my mouth. It was salty and a little bitter, and tremendously thick. Actually, it was kinda gross, but I was determined, and quickly swallowed it, just in time for another. I'd stopped bobbing, and merely sucked on his knob, while still beating his bishop. He was grunting, and stroking my hair, and I couldn't keep up with the next three volleys. So much semen! It drooled from the corners of my mouth. It was filthy and wonderful! I'd overwhelmed Michael, and made him spooge again and again, until his cock beached itself on my tongue, like a spent whale. Nevertheless, I squeezed out every last drop with a tight first, and steady pulling. With a feeble hand, he stopped my stroking fingers, and gulped air, catching his breath. I sat up, and found my wet undies. Using them as a rag, I cleaned the jizz off my face and Michael's groin, then tossed them away. "You did great, T. You KO'd my ass." He said I was a quick study and a workhorse - in the classroom or in bed. Glowing with Michael's praise, I snuggled under his arm, with my head on his chest. A naked middle school boy curled up against a naked college boy. I loved and trusted my "big brother" so much. Still running his fingers through my hair, Michael turned to kiss me on the cheek, then pulled a blanket over us. Moments later, we were both asleep. Ocean waves pooled around my junk. Back and forth, the surging sea pushed and pulled on my hardness. Seaweed wrapped around my little tool, tugging at it deliciously. And then the ocean drained away. In place was Michael's hand, slowly stroking my diamond hardness. But his fingers felt wet and wonderful, lingering on my little mushroom cap. The familiar fragrance of coconut rose between us. Lying on his side, Michael smiled at me. "Hey sleepy head. Your folks are gonna be home, soon." "Mmmmm...I don't care. Just keep doing that." Michael chuckled. He was rubbing my my sensitive knob directly and firmly, with continuous skin-on-skin friction - the kind that you could only do for a few moments with hand lotion or spit. What was this wonderful, wetness? "Lube. I'll have to get you some, bud. Amazing, right?" Oh, yeah, it was fucking amazing. It was like his fingers were blowing me. Wet meat sponging back and forth. My breathing grew heavy, and I closed my eyes, and Michael stroked me faster. "You're so hard. You're so fucking hot. Cum for me, buddy." Michael sped up. His fingers were big enough to crush my little boy bone. But his touch was powerfully tender, while his hand moved like two-stroke engine. Squelch! Squelch! Squelch! Squelch! I could barely hear my splashing flesh over my own gasps and moans. At least I had the presence of mind to pull a pillow over my face. I could feel my orgasm building from my tailbone. My tight scrotum contracted, and I gave in to my tutor's authority. Biting the pillow, I groaned, and let him milk anything he could from me. My head thrashed, as burst after fiery burst flared from my raging penis. When I was done, my sore little cock wilted in Michael's sweet fingers, and my body was wracked with after shocks. Michael pulled the pillow off my face, and I felt his lips on my forehead, then my nose, and finally, my mouth. I softly kissed him back, and was about to climb onto his chest, when the phone rang. Back then, before mobile phones, landlines usually had harsh, clattering bells that filled a room with angry staccato chimes. Michael rolled his eyes and sighed, then reached over to the nightstand to answer the phone. "Oh, hey, Ms. Stolz...yeah...yeah...He's here, and guess what? He aced his algebra test! No, I'm not kidding. An `A'...Yeah, if that's cool, I'd like to take him out for dinner...'K. See ya soon." Setting down the phone, Michael turned to me with a wry smile. "I didn't even ask. You wanna go out and celebrate? Burgers? Pizza?" Pizza was my go-to party food. But before we went out, shouldn't I take care of that blood engorged club swinging between his legs? "Don't worry about it. Maybe later, bud. Meantime, we gotta get dressed. Your `rents are home, and wanna hear about the math test." He helped me up, and I reached down for my underwear. It was soggy with sperm and saliva. I held it with two fingers and sighed. "These are history." Michael peeled the soiled briefs out of my hand and used them to mop up the lube from my loins, then tossed them into his laundry hamper. "Good thing I stopped at the mall. Your wardrobe needed a little update." Pulling a department store bag out of his closet, he handed the mysterious package to me. Inside were a couple of packs of underwear - and not the plain white kind my mother bought for me. Opening one, I had a choice of black, gray, or hot pink. I raised an eyebrow at Michael, and he shrugged with a sheepish grin. I giggled and chose the pink. It was so...naughty. My cock stirred while I pulled them up my legs. Thankfully, I was doing my own laundry by then, so I wouldn't have explain these super gay undies to my parents. Anyway, these weren't tiny bikinis, like Michael's, but something cut with a low-rise that accentuated my ass and hips, and tightly snuggled my junk. I could wear most of them to school. Maybe I could turn some boy's head in the locker room, with a pair of midnight briefs. But definitely not the slinky pinkies. I couldn't get away with those. I'd only wear them or the purple ones for Michael, who's approval was obvious, and barely concealed by by the trousers he was zipping up. Already, the New Year was looking rosy. -------------------------------------- To be continued...