A story by Bard Boy [bard_boy(at)protonmail(dot)com]
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction about an inappropriate relationship between a man and a preteen boy. One of the boundaries crossed in this relationship is engagement in sexual activity between the man and the boy. If you do not want to read such a story, or it is illegal for you to do so because of your age or where you live, you should stop reading now and go do something else instead. The fictional depiction of an inappropriate relationship between a man and a boy is by no means encouragement to any man who would seek to forge such a relationship for real. This story is not set in the present day, so rest assured every aspect is fictional.
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The dry disclaiming out of the way, I hope you enjoy reading the story (in which ever way suits you best). Feel free to contact me on the email above.
Part Eight: Pendulum
I took a kick to the thigh. The room was dark and silent. James murmured in his sleep. I put my hand on his side. The poor lad was sweating cobs. He kicked again and chuntered to himself incoherently. I leant over him and stroked his cheek.
“James? Are you having a bad dream, mate?”
He turned towards me and smacked his lips, chopsing away to himself in a low voice. I held his hand and eventually he seemed so settle. I fell back to sleep soon after.
**
It was first light. A wood pigeon was calling somewhere nearby. A fat, stubby, gawp-eyed thing, doubtless puffed up like a high court barrister. Seagulls cawed on the field behind the house, the colonists far fewer in number without a mountain of human leftovers to feed on. James had rolled very close to me in the night. I tasted the sweetness of his breath in the air as he exhaled. It was gentle, like being licked by a puppy.
I ran my hand down his flank. He was warm, a little damp from being so close together. I touched my nose on his. He didn’t wake. I traced down him with my nose – just the tip – crawling down the bed. His lightly moist lips. The point of his chin. His breastbone, his abdomen, his belly button, with the scent of his skin. I found his dick already hard. I twanged it with my nose, tracing down to the base where it met his loose hanging sac. His balls, not yet grown nor fully descended, were floating near the top. His scrotum was an empty jumper, recently worn, still retaining in part the shape of the wearer’s body, other parts hanging empty and flaccid. It had the scent of sweet meat.
I took him in my mouth, hoping that if he woke up it didn’t turn out that he was hard because he was desperate for a piss. His willy began to twitch in my mouth. His hips moved a touch, then some more, more deliberately, back and forth slowly like a controlled thrust. I heard James exhale deeply. His hand clumsily brushed over my hair. I worked his skin back with my lips and alternated between applying suction up and down the short length of his shaft, and dancing my tongue over the exposed glans, poking at his slit with the dextrous tip. He made a little squeak and his hand searched my hair more consciously, taking a controlled grip on the back of my head. I tried to focus on his head – his lower head – but he began thrusting in and out. I made my lips tight for him and kept up the suction. He held my head tighter and pumped his hips ever more quickly. His belly slapped hard and quick against my forehead. He brought both hands to my head and pushed in as hard and deep as he could, letting go of his body and gasping with pleasure.
The moment the crest of his orgasm had passed he pulled out and leapt up. “Need a wee!”
James’ willy was red and shiny, foreskin partially retracted, still visibly stiff and throbbing, bouncing before him as he rushed from the room. I listened to the thick splash of him pissing urgently, the flush of the toilet, and in no time at all he was back with me, giving me a sloppy kiss.
“Thanks Jake,” he said, hugging me with all his might.
“You liked that wake-up call?”
He gazed at me with bright eyes and nodded, then gave me a peck on the lips again.
“It definitely seems like it put you in a good mood,” I said, cuddling him chest to chest. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yep.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Yep.”
“Definitely no bad dreams?”
“Nope.”
“Okay then,” I said, as he rather endearingly coughed something sticky into my chest hair.
“Ugh. Sorry!” said James, and smiled at me again.
I raised my eyebrows.
“Do you want me to play with you?” asked James.
“You don’t have to,” I said.
“I want to.”
He reached down and took my dick in his hands. It responded quickly and he adjusted to an easier position, lying back from me with his head halfway down my body, giving me a slow double-handed wank.
“How old will I be when mine starts growing as big as yours?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “One day it’ll start getting bigger. You probably won’t notice at first. It could be in a few months or in a few years.”
James would definitely be the kind of kid for whom it would be a few years. He may as well have had ‘late bloomer’ tattooed on his forehead.
“Does it feel different, when it’s bigger?”
“It works pretty much the same way,” I said. “I think the only difference is it gets a bit more sensitive to pressure and being pulled out of place because it’s bigger when it’s hard. And it takes longer to recover from squirting than it does from not.”
“I think I’ll take a while to recover from being sucked this morning,” he said. “You must have done a really good job, cos it still feels tickly now.”
**
We’d just had breakfast. James was wandering around the living room.
“Not sure what to do with yourself?” I asked.
“I’m bored,” he said. “What are we going to do today?”
“Who says we have to do anything?”
“I do,” said James. “It’s not very interesting just to stay inside.”
“Okay,” I said, “You’ve seen the field behind the house, right?”
James nodded.
“How about we go and play over there?” I said. “There’s some swings and we could build a snowman.”
James’ eyes lit up. “Do you think it’ll be bigger than that one we built last year?” he asked.
“Well, there’s quite a bit less snow here,” I said. “We can give it a try, though. Go and get your coat and gloves from wherever you’ve put them.”
“I put them on the coat pegs,” he said. “I’m not a slob, you know.”
**
To get out of the back of our garden we had to pass through the shed. James looked around the place curiously as we passed through, fingering the rusted blade of an old lawnmower, hung from the rafters by its handle, through his gloves. I’d wrapped him in a colourful Tom Baker-esque scarf that used to belong to me as a teenager. It covered his neck and mouth and disappeared under his coat, then was so long it reappeared hanging down between his legs. I had a sky-blue Russian football club scarf on, emblazoned with ‘Zenit’ in large Cyrillic print. I was holding a parsnip in one hand as I tried to work the stiff back gate open. I’d meant to pull a carrot for the snowman’s nose but had got the wrong one again.
“Don’t touch that blade,” I said. “You could seriously hurt yourself.”
James let go of the blade and started playing with the brake lever of a bike instead. “What does your scarf say?” he asked.
“Zenit,” I said, “In Russian. It’s from St Petersburg.”
“Where’s that?”
I pointed vaguely northeast. “Two thousand kilometres or more that way,” I said. “Two seas and two-thirds of a continent away.”
James’ eyes nearly popped out of his head. “How did you get something from so far away?”
“I went there once, and I bought it from a man in a park.”
“Woah! I wish I could go and see far-away places. Further away than here, I mean.”
“Maybe one day,” I said. “Could you help me with this door, please?”
James honked a squeeze horn on the front of the bike and laughed.
“James, we can’t go outside unless you stop messing about and give me a hand,” I said. “Or at least hold this carrot.”
“Parsnip,” he corrected, grabbing it by the middle.
With both hands now free, I was able to persuade the gate to open.
“This scarf is annoying,” said James. “Why is it so long?”
I took a step out into the access lane behind the row of gardens. “I used to be able to wrap it around my head and wear it as a turban,” I said.
“I think I could probably wrap it around my whole body,” said James, trotting forward, pendulum swinging between his legs.
The lane was considerably overgrown. The eroded grooves of old tyre tracks were still there but overgrown with weeds and filled in with snow. The grass in the middle was long. The bushes and trees between us and the field formed a formidable barrier.
“When I was a kid, it used to be really easy to slip through here,” I said. “It looks a bit of a challenge now.”
“What should we do?” asked James.
“Go and stand in those stinging nettles over there,” I said.
“I was being serious,” said James, eyes rolling in his voice.
“So was I,” I said. “That’s the easiest way through.
James sighed pointedly and lolloped over to the patch of nettles.
“Do I really have to stand in the middle?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. “Don’t worry, you’re so wrapped up you won’t get stung. Unless you were planning on licking the plants.” I followed him into the bushes.
“More like you licking the pants,” he giggled, his eyes laughing at me from between his hood and his scarf.
“Right,” I said. “Just for that, I’m going to throw you over this fence.” I picked him up and he squealed and kicked and giggled.
“No, Jake!”
There was a short wire link fence in front of us. I lifted him over on his side and rotated him onto his feet.
“What are you gonna do now?” he asked.
“Lucky this fence wasn’t here when I was little,” I said. “But now, I can just do this.” I pushed up off the nearest fence post enough to swing a leg over, leaving me sat on the middle of the fence with my feet dangling on either side. As I swung my other leg over, gravity did the rest. I unceremoniously bundled onto the other side, hanging on to the fence to stop me falling over.
“I bet you were a clumsy kid,” said James.
“Got a bob on today, haven’t you?” I said. “Lucky I made sure you woke up on the right side of the bed.”
“Shut up,” said James, blushing a little and clubbing my chest gently with the parsnip.
**
The play area of the little recreation ground had two intact swings. I pushed James for a while until I was confident he’d worked out how to swing himself. Then I sat alongside him and tried to swing higher. Eventually I jumped off at the top of my upswing and planted myself gracefully on two feet. I turned and watched James try the same. He fumbled his landing and went sprawling on his hands and knees in the snow.
“Flamin’ Nora!” I said. “Don’t snap your parsnip!”
James didn’t say anything and stayed a moment on his hands and knees. I grabbed him around his chest and pulled him back to his feet facing me. I dusted him down.
“Hurt, or just embarrassed?” I asked.
“Damp.”
“You’ll live,” I said. “No cuts or scrages?”
“Don’t think so.”
“You know what I can’t stand even more than clumsy kids?”
“What?”
“Mardy kids. Come on, chin up. Let’s build a snowman.”
**
Working together on the snowman soon lifted James’ deflated spirits. We made him out in the middle of the field, surrounded by white in every direction. The bare trees and bushes around the edge of the rec looked a stark black by comparison. A cut marble sky hung heavily above.
The snowman gradually came together, a sphere at a time. We gave him the traditional branches for arms and a parsnip nose. James was collecting pebbles for the eyes and mouth when I spotted three figures coming slowly towards us uphill from the bottom of the rec. Three people. Two small humans and one big human. The little ones were holding the big one’s hands.
James noticed as he stood up from gathering some stones from the path. He stared down the hill then looked over at me. I motioned for him to come to my side.
I recognised at least the man as he approached. “You’re a way from home,” I said. “Anyone would think you were following us. Can’t you go and play up your own end?”
“I always come here with the girls,” said the man. “Not anywhere as big as this to play near ours.”
He stopped just in front of us. The bigger girl held her dad’s hand with both of hers, leaning into his side. The smaller one half-hid behind his legs. James had taken down his hood and lowered his scarf as we were building. He smiled at the girls.
“Reddings Lane?” I suggested. “Fox Hollies?”
“This is better,” said the man, smiling. “We like it here, don’t we?” He looked down at his eldest daughter. She nodded in agreement.
“I saw you outside our house,” the little one said to James, “With my bibi.”
“Ohhh!” said James, the penny dropping for him.
“And now you’re outside our house,” I said, keeping my gaze fixed on the man. “What a coincidence!”
“How could I have known that?” said the man, shaking his head.
“Maybe it has something to do with the bath I stuck on my neighbour’s roof?” I said. “Hard to miss a thing like that if you come here that often.”
“Okay,” the man said, “I did see that and guess it was probably you. My mother was worried about the little man here. You know what mothers can be like.”
“So you thought you’d come and check up on us?”
“No! Not like that, anyway. I really was just coming out with the girls. I didn’t know you’d be here.” He looked at James. “Nice snowman, though, brother!”
“Thanks!” said James, visibly pleased.
“Can we help you decorate it?” asked the bigger sister.
“Yes please!” said James. “I want to give him a mouth and eyes, and maybe buttons at the front like he’s wearing a shirt. But there aren’t many good stones here.”
“See,” I said, “he’s absolutely fine.”
The man let go of his daughters and held up his hands.
“I’m sure of it,” he said.
“Jake looks after me really well,” said James. “This morning, he even–” He copped me glaring at him. “He even let me wear his favourite scarf. See?”
“That’s great,” said the man, chuckling.
“Do you want to come and have a look around the house?” I asked him. “I’m sure the kids will be fine for a few minutes here. I can show you that I’m keeping him well.”
“Sound,” said the man. “Lead the way.”
**
I was glad I hadn’t left the lights on. I didn’t want him realising our luxury and trying to move his family in with us. We came in through the kitchen and he looked around with half-interest. I decided to take him upstairs first. He poked his head into the bathroom and nodded absentmindedly. I opened my bedroom door and showed him in.
“This is where we sleep,” I said.
He looked at me inquiringly.
“James doesn’t like to sleep alone since his mother died,” I said, looking him firmly in the eye.
“Oh, sorry,” he said. “I didn’t think.”
I took him back downstairs and into the living room.
“Ah, man! That’s sweet,” he said.
Sat on the mantle was the photo of James, smiling for the camera in a way that showed just a little of his crooked front tooth. His hair was immaculately arranged from being cut minutes earlier. Only he and I knew that he was half-naked below the frame.
“He’s a sweet boy,” I said. “I’m lucky to have him with me.”
He spotted the other photo, with us both together, leaning against an old family portrait on the shelf. To its side, my five-year-old brother stood grinning maniacally, next to my mother, smiling self-consciously and looking like a thirty-five-year-old Debbie Harry. James and I covered my eleven-year-old self and my father.
“That’s nice, the two of you together,” he said.
I smiled to myself. Somewhere out of shot, we were both naked below the waist. But he was buying the photos big time. James was a little genius.
“Should we get back to the kids?” I asked. I didn’t want to Cinderella around the house too long with him. Part of me was concerned James could turn into a pumpkin at any moment.
“Yeah, of course, brother.” If he had wondered how we made the photos, he didn’t ask.
**
James was putting the finishing touches to the snowman with the girls when we got back.
“Looking good!” I said. The three of them beamed.
“We managed to find enough stones to give him eyes and a mouth,” the older girl said.
“What happened to his chest?” I asked. Rather than buttons like a coat or a shirt, the snowman just had two additions near the top of his torso sphere, on either side.
“Oh, we didn’t have anything for buttons,” said James, “But Iram found two snail shells, so we gave him nipples.” James grinned. The girls giggled. The man laughed out loud and clapped James on the back.
“Boys, eh?” he said.
“It could be a snowwoman,” the older girl said. “That makes them boobies!” The three of them tittered. The man smiled at me and shook his head.
“Come on, Iram, Aaliyah,” he said. “Let’s go swing a bit. Leave these boys in peace.”
I let James say his goodbyes to the girls as they headed off to the swings. I nodded to the man as he turned away to walk his girls further up the hill. “Here, put this on him,” I said, handing James a blue-and-white striped scarf I’d picked up from the house and nodding at the snowman. “Or her, you rude little things.”
“I’m not rude,” said James, wrapping the scarf around the bottom of the snowperson’s head, “I’m just clever.”
“Come on,” I said. “I have some nettles to throw you into. Wrap up.”
**
We were passing back through the shed. “What are those?” asked James, pointing at a pile of five blue ring binders.
“Oh, it’s an atlas thing my granddad started getting for me when I was a kid, before he died.”
“So, it’s maps and stuff?”
“Not really,” I said. “It has different fold-outs for countries, cities, major rivers, all sorts. Some of it is maps but there’s lots of pictures and text too. We can take it into the house if you want – we can pretend we’re going travelling without having to leave the warm.”
“That’ll be fun,” said James, flicking open the first binder. It began with countries organised alphabetically, arranged by continents in size order. The first country was Afghanistan. A green-eyed hijabi girl stared out at us, face totally neutral, her eyes burning two emerald holes through the page. James gasped and ran his fingers over the glossy paper. “This is gonna be really cool,” he whispered under his breath.
I picked up the next couple of binders and walked up the garden. James followed with the first volume still open in his hands. “Your granddad got this for you?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I never realised until quite a while after he’d died. Parts of it would come in the post every week, and I suppose my nan kept compiling it until it was finished, then handed it over to my parents.”
“It was kind of him to do that for you.”
“That’s what people who love each other do, isn’t it?” I said.
James nodded.
“Besides,” I added, “He was a fireman. His job was being kind to people.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Firemen rescued people from buildings or other places that had caught fire, or cars that had crashed, and put the fires out with big hoses.”
“Wow!” said James. We’d entered the house through the dining room doors, and I dumped the binders on the table.
“Race you to get the last two!” I said, jumping back through the doors. James turned on a sixpence and came skidding after me across the decking.
In the end it was a draw. James picked up the two remaining volumes of the atlas, disturbing a stack of vinyl records that had been leaning against them. I quickly reached over to stop them toppling.
“That was close,” I said. “Oh, wow!”
“What?” said James, trying to peer over my arm to the stack of records.
“Buzzcocks!” I said. “We’ve got to hook up the record player and put this on. You’ll love this!”
“But what is it?” he asked again, gathering his two atlas binders to his chest.
“This thing is a big disc that plays music, like a CD but older and less sophisticated,” I said. “Buzzcocks were a punk band. A while before I was born. The singer was openly into both males and females before that was really accepted.”
“You mean he had boyfriends and girlfriends at the same time?”
“Only one at a time,” I said, bopping James on the head with the record sleeve. “Any more would be greedy.”
We walked up the garden.
“I hope you’re up for some singing today, once you get the words,” I said, and began singing to James, swaying his shoulder with my free hand in time. “Ever fallen in love with someone? Ever fallen in love? In love with someone, ever fallen in love? In love with someone you shouldn’t’ve fallen in love with?”
**
I set up the record player in the dining room. Through the archway in the living room, Marco Polo was already halfway across Asia. There was a crackle and fuzz, warm and familiar, before the sound of a guitar broke from the speakers.
I just want a lover like any other, what do I get?
“Where are we, captain?” I asked.
“Bhutan,” said James.
“Very interesting,” I said, settling next to him. He leaned into me and moved the atlas so it was more central on our laps.
I only want a friend who’ll stay to the end, what do I get?
“What can you tell me about Bhutan?” I asked.
“It’s in the Himalayas, between India and China,” he said, pointing to the folded-out map. “The king was very concerned about protecting their traditional way of life.”
“No punk in Bhutan, then?”
What do I get, oh-oh, what do I get?
What do I get, oh-oh, what do I get?
“It doesn’t say,” said James. “Just that they weren’t allowed TV.”
“Imagine growing up without that,” I said, smiling at him. “Do you like the music at least?”
“I like his voice. But I prefer this book to the music.”
I’m in distress, I need a caress, what do I get?
“Sure,” I said, “side with my granddad.”
“Well, he had good taste in books,” said James.
“He just knew what his grandson liked. I’m glad you like it too.”
I’m not on the make, I just need a break, what do I get?
What do I get, oh-oh, what do I get?
What do I get, oh-oh, what do I get?
**
The sun had set a few hours ago. I think we were somewhere in the Caribbean.
“Jake, can we go to bed?”
“If you want,” I said.
“If we do go,” said James, closing the binder and leaning on it over my lap, voice lowered conspiratorially, “will you, maybe, play a game with me?”
“Look at you, cutie,” I said, rubbing his flushed cheek. “Of course we can! You don’t have to be embarrassed to ask.”
Fairly soon we were both sat upstairs on the bed. “Can we play something like we did the other day, when you pretended to be my teacher?” said James.
“Can do. Any ideas?”
“I don’t know. Anything like that again, where we pretend to be other people and make each other do things.”
“That gets you really excited, doesn’t it?”
James blushed and nodded.
“I bet you’re excited now. Let’s play doctor.”
“Harry’s mom was a doctor, wasn’t she?” said James.
“She was,” I said. “But what we’re going to do is more exciting than what she did for real.”
“What do I need to do?” asked James, nervous excitement in his voice.
“Go on the landing and knock the door,” I said.
He did as I suggested.
“Come in!”
James trotted through the door.
“Ah, James, good to see you,” I said. “Are you ready for your check-up today?”
“Yes, doctor.”
“Strip down to your pants for me please, James. I need to examine your body.”
When he was ready, I stood him before me and ran my hands over his chest. I pressed his little nipples with my thumbs.
“How does that feel? No pain?”
“No, doctor.”
“Good,” I said, and knelt before him. I put my ear to his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin against my face. I could hear his breathing and his heartbeat. James stood like stone.
“That all sounds normal,” I said, and stood up. “Lie on the bed for me, please.”
James did exactly as he was told. He lay on his back, perfectly still, watching what I was doing but not making eye contact. I wondered whether he had the same feeling as I used to get going to the doctor for real as a kid. A sort of warm, fuzzy sense of comfort between the shoulders and at the back of the neck. A steady calm.
“I’m going to put some pressure on your tummy now, James. Tell me if it hurts at all.”
I gently pressured his belly and abdomen with my fingers. James showed no discomfort, but I noticed a little twitch in the front of his boxers every once in a while.
“No tenderness or pain? That’s all normal then.”
I took hold of his right ankle and pushed the leg up to his chest.
“No tightness or discomfort in any of these muscles, or in your foot?”
“No,” said James, a little quietly and under his breath.
“And this side?” I asked, doing the same to his left. James shook his head.
“Okay,” I said. “For the next part, I need to take your pants off. I hope you’re not embarrassed.”
He began to shake his head again. Before he could finish, I grabbed his boxers by the cuffs and pulled them to his ankles in one motion. His boner slapped against his pubis as it was flicked by the elastic rushing past it.
“Kick them off, please.”
James did as he was told. I took hold of his thighs and spread them further apart.
“You’re a big boy, aren’t you, James?” I said, running my fingers over his stiff willy and balls.
“Do you think so?” he stage-whispered.
“I think you’re growing very nicely indeed,” I said. “Why you have a willy as long as Livery Street!”
James giggled. “Is that long?”
“Very,” I said. “I’m going to examine your willy and your balls, James. Tell me if anything I do hurts.”
I gently pulled his stiffy down to a ninety-degree angle with his body. I worked his foreskin back to expose his head. It was just a little tight at the base. The skin bunched at the ridge of his head but wouldn’t quite yet retract that little bit further to go all the way.
“This isn’t hurting, James?”
“No, doctor,” he breathed. His hands sat relaxed on either side of his hips.
“How is it making you feel, James?”
“Good.”
“Good in what way?”
“Excited good. Sexy good.”
“That’s what I’d hoped you’d say,” I said. “You know, I once read that doctors in Ancient Greece tasted samples from their patients to ensure they were healthy or diagnose problems. Do you think I should check you taste as you should?”
“Please, doctor,” said James, an urgent squeak slipping into his breathy response.
I held his cock, foreskin withdrawn, between my thumb and forefinger, pointing straight up from his body. I kept it steady, much as it tried to jerk away, as I ran the tip of my tongue all over the exposed head, teasing and tickling. James’ hands gripped the bedsheets.
“I think everything here works exactly as it should,” I said, releasing James’ penis. He sighed and looked me in the eye, a little deflated that the exam was moving on.
“Bend your knees up to your chest and pull your legs back as much as is comfortable,” I said. “I need to examine your bum.”
James was straight into position. His half-empty ballbag hung down between his pulled-up thighs. His willy stood to attention three inches in the opposite direction, head still mainly exposed. His pink ring was on full display for me.
“You keep this bottom very clean, don’t you?”
“Yes, doctor.”
“You’re a good boy James,” I said. “I need to examine more, though, to check your insides are as clean and healthy. Wait here.” I popped into the bathroom and rooted around until I found a sticky old jar of Vaseline. I’d need it if I was going to push him further.
James hadn’t moved an inch from how he had been told to wait, legs pulled up, arse crack on full display. “Good boy,” I said, putting the Vaseline down on the bed and getting back into position.
“Doctor?”
“Yes, James?”
“I don’t think it’s very fair that I have to lie here naked showing off all my willy and balls and bumhole, while you have all your clothes on. Would you get undressed too? It would help me feel a lot more comfortable about having my bum examined.”
“Of course, James,” I said, and began to pull my t-shirt over my head. “Thank you for taking the initiative to speak up.”
I was soon naked and knelt next to James as he lay in position. My hard dick poked his velvet-smooth thigh, where the hamstring met the lower crest of the buttock.
“Okay,” I said. “You’re going to feel something slimy on your bumhole now. That will help me examine your insides without hurting you.”
James gasped as my jelly-smeared middle finger coated his crack, then pushed up against his anus.
“Push like you’re pooing,” I instructed. My middle digit slid into the boy. It was like putting on a thimble made from molten Play-Doh.
“Oh!” James whimpered. His stiffy jerked and twitched. I started fingerfucking him quickly.
“I need to be very thorough with this examination, James. You understand, don’t you?”
“Mmm… I understa-ah, doctor,” he replied, gripping the pits of his knees tightly and squeezing his eyes shut.
“How’s that feeling, James?”
“Uh… a lot.”
“Do you like it?”
“Mmm…”
“That’s good,” I said, “because I think I need more than one finger to finish this exam, James.” I forcefully slid my index finger in alongside my middle.
“Ha–yeow! Ow! Ow! Ow!”
“Be a big boy, James. You want me to check you over properly, don’t you?”
His dick was still as hard as before, moving like a pendulum hanging towards bellybutton.
“Mmm… it hurts, Jake! It stretc– ohh!”
My fingertips had touched a special place. I felt it throb. James twisted and writhed, then, to my surprise, rolled himself over onto his hands and knees, my fingers twisting inside his tunnel and plopping out as he pulled away.
“Get on your back, Jake!”
He pushed me on the shoulder before I had a chance to move. I lay back and he mounted me, grinding himself hard into my stomach. He pressed down hard on my shoulders. His thighs squeezed my sides. He was thrusting like a hare in heat. He had his eyes screwed shut, head directly above mine.
“Good boy,” I whispered to him. He opened his eyes and looked directly into mine, a bead of sweat running down his cheek.
“Please, Jake,” he panted, “just one finger. Middle one.”
I put my right palm on his left cheek, clenching and unclenching powerfully as he thrust at my body, consumed by his need for release. He pushed back onto my finger and groaned. I bear hugged him to me with my other arm, holding the writhing boy in place. He thrust away a few seconds longer, to a loud, sweaty crescendo.
I held him close, my finger remaining halfway up his greasy hole, as he panted and whimpered against me. I ran my hand through his damp hair. He sighed heavily and planted little kisses all over my face.