Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 You Ain't Going Nowhere

   [mf mm oral voy voy 1st]

   Disclaimer

   This is a fictional account of consensual sex between teenage boys and
teenage girls.  If you have found this story and this kind of thing offends
you, then please learn how to use Google properly.



   I used to think that I should have a different name, after all, Jack
Hart sounds like he should be interesting, dynamic and with an air of
mystery.  This Jack Hart had just spent the last 3 hours standing in some
god-forsaken corner of Birmingham with a camera and a notepad watching a
bunch of diesel locos being run up and down a yard.

   No anorak, no thermos, no spots, but very much a teenage trainspotter.
18 years old isn't a great age to be a trainspotter, well, a heritage train
fan, or whatever we choose to call ourselves.  We get the piss taken out of
us at school or college by our peers, and the adults regard you with
contempt as you haven't grown up with all trains being hauled by a steam or
diesel locomotive.

   The occasional trips away from Liverpool to visit other parts of the
country were sadly the highlights of my existence.  It was March, so I was
6 months away from heading to university to study Engineering.  My life
consisted of waking up, getting a bus to school, studying in school,
studying on the way home and studying at home before going to bed.

   Having no social life, no love life, not even a hidden addiction to
Facebook or online poker, suited me fine.  I'd have time for that later,
probably in the years of unemployment that will follow my eventual
graduation.  Increased tuition fees and decreased employment prospects at
the end of it, but I was expected to go to university, so that was that. 
My trip to Birmingham might have been just like all the others, but for the
string of events on the way home that still don't fully seem real.  They
were so unlike everything else that happens in my life that my mind is
treating them like a dream.

   Anyway, thanks to various 'incidents on the track', it turned out the
quickest way back to New Street Station in the city centre was by bus.  I
was tagging along with three guys who seemed to tolerate my company.  We
got on the bus and sat down near the front.  Having never been this way
before I sat and stared out the window, not paying attention to what was
going on in the bus.

   It then came as quite a surprise when I saw the three guys I was with
walking into the revolving doors of a book shop in a new large glass
building.  The bus started pulling off, and I realised they'd left me
behind.  I first thought of going on without them, but curiosity got the
better of me and I rang the bell to get off at the next stop.

   It took me a few minutes to walk back to the shop.  I was thinking to
myself what I'd say to them for having left me on the bus.  I was wondering
if they had even noticed.  As soon as I got through the doors, I knew there
was no point; it was not like I was likely to find them again: this place
was huge.

   Of course, they would be heading to the transport section, but despite
this being a city I know nobody in and my predilection for standing on
platforms with cameras, I don't like to be seen reading train books in
public.  Like porn I suppose, if is acceptable to be viewed in specialist
shops, but I don't like to be noticed checking the latest steam centrefolds
by normal people.

   Also, I have rarely been impressed by the selection in mainstream shops
compared with those in dedicated shops.  However, curiosity got the better
of me, so I decided to have a roam around.

   The ground floor consisted of little more than a large balcony
overlooking three levels of bookshelves, sofas and coffee shops.  There
were another three floors above.  Shining escalators, glass elevators and
brushed aluminium spiral staircases linked the levels.

   The computing section was right down at the bottom.  I looked went off
in search of the downward escalators.  For a low-level intellectual snob
like myself, it was heartening to find that a place like this was really
busy, even late into Saturday afternoon.  Most of the customers were in
their teens and early twenties, probably students.

   There didn't actually seem to be too many people queuing at the
checkouts, but there were lots of people with books drinking coffee and
relaxing on armchairs.

   I pretty much lost track of time as I was exploring the wonders of this
great place, but a cursory glance at my phone told me I'd spent over an
hour inside.

   Outside, I went to the bus stop and found to my displeasure that there
wasn't enough bus for nearly an hour.  I figured that I was only a mile or
so from the city centre, and reasoning that it can't be that hard to find,
I walked off up the road.

   It wasn't long before I found myself in a university campus.  The
university wasn't one I was familiar with, The Joseph Locke University, but
it brought a smile to my face.  Locke was one of the greatest, but often
overlooked, engineers of the start of the railway age.

   By the looks of it, it was all only a year or so old.  Vast towers and
edifices all finished in either glass or bright colours.  Most of them
looked like they were designed by architects who disbelieved that any walls
should be straight from the ground all the way up.  I could imagine them
coming up with the ideas sitting in a shoe shop and seeing the boxes
stacked clumsily at the checkout.

   I cut between the buildings heading towards where I thought the city
centre should be.  One of the most interesting buildings was a combination
of cylinder and a wave, the required glass and friendly coloured concrete
exterior shone invitingly.  A few sets of coloured spotlights danced up and
down the walls.  The sign announced it was the Student Union building.

   I thought it might me interesting for me to have a look in; after all, I
hadn't had a chance to go into one at any of my interviews.

   It wasn't what I'd expected.  There were no grotty ripped seats,
collapsed Goths in dark corners or tatty posters for pretentiously named
bands.  It looked as if they had run around Ikea with an unlimited budget.
There were lots of sweeping curves, softwood furniture and glass bricks.

   I wandered around for a while marvelling at how clean and friendly it
all was, then I realised that it needed to blend in a bit so headed to the
bar.

   I'm not a drinker, having no social life means that unless I want to
sneak bottles of WKD into my room, I don't encounter it much.  Anyway, when
in Rome (or whatever bit of Birmingham this was supposed to be), I thought
and ordered some brightly coloured bottle from the bar and headed towards a
quiet corner to watch the football on the flat screen.

   The drink attempted to taste of a cross between strawberries and oranges
in an effort to hide the alcohol from young and delicate drinkers like
myself.  I spent a few minutes trying to figure out who was playing, before
coming to the realisation that I didn't really care anyway and dug out a
text book to read.

   As you may have noticed, I tend to lose track of time when I'm
concentrating on things.  As such have no idea how long I had been nursing
the drink, but when she started yelling at me, the match had finished.

   "Look what we have here, a stranger!" It had taken me a few seconds to
register that she was talking about me.  I looked up and saw a rather
pretty brunette striding across the room, smiling menacingly.

   I noticed that the bar was now pretty sparsely populated.

   "I haven't seen you here before." "I'm err, just passing through."
"Student?" "Err, yes." Between my hesitation and then my over enthusiasm, I
think it was obvious that I wasn't a student at the uni.

   "Hmmm," she hmmed, "college student I bet, out of town.  Well, by the
look of your book you want to be heading to uni soon, let's show you what
life is like on campus.  Come with me." I could tell that was not a
request. She waited a moment for me to pack my book away then grabbed my
hand and led me away.  It felt odd to have a girl hold my hand.

   She was wearing a loose, flowing, brown dress which showed off a bit of
cleavage.  She walked quickly, leading me into a large auditorium which was
mostly full.

   We entered at the top, in the back row of the seating which was set out
like an amphitheatre.  She sat me down near the front on the right hand
side, with a load of other guys, then came over and handed me a piece of
paper with a large number five written on it.

   She went to sit on a chair at the back of the stage along with a couple
of other girls.  They huddled into conversation for a few minutes then she
walked up to the front of the stage and grabbed a microphone from its
stand.

   "Gentlemen, and especially Ladies, welcome to the charity auction.  This
time, it is the guys' turn to be sold.  What you do with you guy for the
twelve hours is up to you, but ladies, let's not do anything you wouldn't
want done to you.

   "We have thirty guys on the block tonight, and it looks like at least
seventy bidders.  All money is going to Cancer Research, and it looks like
we will be raising at lot of money tonight." I was struggling to comprehend
what was going on here.  What had I stumbled into?

   "First up is an old favourite, Kieran Stroud.  Captain of the rugby
First Fithteen, President of the Athletic Union, and now in his third year
of a degree in French and German.  Yes ladies, he really is a cunning
linguist.  We'll start the bidding at one pound." A number of girls
competed for the guy, the winner paid fifteen pounds for him.  Next up was
an officer of the students union, and then was a computer scientist who I
assume could be described as handsome.  They each went for a bit less than
the first guy.  I realised that I'd be up soon.

   Why was I still sitting here?  Why hadn't I have walked out?  What if
nobody bids for me?  Even worse, what if somebody did?  Who would pay money
for my company?  After all, I was such great company I'd been ditched by a
couple of trainspotters.

   "And now for our fifth participant, we have somebody special.  Number
five, come up here please?" She was looking at me.  I found myself rising
up from my seat and walking onto the stage.

   "Number five here is a prospective student.  I found him studying the
bar.  What's your name?" "Jack, Jack Hart." "Ladies, meet Jack Hart, the
boy of mystery.  Behind that innocent face is he a silver-tongued charmer,
is he a sex addict packing ten inches of lovemaker, or is he just a
bookworm waiting to be loved?  Is he Jack Hart or Jack Hartbreaker? 
Ladies, you can find out?  Does he look like he needs somebody to break him
in?  Remember that on Monday he will be going back to school, why no give
him a story to tell his friends about Joseph Locke students being the
friendliest in the country?  Or that our girls are the hottest?  Who wants
to start the bidding at one pound?" As good as that intro was, it only
convinced a few girls to offer up some money.  Which still came as a
surprise to me.  In the end I went for seven pounds and twenty-five pence.

   The girl who won me bounded up to the stage.  Okay, she wasn't exactly a
hottie, but she was cute, in her own way.  She was short, only five foot,
but had a nicer set of curves than a Stirling Single.  She had a bob of
dirty-blonde hair, her freckly face had large blue eyes and a cute pug
nose. She grabbed by arm and started to lead me up the stairs and out of
the door.

   "Err, I think I need to call home." I stuttered as we left the Union
building.

   I fumbled for my mobile in my pocket, then dialled home.  Mum answered.

   "Hi mum, it's me." "Oh hi, are you on your way back?" "No, I don't think
I'll be back till tomorrow." "Really, what are you doing?" "Well I wandered
into a university and somehow got sold to a girl for the night!" "Honestly,
if you don't want to tell me, then that's fine.  Just ring me if you are
going to be later than tomorrow afternoon." I sighed and switched off my
phone.

   The girl was laughing at me.  "It's cute that you don't lie to your mum,
even now." "She didn't believe me anyway, I might as well have." "I take it
that you don't often get bought and sold then?" "No, you're the first."
"Well then Jack of Harts, I am honoured." "Thank you.  I should ask, what's
your name?" "No, I am called Honoured.  Honoured Guest." "Seriously?" "Yes,
really.  I suspect that my parents had a bet going with one of my dad's
mates.  Although it could have been worse, at least they were trying for
me. If I was unplanned, I could have been Uninvited Guest!" I had to laugh
at that.  She lead me through the campus keeping a tight hold on my arm as
if she thought I was going to run away at any moment.  It made me wonder if
people normally ran away from her.

   She talked about herself a lot.  She was an engineering student,
although she was doing civil rather than the mechanical that I wanted to
do. She was an odd mix of being incredibly funny but also very intense. 
She didn't stop talking for the ten minutes we walked to a large
multi-coloured block of flats.  We took the lift up to the top floor and
she took me into a long room with floor to ceiling windows which overlooked
the city.  Aside from the lift shaft, it seemed to cover the whole floor.

   "Welcome to the Madhouse!" She grinned.  "This is a living sociology
experiment." One end of the room had a few sofas, a table and a television,
which was as expected for a flat.  Also expected was the kitchen, also it
was a bit tidier than I'd have expected.  I'd first taken it that this was
just the lounge, abet a very large one, but then I noticed that at the
other end of the room where two rows of what looked like glass offices. 
Most of the glass was opaque, but some were transparent.  Looking at the
transparent one, I could see it was actually a bedroom.

   "That's the experiment, what level of privacy can we function with?  The
glass is soundproof, and for the moment, we can tint it black if we don't
want people to see in.  It used to be that we could also tint it if we
didn't want to see out, but they've stopped that.  We reckon that they'll
stop us from tinting the glass at all in a few weeks." "Why do you let
them?" "Because we only pay ten percent rent.  It's fine if you like living
with a mix of exhibitionists and voyeurs." "So what are you?" "What?" "Are
you a voyeur or an exhibitionist?" "What do you think?" I looked at her. 
She had the intense personality that I thought could make her equally a
watcher or a performer, although I would have assumed that voyeurs would be
quieter.  She didn't wear make up or dress to show a lot of skin, but her
t-shirt and her jeans were both tight enough to show off all her assets.  I
thought about her for a bit longer then answered.

   "An exhibitionist?" She laughed.  "Ideally, yes.  But that would require
a few more opportunities that I normally have, so I spend more time
watching.  Although, it is possible to watch people and also be an
exhibitionist.  For instance, the guy opposite and me have this kind of
mutual masturbation thing going on where we watch each other getting
ourselves off.

   I thought that might have registered on her TMI detector, but obviously
not.  She went to the fridge and pulled out a pair of cans, she offered me
a beer.  I didn't want to seem naive, so I opened the can and took a long
slip.  The cold, fizzy, drink wasn't unpleasant, it was just rather
nondescript.  My first experience of beer was distinctly underwhelming.

   We sat down on a sofa in front of the TV.  She didn't turn it on;
instead she flopped onto me, resting her head on my shoulder.  We gradually
adjusted to a more comfortable position, with her resting her head in my
lap.

   "Did you come to Brum for the diesel day?" She asked.

   I quite surprised that she had stopped talking about herself, and almost
forgot to answer.  "Yeah, how did you know?" "Your trousers smell of
diesel, well, I'd think BR Class Forty.  I knew they were running at the
open day today." It turned out that her dad was a massive railway fan, and
she had inherited his enthusiasm of steam power.  However a by-product of
his taking her to numerous heritage railways as a kid was they she had
amused herself by identifying diesel locos by the smell of their smoke.

   It was hardly the classic of seductive conversation, not that I'd really
know.  The talk bounced through trains, engineers, buildings and bridges. I
was agreeing with her over a point she made about the Tay Bridge Disaster
when I felt her unzipping my jeans.  Now, I bet that sentence has never
been written down before.  She pulled down my jeans and eased down my
y-fronts.  Not knowing where to put my hands, I just let her get on with
it. I was aware that I was now sitting in a large, unfamiliar, living room
with my underwear around my ankles, I suddenly realised that I didn't know
the etiquette if somebody interrupted us.

   I felt the soft skin of her hand around my cock, it jerked slightly as
she first touched it.  It responded willingly to the motion of her hand,
growing hard to its mighty maximum length.  I won't say how long it gets,
because Mum always told me not to boast.  She also told me not to lie. 
Take your pick on what rule I'm adhering to.

   She spat on her hands, and started massaging my cock harder.  She ran
her thumb over the tip of it, causing me to take in breath sharply.  I saw
her smile at this.

   She lowered her head and started licking at my balls.  She kissed the
underside of my cock then moved up and took my length into her mouth.  I
gasped and lightly put my hands on her hair, which was surprisingly soft.
Nodding up and down, her lips were gentle against my skin.  Her fingers
were lightly cupping my nutsack.  I was hunting for air, as my breathing
became faster and heavier, I heard my heart beating in my head and heard my
voice begging her to carry on.  I could feel my cum building inside of me,
it was coming and Honoured sensed it too and she backed off my head and let
the warm jizz splash on her face.  She grinned up at me, white cum
dribbling down her face.  Moving quickly, she went to her handbag and
pulled out a small digital camera.  She took a photo of herself in her
post-splodged state, and a photo of both of us.

   I looked at the last picture.  My face was a mix of post-orgasm and
surprise.  She was smiling throw a splattering of cum.  She looked
beautiful.  I told her, and surprisingly, she blushed.

   She pointed to the camera.  "In case you want evidence to backup your
story when you tell it at school on Monday." I laughed at her, and leant
forward and kissed her.  I could taste my cum on her lips, again,
unexpectedly not unpleasant.

   "Come on" She muttered and dragged me by the arm.  I scrambled to
readjust my clothing so that I didn't fall over various garments.

   She took me to, what I assume, was her room.  The glass walls put pay to
the posters I'd normally expect in a student flat.  The only place for them
was above the large window looking over parts of the second city (or third
city for you Mancunion readers).

   "Massage time." She chimed.

   She lay me face down on the bed and took it upon her self to rid me of
my top and my jeans.  I was laying there on my belly when I felt her sit on
me.  I felt her skin on me so I guessed she had shed some garments too. 
There was some kind of oil on her hands so they slid gently over my back as
she ran them from my waist to my shoulders.  I gasped gently as she started
to work on my shoulders.  She was sitting on my waist; I could feel the
skin of her legs, warm and smooth along mine.  I tried to turn my head to
see what she was doing but firm hands stopped me from moving.

   She lent down onto me.  Her naked breasts rubbed on my back as she
kissed the back of my neck.  It was joyous.  If I was a cat, I would have
purred.  As human I as I was, I was aware of a boner making itself apparent
in-between me and her mattress.

   I wasn't sure what she was talking about, but Hon managed to maintain a
conversation all the way along until she decided she would finally start on
the carnal part of the evening.

   She rose off me slightly and let me roll over.  My first not digitised
view of actual boobs did not disappoint.  Yeah, they were not huge or
glow-in-the-dark or anything, but they were firm, pert and more
importantly, reachable.  Thanks to the meagre alcohol content I had the
courage to reach up and cup them.  I didn't know what to expect or how to
act, but I took one of her tits into my mouth and sucked on the nipple.  It
was her turn to breathe heavily.  She re-adjusted herself to allow her to
slip her panties off.  It was then a simple case of pulling my pants down
and then grabbing the stiffy that was prominent.  Which she did then
lowered her cunt onto my cock.  Angels wept, the heavens cried and I
galloped a lungful of air.  Here was Jack Hart, no longer a virgin.  He was
Jack Hart watching a cute, sexy (slighty mad), blond ride my cock into the
new day.

   I was not a surprise that she was not quiet.  She panted and purred as
she rode me.  I tried to match her rhythm.  I thrust into her snatch with
every ounce of strength I had.  I rolled her onto her back and ploughed
into her snatch.  Each time I bottomed out in her cunt I heard her reach
for breath, panting and wanting more.  She begged me to thrust harder, to
bang her like the slut she was.  I tried as hard as I could until I felt
the climax coming again and spurted my seed inside of her cunt.  I smiled
weakly then fell fast asleep.

   Weird dreams played their games out in my head, but awoke peaceful and
rested in a strange bed.  I took me a few moments to remember where I was.
For a moment, the teenage Jack took over me.  It saw a naked girl next tome
and demanded I take action, reasoning, obviously, that I would unlikely get
another chance.  I held back for a moment, but then I heard her whisper,
"what are you waiting for?".  With that I stuck my throbbing morning glory
tight into that tight snatch.  It wasn't long before I pumped another load
of sperm into her womb.

   We finally got up near enough eleven o'clock.  She dressed in just a
man's shirt and some panties.  I stuck on my t-shirt and jeans from
yesterday.  I followed her legs out of the room.  She introduced me to the
five members of her flat who here lounging around the lounge, After a
breakfast of heart punishing proportions, where in between eating I was
subjected to a Spanish Inquistion, Hon announced that it would be around
ninety minutes to my next train.  And she had ideas of how to spend that
time.

   Despite being in public, she removed her panties with a flourish and
spread her legs wide towards me.  I took her lead and knelt down between
her soft thighs and moved towards her snatch.  I licked gently up and down
her lips, enamoured by the taste sensations.  Taking my cue from porn, I
thrust two fingers into her cunt, fingering the bitch as I ate her out. 
I'd just got three fingers into her when she came.  I took this as a hint
and rose up, lining my hard cock up with her entrance.  I lent in, entering
this maiden with my dick.  I imagined her naked on a desert island as I
thrust into her wet, welcoming passage.  Those muscles I never used before
drove into use as I pounded by balls against her arse, driving into her,
wanting to spread my seed.  I roared as I came into her.  I looked up and
saw boys and girls staring as I woke from my passion spurting into this
beauty.

   I hadn't realised I as I got carried away.  Embarrassed I returned to
her bedroom and got my stuff together.

   There wasn't too much to say, We swapped Facebook names and mobile
numbers and then I left, following her directions to the station.  Did we
stay in touch?  Yes.  Did we see each other again?  Yes.  Did we have sex
again?  Yes.  Is this the place for the next story?  No.