The next five seconds were intense.
The sun had set. The air was still and silent. A late evening chill had forced the rest of the park-goers home and condensed our breath into slow, steady, steaming plumes. My heart beat hard. My palms were sweaty.
In the purple of twilight, Tim Price and I were finally alone.
Half of me loved it. Every nanosecond. Every shard of time chipping away. Every moment looking up at him. Over his swelling shorts, past his flat, strong abdomen; his wide, curved pecs; his powerful shoulders. Up past his rugged jaw and his thick, kissable lips to his eyes. His searing, stunning blue eyes.
My cock, full and thick and hard, stretched across my right leg, tenting the thin fabric coating my thigh. My mouth curled to one side in an embarrassed grin. I gripped the cold metal of the rusting, green bench to show off my biceps and triceps. They were miniscule compared to his.
But even though the man of my dreams was mere inches from my hands and mouth and body, the other half of me couldn't stand it. For those five agonising seconds I was no longer in control. I wasn't calling the shots.
I'd successfully dangled the bait, but I couldn't force him to bite. I'd taken the horse to water, but was he thirsty? Up until that point it had been all me and now it wasn't. Regardless of what I said or did next, Mr. Price was in charge.
He had a decision to make. Would he stay? Or would he go?
Would he linger with the blushing boy in front of him? Abandon himself to primal urges. Let his body do the things he was dying every day to do. Or would he leave? Mutter some apologetic remark, turn on his heels and keep running. Hightail away before memories of his humiliated, broken wife tainted his reality and destroyed his desires.
It was possible. Probable, even.
No matter how much of a ravenous cock-sucker Adam had made him out to be, a voice in my head wouldn't let it go. Wouldn't stop reminding me that this guy had gone crazy.
Back when he was just another sir, Mr. Price had never raised his voice. Never got angry. Never shouted or screamed. Pricey was the kind of teacher that effortlessly commanded respect. The kind of sir that treated you like an equal. Spoke to you like an adult.
The time he'd called me to his office was no different. Waiting to be told off for skipping class and longing to be sat on his lap. He was the kind of guy who only needed to widen his eyes and tilt his head to show he wasn't happy. But he listened. Asked why. Gave a shit.
Then one morning it had all changed. He'd been walking from the staff room, through the main courtyard, to the hall. Naturally I'd been watching his every step. A group of year sevens or eights ran past. Little, excited kids. One of them caught his arm with their rucksack. Knocked his coffee out of his hands.
As porcelain had shattered against concrete so had he. All of his pain and fear and guilt, all of his secret shame bubbling away as his marriage fell apart and his career dangled on a shoestring, had erupted into the open in an explosion of sadness and loss and anger.
I'd watched it all. Gobsmacked. Even for him it wasn't pretty. I'd even felt sorry for the kid.
A few days later, news had begun circulating that the parents had pushed for the harshest punishment. Apparently their son was traumatised. After he came in to clear out his things, Mr. Price was never seen again.
The widely accepted theory was stress. An early mid-life crisis, naively believed by children who didn't know any better. I'd been one of them. But while now I knew the real reason he'd broken down, I didn't know if he was roadworthy again.
There was always a chance he would recognise me. That I would stop being a jogger from the park and start being a very real reminder of his past. No matter what kind of response I had rehearsed and ready in my head for what happened next, I knew I was playing with fire. Any moment all of my planning and scheming could go up in flames and the last two weeks could have been for nothing.
Fortunately, it seemed I had greatly overestimated how traumatic the experience had been. Mr. Price, I quickly learned, had adapted to his new life with the kind of vigour and energy you'd expect from a sports teacher. He was exactly the same relaxed, chilled-out bloke he'd always been, but with one very important difference.
`Well, well,' he said looking left to right to check if we were still alone. We were. He squatted in front of me again. Reaching out he wrapped his fingers around the long, thick bulge in my shorts. I flinched. He squeezed. I gasped quietly. `You're a big boy, aren't you?'
Practically smiling from ear to ear, I locked my eyes on his. Opened my legs wider. Tensed my quads and glutes and pushed my crotch into his hand. His grip tightened. I grinded myself against him. A wave of pleasure pulsed through me as a brief gust of wind raced by. Warm, wet pre-cum seeped onto my leg. A quiet moan dripped from my lips.
I relaxed back onto the bench. He released his grip. Stood up. His own shorts bulging obviously in front of my face. I almost dribbled. Swallowed my pooling saliva down before he noticed.
`Is there anywhere we can go?' I said.
`And do what?'
I looked at the humungous mound of fabric in front of me.
`Whatever you want.'
He looked left to right again. A new dog walker had appeared on the edge of the park and a large German Shephard was bolting across the grass away from us. It barked loudly, echoing through the empty park like a gunshot. I watched his gaze follow it. Then he looked over my head. To the forest.
`Can you walk?'
Standing slowly, I stood. He was only about two or three inches taller than my six foot, but his broad, muscular body made him seem like a giant up close. I moved from foot to foot. Winced a little. But not too much. I needed him to know I was malleable.
`Follow me,' he said.
Within a minute we had crossed the field, traversed the dried out creek and were quietly creeping into dense, dark forest. Trees tall and ancient and short and young surrounded us. Oaks or ashes or elms, I wasn't sure in the dim of the growing night, but from the outside world we were invisible.
Twigs snapped and cracked as I followed his darkening silhouette. Leaves and branches bristling and whipping against me. Soft, spongey, leaf-covered soil cushioned our tread and filled our nostrils with sweet scents of unspoilt earth mingling with hot, salty, evaporating sweat.
He stopped. Half turned in my direction. Reached out his hand. I took it. Pulling me closer he led me around him. Turned me so I faced him. Pushed me gently against a wide, mossy tree trunk. Its soft coating squished against my back like a thin, cold mattress.
My eyes had adjusted to the dark, but colour was gone. A mix of defined greys and blacks, he let go of my hand. Stood tall. Then he pulled the carpet from under me.
`I know who you are,' he said.
Keeping a straight face as best I could, and never more thankful for the veil of night, I shrugged my shoulders.
`Do you?' I said casually. Calmly. My palms suddenly sweatier than ever. My heart beating in my throat.
`Come on, Oscar. You didn't think I'd recognise one of my students?'
I opened my mouth to speak. To continue my ruse. Make up some fake name. Lie through my teeth. Apart from our sole encounter in his office, him and I had never spoke. Team sports weren't exactly my thing, and besides, how could he remember me out of all those boys? He must have taught hundreds.
But then I remembered where I was. Where he'd led me. He'd known all along and here we were. Throwing my hands up I pushed myself gently off the tree. Ran a hand down his chest. The hairs on my neck stood on end. His muscles felt amazing.
`You got me,' I said, standing so close our breath warmed each other's face. `But I'm not one of your students anymore.'
He laughed. Deep but quiet. Pushed me back against the tree with one hand. Leaned forward. Propped himself up with an outstretched arm.
`Still an observant little so-and-so aren't you?' he said. The sky above us now black. The whites of his eyes slate grey.
I shrugged again. Said, `I thought you said I was a big boy.'
`You are,' he said, reaching out with his other hand and holding onto me again. Keeping his eyes fixed on mine. His arm moving slowly back and forth in my peripheral. `A very big boy.'
`How come you played along?' I said, resisting the urge to pull down my shorts and briefs so I could feel skin on skin. Heat on heat.
`It was cute. Pretending to hurt yourself so I would stop and talk to you. I thought I'd let you have some fun.'
`Bullshit,' I said, mostly sure he was bluffing. Slightly hoping I hadn't looked so blatantly desperate.
He laughed again. His arm still keeping its rhythm. My balls tingling more and more.
`Ok. You got me. At first, I didn't recognise you. You were just a cute boy in need. But when you sat on the bench I had a flashback.'
I moaned quietly, electrified by his revelation. I knew exactly what he was talking about.
`In your office,' I said.
He nodded. Said, `Your eyes. They were so hungry.'
`They still are.'
`Is that so?'
`I couldn't be more certain.'
`Good,' he said.
Letting go of me he pushed himself back to vertical. Cocked his head like he was looking me up and down. I could make out what I thought was a grin.
`How old are you now?' he said.
`Eighteen,' I lied.
`Good,' he said again.
Then he bent down and took off his left trainer. Began to unthread the lace.
`What are you doing?' I said.
He didn't answer. Just kept unthreading. Quickly but proficiently. Fabric twine whirred and scraped through the holes with each sharp pull. Finished, he slipped the loose shoe back onto his foot. Grabbed me by the arm. Turned me around. Pulled my hands behind my back. Tied them together. Tight. But not the tightest I'd ever had. I could wriggle out if I really wanted to. Then he flipped me back to face him.
This time he was definitely smiling. I could see his teeth.
`It's my turn to have some fun,' he said.
`Fuck yes,' I said.
Raising a single finger to his lips he shushed me slowly. Then he placed his hand on his crotch. Over his shorts. Gripped himself.
`Not a word. Understand?'
I nodded. Fast. For the first time in my life I was more than happy to play any game he suggested.
`On your knees,' he said.
I did as I was told. The soil was cold but dry, giving under my bare knees. Twigs snapped. Grit and dirt stung at my graze. Placing a hand on the top of my head he ran this palm through my hair. Grabbed a tuft. Let go.
`You're going to take my load as punishment for messing me around.'
I said nothing. Bit my tongue to stop myself asking how that could be a punishment. Checked that my hands were still restricted. They were.
`But you don't get a choice of where,' he continued. `You're going to open your throat for me and take every inch until I empty my balls straight into your stomach. Do I make myself clear?'
As each word vibrated through my ears my mouth hung more and more. My mind began racing at the thought of him using my mouth like his personal property. His load hitting the back of my throat and filling me from the inside. My cock so hard I thought it was going to explode.
I must have nodded. I don't remember. I thought I was dreaming.
`Good. Now open wider.'
To be continued ...
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Copyright Jack Ladd 2016
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