Date: Mon, 8 Sep 2014 20:59:26 +1000
From: Austen Lening <austenlening@gmail.com>
Subject: Show Some Ankle

Authors Note: This story depicts consensual sexual activity between an
adult male and a teenage boy. If this sort of material offends you, or
you are under the age of eighteen, or it is illegal for you to view this
sort of content, then please leave now. All copyright is retained by the
author, and this story may only be downloaded for personal enjoyment, not
for sale or distribution in any form.

Feedback, suggestions and comments are appreciated, and can be sent through
to me at austenlening[at]gmail[dot]com

Please see my other story, The Games Room at
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/the-games-room

Show Some Ankle

My office at Anchorage Secondary School of Higher Learning was known
amongst the staff as `the Den'. Larger the most, it was immaculately
furnished; rich grey carpet led to dark panelled wooden walls that glowed
in the reddish evening light that swept through the wide windows that took
up most of one of the walls; windows which opened out onto a view of
Skyman's Bluff, and the ocean beyond.

My ownership of the Den had both been almost happenstance, and as a result
a cause for some jealousy from the rest of the staff. It had come about
when the previous Head of the English Department has been forced to move
back to Melbourne to care for his ailing mother, and the school had been
unable, despite considerable effort, find a replacement. As the only other
English teacher at the small school, I had finally been promoted to fill
the role at the tender age of twenty-four.

Sometimes I regretted my decision to accept it—like most of the staff at
the school; I had been poached straight out of college—the large salary
and the chance for experience enough to pay for the distance
travelled. Don't mistake me on that, Anchorage was beautiful, but its
population was tiny, it's primary industry being tourism for those who
liked the rustic, and mostly made up of families and retirees; certainly no
one around my own age, other than fellow teachers, who all mostly spurned
me, these days.

A knock on my open door made me turn, and then smile. "Cal, come in,
please, and shut the door behind you."

Cal Devlin, sixteen, did as he was told, and then turned to face
me. Slender, but athletic, with broad shoulders, and, I knew from seeing
him shirtless, well defined from years of sports, he had a slightly
quizzical look on his sun-kissed, boyish face. Green flecked brown eyes
glittered in the late afternoon sun, and his short dark hair was messy and
still damp from soccer practice. Most boys, summoned to a teachers office
after school, would have been uncertain, sure that they'd done something
wrong—and likely right in that. Cal, though, gave no sign of hidden
guilt. A confident lad, almost cocky at times, though never truly arrogant,
Cal was only curious.

"Come and sit," I said, nodding to the long, wide lounge that I sometimes
used as a bed when I had stayed too late, working, to justify the long car
ride to my apartment in town. Built into the office, there was no back,
just the seat and the arm rests, the wall providing the support. Above it
was a long, but surprisingly sturdy shelf that I sometimes clipped my head
on when I stood up too fast.

I sat with my upper body turned towards Cal, but he sat less self
consciously, one leg up on the lounge, his ankle resting on the other knee,
so he was facing me squarely. Dressed in the school uniform, a button up,
collared shirt that strained to hold his shoulders in, complete with the
blue and red school tie, and finally completed by the small shorts that the
boys were required to wear in Summer. They made a joke of it, of course,
running along singing `we love short shorts', at the tops of their lungs,
but I couldn't help but think the uniform had been designed by someone a
little bit deviant—a thought I knew the boys shared, to their
amusement. The final pieces were the black formal shoes. The boys were
supposed to wear grey socks with them, but most, including Cal, wore white
anklets.

"What did you want to talk about, sir?" he asked, his voice the warm timbre
of early adolescence.

"Something wildly inappropriate," I replied seriously, "Something which is
absolutely none of my business, and which I wanted to talk to you about
anyway, because I remember having a similar conversation once, and how
valuable it was to me later. Still, I will completely understand when you
tell me to fuck right off."

Cal grinned at that—not his usual, shit-eating grin, but something tad
nervous, for all that I knew he was getting off on hearing a teacher
swear. "What was it?"

I decided to simply rip off the band aid. "You like boys, don't you?"

For a moment he froze, and I wondered what his reaction would be. Being
confronted about this would not be easy—many probably would think me
very wrong to do it, to violate his privacy in this way and force him to
face something he wasn't ready to face. Possibly they would be right; all I
could go on was my own experience, and maybe that would turn out to be the
aberration. The path to hell had always been paved in good fucking
intentions (and not, as some might tell you, the yellow brick road and
rainbow flags).

I watch, then, as Cal blushed. Something like mortification spread across
his face, and he ducked his head in shame, his shoulders curving with what
could only be guilt, and I knew then that I had made the right decision;
that under his cockiness and his confidence this boy was suffering, and
struggling with something he did not know how to bear.

Reaching out, I gently grasped his calf, squeezing it in sympathy for what
he was feeling in that moment, but also reassurance. He managed to speak,
then, and the word he said was `sorry'.

"Sorry?" I asked, "For what?"

He looked at me then, not squarely but more a dart glance, from a miserable
place. "For being..."

"For being what you are?" I asked, and smiled. "Cal, don't you get it?
Being gay is like being intelligent, or ridiculously good looking. Not
something you necessarily ask for, but certainly something you can take
pride in, provided you live up to be worthy of it."

His head slowly turned up further, and he was frowning more than looking
guilty now. "Sir, are you...?"

"Also a winner of the genetic lottery?" I said, grinning. "Oh yes."

He smiled a bit at that, still not his normal grin, but an easier one. "I
wouldn't have guessed."

"Nor I, you," I replied. "There is nothing wrong with flamboyance, mind,
but the only reason I knew about you is I saw you in an unguarded moment at
the swimming carnival. Looking at Matt Preston, and not wearing something
particularly concealing. No one else was in a position to see, though."

His grin widened at that, and he blushed a bit too, and muttered, "Matt
Preston has a lot to look at."

"I plead the fifth."

He laughed, finally, and shook his head as if waking up a little. "This is
so strange. I wouldn't have thought about any of this like this, but
suddenly you say it and it all seems true."

"That's probably because the kids in your class talk shit about gays all
the time. It's actually kind of funny, they go on so much about their own
dicks as if they're a gift from god, but bring anyone else's into it and
its all horror and fear," I replied, conspiratorially, and then said, "the
kids of your class, I will add just quietly, are not particularly
bright. Trust me; I've seen their report cards. But you and I get to know
that all the fun that can be had with one dick goes up exponentially with
an addition of another. Or more."

"More?"

"Oh yes, more can be a lot of fun."

He was grinning easily now, and abruptly I became aware of the charge of
electricity between us. This was followed up but the realisation that I was
still touching his leg, and under that, the realisation that I had been
aware for some time of how nice it felt under my hand; the hard calf muscle
and the light dusting of hair.

He followed my gaze down to that hand, that leg, and his grin dimmed a bit,
and in its place something more serious appeared. I removed my hand and
murmured an apology.

"For what?" he asked, seriously. And then, as if to make sure I knew that
he knew what I had meant, he added, "I didn't mind."

Suddenly everything was spinning a little, and I realised how in my
eagerness to reassure him I had opened up myself to other things, besides;
things that were wrong, but burned away merrily inside me anyway.

"Cal," I managed, somewhat huskily, but he cut me off, taking my hand and
putting it back on his leg. That made me aware of his hands, the only part
of him that might be called delicate. They were the hands of a surgeon, or
a pianist. They were beautiful.

"We shouldn't."

Some of his old confidence surfaced then, and he said coolly, "You leave
that to me to worry about. I'll tell you when to stop."

I looked at him, and then down at my hand, which was resting gently on his
calf.

My thumb was moving back and forth, feeling the fine hair there. Cal was
not a hairy boy, but he was definitely on his way to becoming a
man. Slowly, not quite by its own will, for all I would have liked to
believe that, my hand traced the calf muscle down his defined leg, to his
ankle.

"You know," I said almost absently, so mesmerized was I by the feel of his
leg under my hand. "In some parts of the world, it's illegal for a girl to
show her ankle. They believe it's indecent."

"Are you saying I have slutty ankles?"

"I'm saying that I never realised before today how sexy an ankle could be."

I looked at him then, into swirling green-brown eyes, and saw him—not as
my student, or the only other gay in the village, someone to be helped and
mentored. I saw him instead as he was, a boy, and as he would be as a
man. Something glorious, something remarkable, and in that moment, he
leaned toward me, his mouth seeking mine, and I let him.

He was hesitant at first, uncertain. I reached up and took his head in my
hand, and steadied him as my tongue licked across lips that opened before
it, tasting his tongue as he tasted mine. Knowing it was likely his first
kiss, I made it gentle, struggling to restrain the lust growing inside
me. He felt no such need for restraint, pushing me eagerly back against the
wall; his athletic strength belying his size. The kiss was growing into
something fervid, animalistic in its intensity, and that was the moment I
gave in, and gave myself to him, whilst accepting in turn what he was
giving of himself to me.

I caught his shoulders and pushed him back a little and he retreated,
suddenly hesitant again, unsure of his welcome. I smiled, and slid out from
under him, pulling him to his feet by his hand. Standing, he was only half
a head shorter than me, but so beautiful. For the first time I became aware
of the almost obscene bulge of his cock in the tight shorts.

"Come over here," I said, leading him to my desk.

Turning him, so that he was half-leaning, half-sitting against the edge, I
kissed him again, tasting that sweet mouth, but this time taking charge of
the kiss, letting loose all of my hunger for him. Then I backed off, and
studied his face. He was seeing the truth of me, now, too, and the depth of
my attraction to him. If there were a moment in which he would be scared
off, or want to leave, now would be it, but I only saw my own hunger,
returned back to me two-fold.

Looking down, with almost trembling hands, I loosened his tie, but did not
remove it. Instead I worked it out from under his collar, tucking the noose
of it in against the tanned skin of his neck. I began, slowly, to unbutton
his shirt, only now I was meeting his gaze, devouring him with my
eyes. Once the shirt was unbuttoned, I slide my hands inside, like an
exploration of the unknown. Feeling the warm smoothness of his chest, the
defined ripples of his muscles, the rock hard nubs of his nipples, I turned
the act of removing his shirt into a sensual caress. He actually moaned
softly as my large hands slid over his shoulders, freeing the shirt from
the last anchor holding it to him. It fell back onto my desk.

Moving backwards, I allowed myself to take him in. The broad shoulders, the
sun kissed, defined chest—he was not so much muscular as he was cut;
though nor was he lean. A pronounced v, what I would have called, in my
more callous youth, cum gutters, led smoothly down into his pants, pointing
the way to whatever mysterious thing was causing that bulge—and hmmm...
I wonder what was making that damp spot?

I realised then that he was waiting almost anxiously for me to finish my
look—to, as it must seem to him, make my assessment. I let my smile
answer him, and the smile he gave me in return was beautiful and brilliant,
like the sun coming out from behind a brief cloud.

"Take off your shoes and socks." I said quietly.

He was almost comically eager in removing them, though I could never laugh
at him—with him, yes. At him? Never!

Once his shoes were off he stood in just his shorts and the school tie,
which hung against his smooth chest. His hands went to his belt, ready to
expose all he was to me, but I stopped him. "Not yet."

He seemed confused, perhaps disappointed, but his hands dropped to his
side. Holding his gaze I undid my own tie, and let it slide to the
ground. Slowly, I began to unbutton my shirt, and his disappointment faded
as he realised what I was offering him. As I slid my shirt off my shoulders
and let it fall to the ground, his eyes devoured me avidly. I was not as
slender as he, both in the absence of his youth, but also in that my
definition came from time at the gym, and was of a different form than that
won to him by his years of athleticism.

I kicked my shoes off, with what I hoped was more grace than what he had
managed, but, as I peeled my socks off I saw a cheeky little grin that
suggested I hadn't managed that. Then I faced him directly again and began
to undo my belt. I slid it out of its loops completely to drop it to the
ground, instead of leaving it looped through my pants the way I usually
did. I wanted my act of disrobing to be complete, absolute and certain.

He swallowed noticeably as I slid my pants from my hips, his eyes glued to
my tight, and thankfully since I'd put no thought into their selection this
morning, quite sexy briefs. The outline of my hardon was obvious, and as he
stared at it, he actually licked his lips. I have never, in my entire life,
felt more sexy than I did in that moment.

Then came the final moment, the final exposure, as I slipped my briefs off,
purposefully dragging my dick down so that when it slipped free it jerked
up, swaying, a small drop of pre-cum glistening on the tip. And then I
simply stood before him, letting him take me in with his eyes. I knew what
he was seeing—the defined muscle, the smooth chest, a result of shaving
unlike his naturally smooth torso.

My cock was not huge, though it possibly looked that way to him at just
under seven inches, and reasonably thick. My pubes, a darker brown than
what was on my heard, were neatly trimmed, more a matter of personal
grooming than the expectation that there might be someone who might like to
look at them—certainly I had never imagined that that someone would be a
sixteen year old student.

I moved towards him, smiling gently at his rapt face. He reached instantly
for my dick, but afraid I might cum if he touched it; I caught his hand,
braiding his fingers with mine as I used my other hand to tilt his chin up
so that his mouth met mine.  His other hand came up as if to brace himself
on my chest, and I felt him gasp slightly as his fingers found bare flesh.

I released his chin as his hand began to explore, and used my hand to pull
his hips against mine, feeling my cock slight first against the fabric of
his shorts, and the smooth skin of his abs, leaving a sticky smear across
them. Releasing his hand I grasped the tie, holding him against me as I
broke the kiss. Breathing harshly, though no less so than he was, I gazed
into his glazed green-brown eyes, and smiled a naught smile. I released his
hips, using my own to hold him against the desk, I tilted his chin up
further so I could kiss, and nibble a little at his neck. He moaned again
at that, and I felt the hard lump of his dick throb against my thigh.

Moving down, I sucked on the hard nubs of his nipples, and that brought a
louder moan, and one of his hands came up holding my head his chest as his
body practically vibrated with the intensity of what he was feeling. I
moved to the other one, marvelling at the tiny, pert nubs. I don't care
that in the grand scheme of things, nipples on men are functionally
useless, they were still amazing, sexy things, and his small ones were more
amazing, and more sexy than any I had seen before, much less had a chance
to tongue with abandon.

Cal was moaning continuously now, a sort of soft, sighing groan that did
not stop, and I knew it would not be long for him, so reluctantly I
abandoned his chest and slid to my knees. There was no real art in the way
I removed his pants, my urgency was too great now. Once I had them at his
knees, he rolled his hips to he was more sitting then leaning on my desk,
allowing him to lift his feet so I could slide them off his ankles. No
sooner were they off then he was standing again, and my hands were on his
briefs, colourless grey thing that were tightly fitting, and, as a result,
through no real effort of their own, deeply sexy.

His dick, which I could practically see, had darkened a coin sized hole in
the underwear, and I had to taste it. He gave a harsh grunt as my mouth
latched on to that dark patch, and the sensitive cockhead underneath is,
and the grunt turn into a long, groan as I tongued and tasted the pre-cum,
and the defined ridges of his dick.

Then I had to have the real thing. Nearly ripping his underwear as I pulled
them from his cock, he again rolled his hips so I could get them off his
feet. I tossed them aside, absently, glorying in the revealed piece of
boyhood.  Slender, and only about five and a half inches long, it stemmed
from tight pubes that naturally gave the appearance of maintenance, though
I doubt he actually trimmed them. His balls were tight against his body as
the straight piece of meat swayed and throbbed above them.

"If there were ever such a thing as a perfect looking dick, Cal, I swear to
god that's it."

He looked down, uncertainly, and shrugged a little, an act that made the
subject of the discussion sway back and forth. "It's small."

I moved in, grasping his meat at the base, and looking up at him from
beneath it, lightly tapping it against my cheek, allowing him a moment to
burn that image into his brain—every boy, every man, deserved to
remember seeing his cock slapping against someone else's face, and I said,
with all the sincerity I could muster, "It's perfect."

Then, giving him no warning, I tilted it back and took his balls in my
mouth, eliciting another groan-grunt from Cal. His balls tasted sweet, a
slight musk that came from being a healthy, active boy. Tonguing them, I
discovered they were largely hairless, though maybe he would grow into
that. As I mouthed them, I felt him wriggling, and his dick was throbbing
in my hand to the beat of his heart, which must have been racing, and I
knew I was running out of time, I leant back, swirled the head of his dicks
with my tongue, tasting him directly for the first time, and then I slid my
mouth down to the hilt, inhaling him into my mouth, and the tip a little
bit into my throat, though he did not reach deep.

In that moment, he exploded. His whole body shook with the force of his
orgasm. His dick jerked to hard in my mouth I worried for a moment it would
hurt itself on my teeth, and then I was struggling with the torrent of hot
cum his balls were spewing into my mouth. Wanting to taste it, and vaguely
afraid of drowning, I pulled back so his still spasming dick head was
against my tongue, his salty discharge touching my taste buds for the first
time, and my throat struggled to swallow his load—not with complete
success, as I could feel cum leaking from the corner of my mouth, down my
chin.

The next moment I had to release his still dribbling cock from my mouth in
order to steady him. Taking one look at his dazed face, I stood and picked
him up (not with total ease, he was slender but solid for all that), I
carried him back to the lounge, where I more fall than sat, with him on my
lap. Curled into me, as if by instinct, and his head nuzzled in the nape of
my neck, for a moment before leaning back and smiling at me.

"That was fucking intense," he said, and then sighed, "sorry I shot so
quickly."

"Don't be. That was a beautiful compliment, if ever there was one."

He squirmed a little, I realised so he could feel my hard dick against his
hip bone, then pulled out of my arms and rolling to the floor where he
landed like a cat on his hands and knees. Grinning that shit-eating grin he
moved between my legs and muttered, "lean back."

"You don't have to," I said, or tried to say, as he swooped and slid the
head of my dick into his mouth. What actually came out was something more
like a strangled moan as he swirled his tongue eagerly around my dick head,
before leaning back for a moment a fisting my dick while he grinned.

"I've wanted to do that for so long," he laughed, exhilarated and
uninhibited. "And to think, everyone makes being a cocksucker sound like
such a terrible thing."

And with that wisdom pronounced, and another wild, carefree laugh, he dove
back in. I found his joy infectious and was grinning ear to ear as I
watched this sixteen year old god swallow my cock. Not that he was that
good at it, with the teeth and a little bit of gagging—but who was their
first time. Or realistically, their fifth or tenth. Besides, his enthusiasm
more than made up for what he would later gain in experience, starting
here, with this cock.

For a time I simply luxuriated in the experience, leaning back, one hand
tucked behind my head so it wasn't hitting the hard wall, the other
stroking his hair as he bobbed up and down. As it did, a desire began to
form in my brain. Something I didn't dare know if I could actually follow
through on.

He straightened, lifting his mouth from my glistening dick, his lips puffy
from his exertions, a question on his face that he then gave form
to. "What? Am I doing something wrong?"

"No, you're doing it perfectly. You're perfect."

"Then what? You stiffened, and I don't mean down there."

"I just..." I said, wondering how to articulate what I was thinking without
it seeming like I was demanding. "A thought occurred to me, but it doesn't
matter."

He hesitated, looking down at my dick and then back to my face, a strange
look on his face. Then, as if gathering himself, he said. "Would you like
to fuck me?"

Yes! Yes, yes, yes! "No, it's fine."

He was obviously nervous about the concept, but at the same time a small,
sly smile came up. "Yes you do, you want to fuck me."

"No, really, it's fine." I protested.

He lent in, tapping my dick against his face in the same way I had to his
early, and cooed to me, "You want to take this baseball bat of a dick, and
stick it in my ass, don't you?"

"Cal," I said, striving for every bit of stern warning I could manage.

"Do you think it would break me open?" He asked, mock serious. "Pop a
cherry, pop a Cal. Woe is Cal."

"Cal, enough."

He slithered up so his face was even with mine, earnest and serious. "Don't
do that. Don't play teacher when we're doing this. You, me, here. We're
equal. It has to be that way, don't you see? Anything else would be cheap."

And I did see. Humbled by him, I apologised, but he waved it away airily,
and lent back. "Now fuck the shit out of me. If I'm a virgin for more than
another ten minutes, there will be hell to pay."

I caught him by his tie, and pulled him in to me for a hard kiss, and then
grinned at him. "Romantic little shit, aren't you."

"Penis in bum." He growled back. "Now."

"No," I replied, but before he could say anything I continued. "If we're
going to do this, we do it right."

I pushed him to his feet, and led him by the tie back to my desk, using my
hand to bend him forward so his ass was sticking out. I could see him
watching me over his shoulder, equal parts curious, and despite what he
wanted to pretend, nervous, but I didn't slide my dick into that hole, no
matter how much I wanted too. Instead, I knelt behind him, and trying not
to worry about the potential questionable hygiene habits of the average
teenage boy, dove in, my tongue stabbing at the red rose bud of his ass.

Thankfully, Cal's hygiene proved to be impeccable, and other then a slight
musty taste there was nothing to worry about, except maybe the sounds Cal
was making. Could a boy strangle himself moaning? It sounded like Cal was
giving it his best shot.

I don't really like giving rim jobs, but by the same note I was determined
to make this the best damn rim job anyone had ever got. Cal deserved my
full efforts, and so it was with considerable dedication that I lapped at
his tight hole, tonguing his crack, and forcing my tongue into him. After a
time I added a finger to his loosening, but still tight hole, sliding a
foreign digit into him for what was likely the first time ever.

Cal was pushing his ass back now, hungry for more, and I deemed that a good
moment to slip a second finger into my fine young boys ass, eliciting more
strangled, pleasured groans. My other hand I used to play with his balls,
and stroke his beautiful dick to the best of my ability for that
angle. Hard once more, it was throbbing with the depth of his need.

"Enough," Cal suddenly growled, bucking. "It's now. Do it now."

"Not like this," I said, straightening and wiping my mouth with the back of
my hand as he looked over his shoulder at me. God he was beautiful, tanned
and muscled, the dimples in his back made clear by the bunched muscles of
his shoulder blades. His slightly less tanned ass, pert and hungry. If
anyone had told me I'd be tonguing a guys ass while he braced himself
against my desk, I would have laughed, much less that that guy would be
stunning, vibrant sixteen year old still wearing the tie that showed him to
be one of my students. Fuck. Grabbing his hand, I pulled him back toward
the lounge.

"I want you to ride me," I said, breathlessly, and he grinned and pushed me
on to my back, before straddling me. With a bit of naivety, he immediately
grabbed my dick and aimed it at his virginal hole, but I grabbed his hips
and stopped him before he could impale himself. "Use lots of spit. Fuck I
wish I had lube."

He looked at me as he spat into his hand, which I found strangely hot, and
didn't break eye contact as he spread the spit on my cock. I urged him to
use more, and he did.

"Now?" he asked.

"Go slow. Stop if it's too much."

He nodded, I think taking me serious for the first time since he decided
getting fucked was something he wanted to do, and almost gingerly, he
lowered himself toward my dick. I felt the spongy head slide into his
crack, and moaned softly, eliciting a new grin. I grabbed his dick and
began to stroke him as he slowly applied more pressure to his back
door. Then it happened; the resistance did not so much give way as broke
before the onslaught, and I felt my cock pop through the tight anal ring
guarding his most private place.

He froze, his face carefully neutrally, and the only thing he said, in a
vaguely puzzled way, was "Oh."

"Are you okay," the tightness around my cock was screaming at me to pay
attention, but all I could think of was him. "Take it out, it's hurting
you."

"It's fine." His voice was tight, the words forced, and his dick was
wilting in my hand.

"No, it's not, you're in pain."

I used my hands to try and force him off my dick, but he caught my wrists
in an iron like grip. "Dude, you are inside me. Don't you get how cool that
is."

"But..."

"I want this."

And, to prove that, he did the dumbest, bravest and most amazing thing
anyone has ever done for me. He forced himself down, in one fluid move, so
I was buried to the hilt. The pain it caused him was immediate and obvious,
as his shoulder hunched, his body instinctively trying to gather itself
around the invader in his gut.

"Cal!" I cried, trying to curl so my dick came clear, but he caught me by
the throat and held me with surprising strength.

"Don't." he managed through clenched teeth. "Move."

And so I froze there, helpless to take the pain away from this beautiful
boy. Oh fuck why had I let this happen?

"It's okay," he managed next. "I think that actually helped. The pain is
fading."

"Then get off me."

"No."

"Cal!"

"Paul, I want to be fucked by you. I'm going to get what I want, because I
won the genetic fucking lottery and so did you and that gives us the
right."

Him using my first name caught me, and held me, and I watched with
something approaching awe as he straightened, his body uncurling, the
muscles that had bunched up in the pain, relaxing, and in a second he was
simply sitting on me, staring down at me, impaled by me, and smiling. With
a lazy hand he stroked my chest, feeling the musculature. Gently he pushed
me back, so I was laying, staring up at him.

"This has been the greatest day of my life, you know. " He said, somewhat
philosophically, as he began to gyrate his hips, causing his asshole to
massage my cock. I moaned, and he smiled with approval. "Let's finish it
with a bang."

He reach up with one arm to grasp the shelving above him, the act bringing
his muscles into sharp clarity, muscles which seemed to undulate as his
entire torso worked itself to utilize his ass like a weapon against my
cock. I wanted this, of course, I wanted it so much, and as I watched the
last signs of pain fade first into concentration, then something else,
something hungry, I allowed myself to have it.

Taking his slim hips in my hands I began using my hips to drive my cock up
into the boy riding me, even as his entire body flexed and twisted in
companionable effort as he used himself to pleasure me, and perhaps, noting
he newly rising cock, to pleasure himself.

"Oh fuck," he moaned, long and hard, keeping nothing back. If I'd had a
brain left to think with I would have wondered about him being heard, but
all I could think was this boy was here, with me, using his body to worship
mine. I grabbed his tie and used it to pull him down against me so I could
kiss him, feeling the slick smoothness of his skin, soft as velvet over
hard muscle. Digging my heels into the couch, I allowed my hips to speed
up, rabbit fucking that once virgin tunnel, and his moans answered me, his
dick, throbbing against my abs, answered me. His tongue and his mouth and
his flexing, tight asshole answered me.

I pushed him back, grabbed his hips and lifted him, still impaled, off the
lounge. Carying him to my desk I pushed him down so he was laying on his
back on top of it. He immediatel reached back to grasp the other side of
the table, revealing his pits and again bringing his muscles into sharp
clarity, whilst his defined, hairy, athletic boy legs loop my waste, the
heels pulling me urgently further into him. I grabbed his waist and began
to fuck him earnest, my dick driving into him like. Fuck, he was so
tight. It was all I could think of; that and the sight of his handsome,
boyish feature drawn into a rictus of pleasure.

Meeting my eyes, he moaned my name, hard and low, and that was it for me. I
slammed into him one more time, and felt my orgasm shatter its way out of
my balls, shooting hot cum into his no longer sacred, but still sacrosanct
hole.

It was too much for him. Still convulsing in the grip of my own orgasm, I
saw his take him, that beautiful dick pulsing as it unleashed its second
load onto his tight abs. I doubted that was the first time that beautiful
belly had felt the warm heat of cum, but certainly first in this manner.

I collapsed forward onto him, my sweat face on his sweaty chest, and he
released the desk to hug me. He was repeating my name, over and over, and I
moaned his in response, trying to gather together some form of coherent
thought, and failing. We stayed that way for a long time.

Finally though, as I came down from the high, I felt sanity returning. He
gave a slight grunt of disappointment as my cock slipped out of him, and I
straightened, staring down at him. Freed from the urgency of lust, I could
appreciate the erotic art of the sight that met my gaze, as a tired,
sweaty, well fucked, glazed in cum young man stared up at me with something
very close to absolute contentment, as he idly played with the cum on his
belly.

"You are so beautiful," I told him.

He smiled lazily, the shit-eating grin, and then stretched languidly, like
a cat. Bracing himself on his elbows, he looked around at our scattered
clothes, and then idly scratched at an itch on his chest as he sat up
properly, legs dangling off the edge of his desk. He looked at me frankly,
and said, "Well, sir, to answer your earlier question. Yes, I believe I may
happen to like boys. Now what would you like to do about it?"

The use of sir awakened a distant part of my mind to all the complications
and risks this brought, but he had asked me a question, and deserved an
answer. What did I want to do about it? Why I wanted to kiss him.

So I did.