Date: Mon, 26 Mar 2012 09:01:27 +0100
From: Ivor Sukwell <isukwell@hotmail.co.uk>
Subject: Grooming

Warning: this story is fantasy and its theme is sexual relations between a
man and a boy and you are advised to read no further if such matters are
not to your taste, you are prohibited by law from reading material of this
nature or you are deemed to be of insufficient maturity to be subjected to
such a subject. Continuation beyond this point is entirely of your own
volition and at your own risk.

The characters in this story take little heed of the need for safe sex;
this is masturbation fantasy, not a medical treatise, but please remember
that if you are tempted, as these characters are tempted, get some condoms
first.

Grooming
A story by Ivor Sukwell.

Grooming. He hated that word, it was so.....so inappropriate. Grooming was
something you did to horses or dogs. He quite liked horses, though he had
never sat on one, never intended to; he did like dogs, patted them, stroked
them, even cuddled them but he had no intention of ever trying to seduce
one. And that's what they meant by `grooming' wasn't it; the process of
preparing a selected target for seduction as if the selected target was
completely and utterly innocent and unaware of the fact that it was being
so prepared.

Utter and complete bollocks! It takes two for a seduction to happen, and at
some point in the process the seducee will become aware of the seducer's
intentions and either do one, or hang around to see things through to the
end. Some seductions just take longer than others, that's all; they require
long and careful planning, meticulous attention to detail and error free
manipulation of events.

That's what he had done, embarked on a long and excitingly dangerous
seduction; dangerous because he knew he had broken one of the basic rules
of such things -- `never shit in your own back yard'. Well, in a sense,
he hadn't; this was more like shitting in your own front yard. This
seduction, call it `grooming' if that's the only word you can come up with,
was potentially open to the view of and discovery by any number of the
thousand or so other people, young and old, who attended, for the purposes
of either learning or teaching, the school where he spent his days.

The consequences of discovery would be catastrophic, the risks involved in
pursuing his target, huge. But the potential reward was enormous and the
subsequent sex would, he knew, be amazing, so he rejected the risks and the
danger, concentrated on the planning and manipulation of events and started
the remorseless pursuit of his quarry.

The target was not carefully selected from amongst the many suitable
candidates; it was more `self-selected'. He had observed it casually for
some time before he decided to hunt it down, observed it simply because it
was part of the thousand strong mass of humanity that inhabited his daily
world. It wasn't until it began to appear in his mind when he performed his
regular task of masturbation, replacing the dozen or so boys who usually
appeared there as an aid to orgasm, that he began to consider the
possibility of seduction.

It couldn't be a simple, `I'll show you mine if you show me yours', affair;
nor an `I've seen you looking, so do you want to do more than just look?'
event; nor even the slightly riskier, but a lot of fun, `I know we
shouldn't do this, and no-one must ever find out, but do you fancy.....';
all of which, along with a few disappointments and rejections, had
succeeded in giving him a reasonable number of boys' cocks to feel and
suck. No, this needed to be something altogether different.

His mark sexually excited him, of that there was no question; his regular,
indeed, dominating, mental presence during masturbation made that a clear
and present fact; so much so that he dismissed all thoughts of hunting down
either of two very attractive, smooth thighed, thirteen year old delights
that he had, until then, been contemplating. He had no idea if his target
was smooth or hairy, circumcised or complete, large or small; those were
matters he would find out about along the way, or at the moment of triumph
if that's how it turned out.

He preferred smooth, very much preferred smooth, so much so that he kept
his own body completely hairless, a state that he had found, to his
delight, more than one boy had been so turned on by that he had found
himself offering up far more than he had originally intended, going for
fucking when he had meant to go no further than sucking.

He liked cocks with foreskin far more than he liked them without, even to
the extent of being ever so slightly kinky and liking them best of all with
long, tight, almost, or even completely, unpeelable foreskins. That did not
stop him from enjoying boys who had been circumcised, however -- once a
cock is in your mouth it almost ceases to matter whether it is skin covered
or not, cock is cock and he made no pretence to himself about the reality
that he adored cock.

The size of the cock was a matter of complete indifference. Yes, he was
excited if he found a really good handful, something that could fill his
mouth to bursting point; but smaller, slender ones were much easier to
gobble, just as pleasant to handle and gave their owners the same pleasure
as big ones did when they were treated properly.

The first task of any hunter is to study the prey, and, having decided to
hunt, the target was now prey. Get to know it, learn its habits and its
characteristics; become familiar with its habitat, look for the moments
when the prey can glimpse its hunter, slowly become familiar with it and
gradually lose any sense of danger it might initially have felt.

He learned his prey's movement habits, its timetable, its common locations
until he knew by heart where it would be every minute of the school
day. For the overwhelming majority of those minutes it was unapproachable,
either surrounded by other members of the herd or safe in its lair, and for
those few moments when it was approachable, he learned the best ones to
allow it to catch glimpses of its hunter.

A creature that has no history of being hunted is unaware that it is being
stalked by a predator unless the predator makes a false move, attacks too
obviously and too soon. He did not make that mistake. At first he allowed
himself to be glimpsed in the company of others, others who were not
predators, or, who if they were, were after different prey, seeking the
female rather than the male. Only when he was certain that the prey was
aware of his existence, aware, but no more aware than that he simply lived
and breathed, was just one of the herd, did he allow there to be sight of
him alone.

And then only for the briefest of moments and seeming not to even notice
that his prey was about; he could raise no suspicions at this point. For
now he just wanted the prey to notice him, to trigger somewhere, deep in
the mind, a possibility of a hint of interest. He was like a tightly closed
bud that does not yet give any sign of the bee enticing flower that will
later bloom.

Always the same place, always the same time and always only for the
briefest fraction of time until he was sure the first trigger had been
clicked and he extended the moments into longer ones.

He knew then that the fish was swimming, vaguely curiously around his bait;
that something in the bee's instincts had alerted it to the possibility
that the bud might turn to flower. A successful predator does not rely on
speed and force to capture its prey; that might work once, but in working
it alerts all other possible prey to the danger he presents and hunting
becomes harder and harder. Hunting of this nature requires not the fearsome
attack of a tiger, but the soft allure of the venus fly trap.

Slowly he wiggled the worm in his hook, opened the tip of his bud the
merest fraction to give the hint of colour to come and slowly, gradually,
his unsuspecting prey was drawn closer and closer. Now might have been a
moment to strike, but his plan was more subtle, more ingenious than that;
he was planning not to merely seduce his prey, but to seduce it into
believing it was seducing him. More complicated, more fun and so, so much
more rewarding if it worked.

Gradually the moments became long enough to include words and carefully a
friendship was developed and prey became comfortable in the presence of
predator; though both constantly checked around to be sure no hidden
dangers lurked in the classrooms and corridors of their school environment,
for more than one type of predator inhabited those enclosed spaces and the
dangerous ones hunted in packs, eager to savage and destroy any reputation
that came within their reach.

Now was the time the lure could be made more visible and the predator used
carefully chosen words and body language to hint that friendship could
become closer, enough to make the prey wonder if closer might indeed be
very close, and as he began to wonder that, he slowly began to desire it.

The trap was set, the jaws of the fly trap open and enticing, waiting only
now for the fly to walk willingly in. Pheromones were released, not in huge
quantities, but exploratory, testing the air.

Scented and welcomed by the prey, more were released in return so that both
predator and prey, man and boy, knew where the hunt would end, the want and
the need mutually accepted but still unspoken. But before the trap could be
sprung, the jaws of the honeyed fly trap close, it needed to be relocated,
for teacher could not pay the desired extra-curricular attention to the
pupil in their shared school environment.

Teacher could not entice pupil to his own lair; it was outside pupil's own
territory, but inhabited by many of his school peers and his presence would
have been noticed, noted and questioned, for why should pupil visit the
house of teacher, boy enter the dwelling of man were it for other than the
unnatural and unspeakable, but frequently spoken of, act of perversion that
men and boys performed together?

The boy provided the solution, talking frequently and enthusiastically to
his parents of the teacher, who although he taught him no subjects,
nevertheless took an interest in him and encouraged him to work harder, and
the parents, as they were intended to, had noticed an improved attitude and
better marks from their offspring.

A parent-teacher evening came, and parents sought out the paragon of
educational virtue who had bewitched their son into becoming an almost
model pupil, thanked him profusely for his beyond the call of duty
attention and invited him for a drink to demonstrate their appreciation.

The teacher was modest, almost self-deprecating; he had done no more than
any other member of his profession would do for a boy who was bright and
intelligent but in danger of being misled onto the primrose path of
under-achievement by his less academically interested peers.

The teacher was a nice man, quiet and unassuming, and seemed, for a
teacher, to be refreshingly normal; the sort of person parents, as well as
son, would appreciate as a friend. It was not long before teacher was a
frequent visitor to parents' house, for a drink and friendly chat and, at
the not too subtle request of pupil's mother, to occasionally oversee the
doing of son's homework.

Pheromones filled the air of the boy's room and hormones raced, just barely
in check, on such occasions, but the teacher made no unprofessional move,
for the boy's mother was in the habit of bringing up teas and biscuits to
fuel the academic endeavours and to confirm her belief that nothing
untoward was even contemplated; it being in the nature of mothers to be
suspicious even when they think there is no need.

Eventually parents were convinced enough of the innocence and purity of
their, and their son's, teacher friend, that they dared to ask a favour,
one that they understood teacher may find inappropriate to grant. There was
a West End musical they longed to see and although they could, just about,
catch the last train home, it would be so nice if they could go for dinner
afterwards, stay in a hotel overnight and return in time for lunch the
following day.

He was, naturally, not easily persuaded: the boy would not take kindly to
being thought in need of a baby sitter. And that, the parents insisted was
precisely the point. Their son was fifteen, able certainly to look after
himself, perhaps a little too able. He would, inevitably, invite friends
round to share his night of freedom -- the father had been a teenager
after all, knew that he would have done that -- but not all those friends
were as sensible as their son. Their boy did not drink alcohol or smoke
marijuana, (how little, the teacher thought, they really know their son)
but those friends probably did, and, not wishing to be thought a big girl's
blouse, their boy would feel the need to join in.

Of course the boy would feel the need to have friends round, but the
teacher was a friend, wasn't he, someone the boy liked, got on well with,
would not think of as a baby sitter. And with reluctance, the teacher
acceded to the request, with the proviso that the boy should be asked, his
opinion sought.

The boy showed disappointment that he was not to be trusted, insisted that
he was able to look after himself, behave; but because it was his favourite
teacher, now friend, who would be with him, he agreed reluctantly,
apparently convinced by his mother's argument that she would be able to
have a worry free time away knowing her boy was safe from temptations.

Now many weeks of planning, of manipulating, of engineering the moment when
the time would be right, the place available, the hunter would at last be
able to claim his prey.

                                                               ****************

The boy did not object to the man's hand around him, to the gentle
squeezing of his shirt covered shoulder; he was a rabbit caught in the
headlights, a creature mesmerised by the gorgon glare of sex. He was a boy
of fifteen, aware that the arm round his shoulder was a mere prelude to
hand being elsewhere. He knew he could still escape, say "No, that is not
what I meant at all," but he did not try to escape, try to run.

He was a boy of fifteen, and his teacher knew that boys of fifteen are
adventurous, tend to be willing to try anything once, and if led gently to
water, they would drink.

The boy knew that his lack of protest, his acceptance of the friendly arm
around him, would be taken as consent for things further, and he waited
with almost baited breath for them to happen. The fly had landed on the
honey covered jaws of the trap and the slightest movement now would trigger
those jaws into closing.

The man's other hand moved, hovered, and came to rest on the boy's denim
covered thigh and still the boy did not resist, did not flee the scene of
his impending doom.

Encouraged, the man moved further, travelling his hand slowly upwards,
allowing the boy chance to change his mind, to reject the advance, to
retain his innocence, but the boy allowed the hand to continue because he
was excited now, his hormones raging out of control, and knowing where that
hand was heading meant he was not innocent and so had none to retain.

The hand moved on, resting now on the boy's crutch; excited and relieved
that his hand found the boy already hard, he squeezed his denim and
underwear covered prize before undoing belt buckle, button and zip. He did
not go straight down inside, instead moving his hand upwards, under the
boy's shirt, resting now on the smooth skin of teenage stomach, breathing
deeply at the feel of boy skin under his hand, the blood warm, silken
smoothness that sent waves of desire flooding through him.

The trap was closing faster now, the boy caught on the sticky honey, but he
wanted the boy's consent to the coming event; he had acceptance, but he
wanted consent; there was safety in consent. He looked the boy in the eyes
and the boy smiled, giving that consent and the man's hand moved again, not
down to grasp the hardness that awaited him, but to the waist of his jeans.

Co-operating now, the boy lifted himself up so his jeans and underwear
could be pulled downwards, revealing to the light and air, and to the man's
lustful gaze, those parts that men delight to see and the teacher sucked in
his breath as his eyes feasted on his pupil's perfection, his smooth
perfection, his completely hairless perfection.

Reverently he stroked the boy's wonderful thighs, wonderful, smooth, silky
thighs and the boy sighed with pleasure as his flesh was fondled and his
hard, five and a half inch, still foreskin covered point of joy, throbbed
and bounced in time with his thudding heart beats.

The hand on his thigh was amazing, stroking with something more than simple
lust, and when it moved, to join its companion in the removal of his shirt,
the boy lifted his arms in helpful compliance so that hands could feel the
rest of him in gentle, boy adoring stroking.

The boy wriggled, pushing his trainers off, one foot at a time, then using
his sock covered feet to force the unwanted denim and cotton from round his
ankles, laying back, naked now apart from socks, for the man to gaze his
fill and feel his fill as well.

He loved the attention his body was receiving, although he knew from the
tender skill with which he was being stroked that he was not the first boy
to give himself to this man. A man, new to the wonder that is boy, would
have long since gone for the prize of his super hard cock, but his teacher
had not done that, instead he was giving pleasure by stroking chest,
stomach and thigh, teasing hard, throbbing cock by making it wait. That
knowledge did not concern him, whatever boys had gone before, however many
would come after, he was the boy of the moment and he was going to be
treated to the sex he craved.

At last the hand moved to his centre, his hairless balls were cupped and
fondled and his prick enclosed by hand and he sighed loudly with the relief
of that pleasure.

The man held him tightly now, whispering that he was beautiful and had a
wonderful cock; words a boy likes to hear and words, the man knew, would
encourage the boy to offer more, or permit more if he was not yet ready to
offer.

He was ready to offer; the hands wandering over his body, kneading the
softness of his inside thigh, stroking the solidness of the curve of his
leg, the hard bone of his hip and the flatness of his stomach, had led him
to the point of no return, and fingers playing and squeezing his nipples
had taken him well beyond that point.

"If you want to take me to bed," he whispered to his boy loving teacher,
"You can do anything you want with me."

"Anything?" his teacher asked, hardly believing that his long pursuit of
the boy would lead to such a complete surrender. "You know what that might
mean?"

"Perhaps I should say `everything'," the boy smiled wickedly, a wickedness
bred from the boldness of allowing himself to be naked for the man.

The fires of lust now well alight, teacher moved in for a kiss, but pupil
turned his head away.

"Bed first," he insisted, "Take me to bed."

And so the man did, breathing heavily in his need to shed his clothes,
clasp the boy to him, teach him things that were not on the school
timetable.

The man groaned with joy when he held the boy against his own naked body,
experiencing once again the delights of adolescent flesh pressed against
his own, his hands exploring now the rear of the boy, the firm softness of
his perfect thighs, the hardness of his back, the bones of his shoulders
and spine and the pliable mounds of his arse; teenage boyflesh surrendering
to his need.

There was more hair on the man than the boy had expected, but he had not
set eyes on a naked man before, never seen the spreading mass of untamed
pubes, the trail that led from them to navel, nor the growth that covered
legs. And never before had he seen an adult prick, seeming so much bigger,
longer and thicker than his own adolescent equipment. His slender, teenage
hand could barely encircle it, and when he gripped it low, down amongst the
jungle of pubic hair, half of the shaft topped by a bulbous, circumcised
head, rose above his grasping fist.

Now he did allow lips to touch, shyly resisting the first attempts by
tongue to open his; to be expected from a boy who has never before kissed a
man. Undeterred, tongue probed at his seeming unwilling to part lips until
at last he surrendered, opening mouth for the wet invader, at first just
accepting it and then slowly joining in the dance until mouths were glued
together, tongues twisting around and stoking the fires of lust to a white
furnace heat that could be quenched only by sperm.

He loved the hands on his body, adoring the so smooth and silky skin and he
thrilled in shock when mouths parted and his nipples became instead the
target of his teacher's oral attention. His cock moved from steel to
diamond hardness and surely gained an extra fraction in length as it
throbbed in the man's hand, hinting at its impatience to be the next object
to be taken into hot, wet mouth.

He sighed with satisfied delight when that happened, his eyes closed and a
contented smile on his well kissed lips, purring like a happy kitten as he
was sucked, even more so because man hand had returned to stroking and
fondling his smooth and perfect adolescent body.

The sucking was all and more than he had hoped for; the feel of tongue
against the soft, underside of his cock, the brushing of his barely exposed
piss slit against hard palette and the occasional, gentle and deliberate
brushing of teeth over that incredibly sensitive ridge where head joins
shaft, built him rapidly to orgasm.

He gave no verbal warning of his impending eruption, but the tensing of his
stomach and thighs, the holding of his breath and the tightening of his
balls was warning enough for his teacher and the man increased his efforts,
encouraging boy spunk to squirt so that he could savour the honey cream of
teen, have it flood his mouth and allow it to trickle slowly over his taste
buds and down his throat.

"That was quick," the teacher murmured, the boy's offering consumed.

"Yeh," the pupil agreed, "But there's loads more. No need to stop."

And to emphasise his point, the boy went down on the man, over-filling his
mouth with thick, adult cock that he carefully brought nowhere near the
danger of exploding.

Stopping with an embarrassed smile and an explanation that his jaw was
aching, the man was so big, he made himself available for further kissing
and manual exploration. This time his teacher's fingers found, as though
with surprise, the crack between his arse cheeks, tracing that line from
perineum to top.

Encouraged by the boy's willingness to be explored, the finger pressed a
little at the crack and when the boy obligingly raised a leg to open the
crack a bit, the finger delved in, searching for the greatest prize of
all. The boy's reaction to having his tightly closed entry point located
was all the man could have hoped for -- a mixture of surprise, wonder and
excitement -- a reaction that indicated the boy's willingness to continue.
Finger teased crinkled portal to bliss, no more than hinting at the joy
that was to come, but the hint was strong enough to make the boy sigh and
surrender, willingly allowing himself to be moved so he was on elbows and
knees, his arse parted and available, the brown, crinkled gateway exposed
to unaccustomed air and in full view for the man to gaze on and drool over.

He did not gaze for long, moving his head towards the as yet never opened
gate and bringing gasps of surprise from the boy when his tongue knocked on
the door.

So this, the boy thought, is what it feels like to be rimmed and he learned
shortly afterwards what it felt like to be eaten and sucked there. Better,
better by far than his imagination had ever credited; no wonder boys liked
so much to be treated to this, unbelievable, attention.

By the time tongue probed hard at the gate and the gate, not utterly
unwilling, opened a fraction to see what so insistently knocked, the boy
was little more than a mass of quivering, sensory overloaded, flesh. No way
could his mind resist the call of a further, deeper entry than tongue could
make, and he almost ravenously dragged an invading finger deep inside.

He was on his side now, one leg drawn up and clutched tight to his chest so
he was providing full access to the finger that, soon after his cock was
taken once more into mouth, became two and then three. They moved inside
him, stretching and widening his co-operating hole and they found that
point inside him, that tiny button that when pressed carefully enough and
often enough, can trigger a release of sperm through even an untouched
cock. His cock was not untouched, it was being lasciviously sucked as his
hole was widened, and it spewed its second load into greedy mouth.

The fingers barely paused in their manipulation of his body, his teacher
knew well enough that this second spunking did not herald an end to
proceedings, and that, in his relaxed, post-orgasmic state, the boy was
ready for fucking.

Another re-arrangement of the boy's body, on his back this time with both
legs lifted, and thick, greased, circumcised cock head was against the
partly open hole, pushing slowly at the still present defences, forcing,
gently but still forcing, its way inside.

The boy gasped loudly as his sphinctre gave up the unequal struggle, unable
to keep the invader at bay, and the cock head was through the stretched and
now useless portcullis and faced only the lesser internal defences.

Sudden pain, sharp and excruciating, flared through the boy's body as those
defences were conquered and cock was inside him, filling him, stretching
him and slowly sliding deeper and deeper into him until he was fully
impaled and his smooth arse cheeks were scratched by pubic hair.

Pain was not replaced by something else, it was just flooded and its impact
dimmed as the man moved inside him. He knew the cock in his bowels was
wearing a raincoat, he wished it wasn't, he'd wanted to feel the flood of
sperm inside him when the man climaxed; but his teacher, like all good
teachers, had come prepared for any eventuality and insisted on the
protecting, latex, second skin. It was a shame, he thought, but he still
sighed "Oh yes!" as he was fucked.

The trap had closed fully, the prey caught and consumed for pleasure, a
pleasure shared by both predator and prey, hunter and hunted.

"And that," the boy thought as he lay in his teacher's arms, his first
fucking completed, "Cannot be called `grooming.' Selecting a man to take
your virginity, tracking him down, luring him by devious means into your
bed and your arse, has got absolutely nothing to do with patting fuckin'
horses or stroking dogs!"



I hope you found it worth the reading,

Ivor Sukwell.