Date: Tue, 12 Feb 2019 13:25:09 -0500 From: MC VT Subject: The Concert Gay Adult-Youth The Concert ©MCVT2017 MCVT2017 February 10, 2019 Venerable, single-minded Dr. Collins is on top of his game. Is this seduction of a prostitute or a lesson in sensuality? Your donations keep this site up and going for your play and pleasure. Thanks for keeping this arena open for me and other readers and writers. Adult Content: 100% Fiction, Mb, pros, anal, oral, hum. ============================================================================= Our annual Valentine's Day concert was planned for the thirteenth of February -- I, along with a number of other artists would be presenting romantic pieces in a multi-media event in the chapel. Quite an upscale event, even the invitation list was carefully edited for the most well-endowed snobs of our area. Would never have agreed to this if it weren't being held in the chapel. Our campus chapel is a busy place and surrounded by the most beautifully maintained gardens carefully filled with the exact species enjoyed by music-lovers and patrons across Europe through the centuries. Historic flora surrounding hormone-driven fauna of young adults! The chapel was built on the campus as one of its first buildings. The original stone chapel floor was still clear in front of the altar. It had been expanded three times. The stations of the cross moved back as the building was enlarged and the pews became wider and the cushions lusher. These weren't the reasons I loved the old chapel. Through my years, I'd come to find and enjoy the cubbyholes, nooks and small, hidden places that occurred as the renovations were made. Years ago, the steeple of that chapel housed a bell that rang out every morning, noon and night. That happened long before I was born. By the time I was attending the university, the old belfry had been remodeled and fitted with an electronic system that only heralded vespers. It was in that stuffy, ignored cell of a room, I found a place where another student and I could enjoy not only being naked, but being able to enjoy private activities not allowed in the dorms. Our homosexuality was practiced as ardently and vigorously as possible during our first semester in that hot space on a planked wooden floor. The second semester we became somewhat daring -- blow jobs during the sacrament of holy communion was our thrill. Guess what we were engaged in during the Hallelujah Chorus? That almost required a gag and it was superb. I knew the chapel well and had enjoyed its ceilings, and as a conscientious student, I memorized every squeaky floor board adjacent to my hide-a-wees. Couldn't help but grin when I found a baggie with traces of petroleum jelly or a sachet of lube tucked into a corner here and there -- obviously I wasn't the only one who'd found spiritual ecstasy in there. *** Now, The thirteenth of February is a perfectly fine day, and I'd be glad to hyper-paganize it for the memories the old building brought back. I showed up early for the rehearsals as though I needed the familiarization, perhaps I could offer some advice for the sometimes-touchy sound system. There was one more reason I took this gig: Not to be outdone by San Diego and several other large cities, our campus also had an International Baccalaureate Program meaning we had a small high school on campus with business and language majors. Those small, tight butts were an excellent addition to the student body. These younger students were part of the ushering crew for the concert -- part of the campus integration process. I wanted to select an usher for turning my pages, so I'd say. At this point I had all of my music memorized, it was part of my blood and breath I'd lived with it so long, but a young slip of a student carefully turning pages and trying his darned best to please a man in tails who obviously had status, always delighted me. That delight always brought out my finest performance. On the keyboard as well. *** As soon as the knot of younger students gathered for their instruction I made a beeline to select one of the taller, slender students to assist me. Ah, yes, my eyes settled on a young man about five-four with a neatly creased pair of snug black slacks, short-sleeved white shirt and a narrow black clip-on sporting the school insignia. Cutting him sharply from the group after their instruction, I took him back stage to my dressing room. He was a bold little imp, with a bit of a swagger and a slight steatopygia that oozed appeal. Those full red lips just wouldn't quit -- I suspected botox but what did that matter? "I always take these jobs, love working with the celebs. Like you." He whispered as I locked the door. This teen was experienced. I'd have to alter strategies -- he wasn't going to bend over when I dropped my keys on the floor -- not this one. After a little chit-chat I found he was a business major and carried his own card and condoms! Damned brassy, but ingenious. "Do you know who I am? I asked in a dignified voice with my eyebrows lifted in a somewhat snooty way. "Sure, you're the Swisher Sweetie. Mom says you got more swish than a mop factory and the headboard in your bedroom is nothing but a pile of splinters." Wasn't exactly sure how to take that comment, "Who's your mom?" He chuckled and gave me the name of the woman who headed the Photography Department. For being a Liberal Arts major she was a hard-ass at the budget meetings. I checked my watch, "Are you offering any samples tonight?" This boy was way too smart to be ushering, but he probably wrote off his outfit as a tax deduction for this entrepreneurial endeavor. "I have references." He started opening his phone but pulled a business card from his back pocket and handed it to me. Hashtag, b0ybutt911. "Do you know what an honor this is? I picked you out of that group of hotties -- you!" What an insult to think I'd chosen a hussy instead of a quick hump. "Lucky you. Let's talk business -- we got forty minutes before this fiasco gets started. Twenty for a hand job, forty if you want to make out. Fifty-five for a blow job, seventy-five with a fingering and two-ten if you want to get your ass fucked. No bareback. Whacha want?" "How much is a little romance, titillation, or tease. Is any foreplay on your list of services?" I flipped his card over and checked out the services he offered. "Do you take cash?" The kid swiped around on his phone and showed me a contract, (in .5 Times New Roman font.) "No cash -- I could get robbed!" "You offer a guarantee of satisfaction?" He just smiled. "You're gonna love it." "Let me see your tool, you got enough to satisfy a connoisseur?" That might get him closer to the dressing table. This boy was smart, he showed his pics next to a ruler on his phone. Decent enough for a party favor though he needed a couple of growth spurts. He was nicely equipped, not that it would really matter for to a man who prefers quality over quantity. Then the little tart sidled up to me and fluttered his eyelashes; my butt twitched and my balls tingled. Damn if he didn't grab my erect tool through my pants as he flashed his photos of himself in action -- was that the secretary in the Religious Studies department? Sure looked like that old geezer's Grecian-formulae red roots -- damn, that ol' coot even used the dye on his pubes. I was drooling over the boy by this time but miffed that I'd actually have to pay. I never paid for sex. My body was coveted in some circles, and I was highly prized for my talent and celebrity among the more cultured of the area. Why I even enjoyed a special status among my followers abroad. Who was this little pipsqueak to ask me to pay for his services? "Let's agree to enjoy a few sensual moments together. What say?" Maybe I could sidetrack him. "C'mon Daddy Big-bucks, I'm saving for college." He tweaked my nipple as he whispered in my ear. "Why am I sure you'd be paid up before you graduate..." I muttered and pulled my credit card out. It wouldn't take my signature until I added a twenty percent gratuity! Damn, that boy was driving a hard deal with me -- but I don't tip up-front. "Does your mother know you're running this slimy business?" "Maybe." He cocked his cute head to the side and gave me a crooked grin. I checked the back of his business card again. "Too bad you didn't list a good reality-whipping. That'll get your policies in line with standard business practices." I snorted. He'd come closer, I could smell his scent and noticed a nice bulge in the front of his slacks. "Get over the makeup table." He held up the phone with the signature block and grinned demanding my signature for a blow job sans fingering. He gazed into my eyes while his hands opened my pants, nuzzling my neck and working fast. No kisses! I needed this kid as my agent. Within a Miami moment my pants were at my ankles and boxers lay in a wrinkled ring on top of them. With his phone in my hand, my finger touched the screen; I hit a few keys while he looked up at me. In a somewhat cold move the boy checked his watch and started bringing my tool into readiness. At about the time his tongue was snaking into my slit, his mother answered her phone. "Devin? Devin is that you? Are you finished with that over-priced and under-jazzed tranquilizer of a concert yet?" "This is Dr. Collins, ma'am, prescribing physician for this evening's event. It appears your son's business venture has polluted the halls of our sacred institution and I assume he's running his operation as an unregistered business on campus. Oh, your planned dark-room expansion is a forgotten dream now. Your students can develop their drivel in the bathrooms - sling a tarp over a stall." "Not to worry, Doc. The squad of kids are the bait and once we get a signature, the donation requests begin. We'll be rolling in dough before the next semester's out. Call it a recycling of the salaries from the pervs on staff -- redistribution of money and power." "What? I'll get you fired for coercing the staff." "Won't happen, we're linked in with the all the security cameras through the diligence of the maintenance crew. Did you know they're only paid a dollar an hour above minimum wage? A two-way split is gonna make a big difference to their standard of living. "Social and economic justice by blackmail?" The little bugger Devon distracted me from politics. He was sucking hard as he squeezed my balls; my knees were weak. "Put it on the Budget Committee's agenda and bring your friend, what's his name? Browne -- Brawne? You know, the one with that little bent pecker. You two'll make a good pair explaining your generosity or should I say proclivities." She laughed and hung up on me! *** At twelve minutes of half-hearted pleasure I got a three-minute warning from the boy's phone. This mini- strumpet had me on the clock? Well, that abrupt notification only made the situation more unbearable. My indignation stirred a fire -- and my anger rose. "Working an orgy later on and saving your energy? No man worth his cum can work on a deadline -- this is sex. Very intricate and detailed process. That's no trained monkey in your mouth." He looked up at me, "Time is money." Such a crass statement dismissed my physical needs. I was never any good at command performances, "Enough." I backed away grateful I hadn't slipped my signature on his phone. This boy's financial imperative had stung my sensitivities and caused upheaval among my refined requirements for enjoyment. He just broke the seal on my mason jar of anger. "You're going out there with me and turn the pages of my music for me. You will smile as you do it and get paid afterward." He thought for a moment, "Turning pages? That's all?" "Yep. Put my toys away and stand up straight. Try to look like you have some class about you." He grinned, "That's gonna be worth about..." He pressed his full, red lips together, "Two bills. Mostly because I have to stay through the whole thing. Ugh!" "You'll get your two bills." I said and thought "Two bills my way." *** The "tranquilizer" of a concert turned out to be a comedy of errors -- a zany evening of mishaps. As I took my seat at the hallowed harpsichord, with a dramatic flip of the tails of my tux, my young entrepreneur took his place at the side of the keyboard and we began. Of course, I didn't need any sheet music. Lush with passion, heated with piquancy to the ears, stirring to my loins that music was mine. Seems my assistant's skills with music were in deficit numbers. He turned the pages backwards. I grinned, nodded and continued playing. A few in the audience caught that faux pas. During the next piece, he turned several pages at once, then tried to correct his error and a flurry of sheets fell to the floor. I continued with my eyes closed, accentuating the strains of Mozart. I exaggerated the forte to accompany Devon's embarrassment while the audience chuckled. Then, as he bent to pick the papers, I tickled a few sharp notes from the extreme right end of the keyboard and glanced down my nose at him, then continued. That brought several guffaws from behind the curtains and the attendees joined in. The boy was trapped between his humiliation and greed. The audience was more than entertained; chuckles and giggles ran through the crowd. What a scene -- he became more ruffled and tried to get the pages back in order without success and to a titillating staccato accompaniment. What a set-up! I was rock hard and ready by the time my presentation was finished. More slapstick than courtly reflections and it suited my purposes just fine. My assistant could only stand with an unorganized cluster of papers pressed to his chest and a forlorn look on his face. As I stood to take my bow, I grabbed the boy's arm and had him stand alongside me -- he was trying to escape the stage. That beautiful sixteen-year-old face was a brilliant scarlet accentuated vividly against the deep red velvet curtains behind us. If he'd have had any panache at all, he'd have grinned and acted like his errors were planned, but he wasn't a seasoned performer -- not yet. "Take another bow for your antics." I whispered. *** He was skittish as we left the stage I held his arm firmly, directing him toward my dressing room. Inside, I locked the door and turned on my stereo system, "Two bills, huh? Should I call Guillermo, "The Bull" Munoz, or how about William Castro, the guy that used to be a fullback before his head injury -- they tell me he's hung like a rhino and ruts like one as well. They're both work maintenance -- probably looking for a little scrotal justice tonight." I was unzipping the boy's pants for a thorough inspection; yes, a penis can blush. "Saving it for the president of the board or someone bigger, are you? I'm a Professor Emeritus. Do you know what that is?" "It means you were born in the US and you're a teacher?" Had to hook-up my phonics to understand that. Our power differential had shifted to his discomfort. "Look, let's just forget it, I'll send you a bill." He was trying to leave, but I had his slender body half undressed and pinned against the dressing table. "For what? I haven't gotten any satisfaction tonight and it's time for me to pay you." I glanced at my watch. "Two bills worth." He winced. How lovely! With my hand pressed between our chests, I began unbuttoning his shirt and tugging at his tie. All the while I nuzzled his neck, giving him a few kisses until I heard him sigh. Good sign! I moved to his lips, taking his lower lip in my teeth, then teasing him with my tongue. He slowed as I began kissing him gently while my fingertips found his nipples. They were hard already and I was the expert on how to draw reluctant passion through quickening teen hormones. Slipping my hand to his rear, I pressed our groins together. Two hard, heated cocks began a brief rub inducing a gasp as my fleshly path opened before me. When he finally put his arms around my neck and began kissing me back, I was more than ready. Depending on his past experiences, as crass as they seemed, I plunged forward and lifted his hand. "Stand on the bench, dear." His slender hips and creamy skin rose in front of me. Like an ogre, I grabbed his thighs and shoved my face into that almost bare groin with it's not-quite-matured kit. "Ah! Uncut. My thanks to liberal parents." I thought and began a full-on oral assault while my fingers gently began exploring his cleft. His knees wobbled and I felt his hands in my native-born, teacher's hair while he cooed and moaned. My left hand felt for the knob of the drawer, and I opened it. A red-headed soprano had left a jar of a European cold cream years ago. I pulled it out and popped the lid; the air around us filled with the scent of rose and the presence of Venus. With a generous dollop on my little finger I explored gently and found ripe, full glands on his rectal wall. Tapping ever so gently, I heard a moan and felt his body tremble. His full cock filled my mouth, not quite enough for a deeper pleasure yet. Quickly I increased my pressure under longer strokes over his glands. It caused a small squeal, and I felt his cocklet become more rigid on my tongue. I waited and with the first pulse of his erection, I became an Electrolux sucking boy-cum. Not the strong, ripened zing of a man, but a reticent, almost delicate taste of a boy on the cusp of needing a condom with another gender. I savored every molecule of his physical secretions. Incredible aftertaste while he enjoyed his incredible afterglow. That being accomplished, I continued to nuzzle his groin with my face and slipped in a second finger, "That's the foreplay -- worth one bill at least." I whispered. He didn't answer, still in a daze. My next hurdle was to get him over the dressing table and give him a load. "I'll tuck your other bill right up your tight ass, ready?" "Like "Dr. Brawne does?" He said softly, breathing deeply and staring into my eyes. Livid! My blood pressure shot up and my face heated! Brawne was always horning in on my territory, but I organized my thoughts quickly. "Yes, Brawne and his he little bent tool. Hope you're charging extra for having to put up with it." "It tickles me, but what a mess..." The boy grinned. "He gets so nervous and shoots off too quick, then drips everywhere. I think it's funny -- he starts mumbling that he's sorry and all that." "Time for a real man, and I don't tickle." I lowered my head and stared at him, "Over the table." My little tart became playful and twisted in my arms and dodged me. Took me a full five minutes to get him calmed down and back in my arms. Sitting on the bench in front of the mirror, he decided he wanted to straddle my lap so I could kiss him -- and I did as I flipped the lights on flooding the area with a bright glow. With a foot on each side of my hips, he stood and shoved my face in his groin, "Make me hard first." "That's not necessary, dear, I'm hard enough for both of us." "Do it!" The power differential shifted again as I took his smooth cock in my mouth. He was plenty hard and I was leaking copiously. "Finger my butt again." I was a willing partner at this point -- standing at the gate to a momentary paradise with my key in the lock. Slowly, his groin lowered itself to my lap; his oral fixation was sated for a few seconds. Watching over his shoulder while I kissed his neck, I saw every muscle flex and felt every struggle as he worked his way down onto my shaft. Tried thinking of my worst students at that moment I was so ready and his canal was so hot. Manatees came to mind. His sweet muscle was stretched tight and pale around my erection, slippery with oil and pre-cum. Glorious. When he found a place he liked, he wiggled around and looked into my eyes as he tightened his hole around my shaft. He grinned and shot an eyebrow up asking if I liked it. What could I do but kiss the little devil as I trembled? My arms wrapped around him and I leaned back, giving him a different angle as my rod explored his rectal secrets. There was an especially cozy place where my glans could feel his heartbeat -- it took my breath away. And I held him in place and gently rocked him on my rod. That's not what he wanted. He wanted long, slow in-and-out and used his thighs to lift himself, then down again hard. I could only watch in the ancient, chipped mirror as our bodies worked together. "Isn't it better when it's not about the money?" Slipped out between kisses. Mercenary little bastard only winked at me. "Ready for my last installment tonight?" He nodded and leaned toward me taking my face in his hands, kissing me. With his rear lifted a little, I began tensing the muscles of my butt causing a short stroke and I could feel my balls tightening. He changed positions a little and I went full-bore into semen-missile launch mode. Five-four-three, I could feel it hot, rushing up my rod, two-one. Supernova from my balls to my head and my body kept trying to empty an already dry payload into the boy. Suddenly, splatters hit my chin and my chest. What a climax! We stayed embraced until he looked up and licked his cum from my chin. "Isn't it better when it's not about the money?" I was trying to make a point with him. "Well, it was better than Brawne." "Don't mention his name again." My spent dick fell out of his hole and he began dripping on my pants. Didn't seem to bother him, so I grabbed a tissue and wiped his sweet hole several times. Mercy! That was a heavy load. "I'm sleepy." He whispered. "Not yet, make yourself presentable. There's always some sort of cast party in the old foyer." Appealing to his brazen acquisitive nature, I told him he would have to accompany me and take his compliments. "You were a hit tonight -- those old fogeys haven't had such fun in ages. If you behave yourself, you can assist me again and get your two bills afterward." I'd turned the tables on his business. "They're going to laugh at me." "They already did and probably still talking about it. Get dressed, you can see if Dr. Brawne is in need of your services." "Oh, yeah!" He was dressed in record time. After a quick spot removal on my slacks, I smoothed his hair and we went to the gathering of performers and donors smelling of roses and a tinge of sweat, but presentable enough for a glass of champagne, which I swiped from my escort's hand. Wouldn't you know, the little flip told everyone that I'd told him to drop the music and turn the pages the wrong way! That brought out feigned sympathy from the grandmotherly types. Within a few moments, Dr. Brawne was next to the boy, twittering how talented he was and that turning the pages was an excellent introduction into Sociology. I had to roll my eyes when he started mumbling and noticed a spot on the front of his slacks. *** Leaving them to their evening, I left assured that I'd have someone turning my pages for the next few concerts and had a lovely evening myself. As I walked out, another of the ushering crew approached me with an envelope. As he handed it to me, he smiled. "You were great tonight. Can I turn your pages for you next time? I read music." "Oh?" The envelope was my compensation, and a fine one, but I looked back at the young blonde boy who was incredibly shy, "Play the flute by chance?" "Cello." "Even better -- do you have a business card by chance?" "No. Am I supposed to?" Angelic voice on the verge of breaking. What a thrill! Ah, such innocence. "Not for me you don't." With my hand placed reassuringly on his shoulder, "Have you ever seen the old belfry above the chapel? You can almost see the ocean from there..." Fin.