Date: Thu, 28 Oct 2010 21:25:40 +0100
From: Some Chap <just_some_chap@hotmail.co.uk>
Subject: New Direction For One Direction Part 2

This story deals with (highly) adult themes, and is really not at all
appropriate for children. Copyright me.

The intimate details revealed in this story is not to be construed as an
admission on my part that I'm really quite good friends with the boys of
One Direction. I do not know them, and this is complete fiction. As far as
I know.

Thanks to all those kind of enough to email. I try to reply to all emails
sent, and suggestions for what to do with Zayn Malik (I have 'plans' for
Louis (the next part) and Liam (the last part)) are more then welcome. This
chapter includes entirely too much stuff, and whilst I contemplated cutting
the second half of it, I thought; well, I wrote it, so why not post it?
Hence the whole truncated thing is here, albeit split into two slightly
more manageable parts. My source of inspiration for this chapter was the
news that Niall was getting close to one of the girls in the house
(although it seems like they all are, the randy fuckers).

This should go without saying, but incase it does need to be said: I have
absolutely no idea how hypnotism works, and I use it in this story as a
plot device, which I mold to suit my own individual tastes and desires for
the story, nothing more.

The product of my somewhat fanciful mind, this story follows the exploits
of a man who is, quite simply, mad. As a result, aspiring to follow in his
footsteps should itself be considered a sign of mental instability.

The second part of my first story, submitted after over a decade of
dutifully reading the nifty archieves, I would be most grateful for any
comments to be sent to: just_some_chap@hotmail.co.uk But please, unlike the
mad doctor, don't be too harsh :)

It is not necessary to read the first part prior to this part, but if you
enjoy this, you will probably enjoy part 1.

(Gay, celeb, auth, mc, adult/youth)


Chapter the Second: Niall Horan: The Innocent One

I have to be honest, I never really expected Harry to get back to me. Prior
to putting him into a trance, he seemed uninterested and distant, and after
the trance, he seemed confused and, still, distant. I think the suspicion
on his part that I had systematically raped both his mind and supple body
whilst in said trance *might* explain his confusion (he was quite insistent
that he was straight, the poor lad), but as for the perplexing distant,
ill-defined attitude? Who knows. Maybe he didn't like the taste of my
spunk.

In any event, Harry was not the one who called me a few days ago; it was
Simon. He was having trouble with other members of the 'band', as he called
them, and wanted me to help. I enquired as to the nature of the problem,
but he 'didn't want to talk about it on the phone'; honestly, the guy is so
full of himself - as if some vast technologically advanced organisation
would be monitoring his telephone calls in order to discover the latest
nitty-gritty details of One Direction's progress on the X-Factor. Then I
remembered that the News of the World was owned by Rupert Murdoch and
thought, well, Simon might be justified in his concerns. Naturally,
regardless of the problem, my cure was going to hypnotherapy, and I was
happy to oblige Mr. Cowell, in exchange for my usual fee, as well as free
reign over the group's firm young bodies - not that I mentioned that. We
decided on seeing them the next morning - time waits for no man, and given
the schedule of the show, Simon wanted me to visit within 24 hours, or not
at all. As he didn't want to risk paparazzi seeing him take the various
members of One Direction to see a psychiatrist, he insisted I visit the
house where the boys were staying. This annoyed me, as I had to cancel my
monthly visit to Her Majesty's Young Offenders Institute, Huntercombe - one
of my favourite days. But, I thought, the boys of One Direction should more
than make up for it.







Tuesday 26th October, 2010



I arrived at the house at 8.45am, wanting to get started early and either
amuse myself with the boys all day, or wrap up early and manage to meet at
least some of my appointments with the imprisoned criminal fraternity of
Oxfordshire. I asked my secretary to phone up the Governor, apologise for
my inability to spend the entire day there, and have my more spunky
subjects (or 'troubling cases', as I'd put it to my secretary) ready for me
in case I can make it there by late afternoon. After being buzzed through
the exterior gates, Simon met me outside the house. He said he himself had
only just arrived, but that the boys should be up by now. A burly chap in a
suit opened the front door, and eyed me suspiciously as I shuffled past
him, behind Simon. Standing in a large lobby with a wide staircase creeping
round the right side of the hall, I stood still, listening to the voices
emanating from other parts of the house, whilst Simon conferred with
Mr. Burly. I was struck by how warm it was in the house, even at this early
hour; I felt myself perspiring. He came over after a minute or two, not
looking happy.

"Right. Bit of a balls up; Niall's not up yet."

I was stunned. "What?! Not up in this bloody temperature? I don't know how
anyone can sleep through this."

"Yeah. We had problems with getting them up early when they first moved in,
so we started putting the heating up early on, to get them awake. It worked
for a while, but after a few weeks, some of them have...well, adjusted,
shall we say."

"Oh. Well, I can get started with the rest of the group, anyway," I
replied, a little too eagerly for my own good.

"Calm down, cowboy. You're not here to see the entire group. You're here to
see Niall. He's the one having trouble."

"Oh." Niall was not my favourite one. But then again, neither was Harry,
yet I had a bloody smashing time with him. "Well," I continued, "exactly
what is the trouble with Niall?"

"He's just being a bloody teenager. He's started getting a lot moodier
recently, and I hear he has some sort of relationship with Sophia Wardman."
A girl from a rival pop act within the group, Belle Amie; the whores I'd
mentioned previously. "I have no problem with relationships when I'm making
them up to get votes," he went on, "but actual sexual relationships are a
major no-no. It upsets the group dynamic, and if one of them gets voted
out, the inclination is for the other to try and follow them." Simon wasn't
much of a believer in true love. But then, I was hardly one to
criticise. "So, let me get this straight. You want me to make him...stop
liking this girl he fancies?"

"I have no problem with him fancying her - Jesus, *I* fancy her - I just
have a problem with him fucking her. Is it possible to do something about
that?"

I smiled. "Well. Maybe, in a fashion...with boys his age, it tends to be
lust, rather than love, which will certainly make doing what you ask a lot
easier. I think it's a case of replacing one infatuation with another...an
infatuation which he can realise when properly conditioned, I think."

"Right. Well, whatever. Just do it."

At that moment, Harry traipsed down the stairs, dressed in grey tracksuit
bottoms, white socks and the hoodie he had worn when I'd seen him
previously. It had white, opaque stains at the bottom, when I'd wiped my
jizz from his face - now very crusty. He was yawning as he came down, still
shaking the sleep from his body. Acting purely on irrational impulse, I
said "you want to wash that hoodie, Harry, or those stains'll never come
out."

Looking down, he looked at me impassively. "Yeah. Thanks. Alright," he said
to Simon as he passed. "He's up. Waiting upstairs." When he'd gone, Simon
looked at me, smiling, and shook his head.

"Come on. Lets go up." Yes, lets, I thought.



As we ascended the stairs, Simon went on. "Thanks for your help with
Harry. He's been a lot more settled since you saw him. Almost
introverted. But free of nerves. Also, he's stopped this really fucking
annoying habit of wandering around in a bloody thong." I didn't say
anything. But he did. "I just don't understand how you seeing him for his
nerves could affect something like that?" Fingering Harry's silky gold
thong in the pocket of my suit trousers (I carried it for luck), I simply
replied, "the mind works in mysterious ways, Simon." He slowly nodded, and
by this time we had come before a thick wooden door, which Simon knocked
on. "Yeah," we heard from the other side, and walked in.

Niall was in a bedroom; presumably, his own. It was as hot here as it was
everywhere else in the house. He was sitting on the bed, playing a PSP. He
wore a fairly tight fitting, white T-shirt which had a three leaf clover
and the words '100% Irish' on the front in green (which he probably picked
up at the Tower of London giftshop), and loose navy blue jogging bottoms,
leading to feet clad in grey Addidas sports socks, sheathing a pair of
cute, wide feet. Niall was the least well-built of the group, with a ruddy
complexion and boyish face that made him look younger than his sixteen
years. He looked cute with his blond hair dishevelled from sleep, and I
smiled. The boy looked up as we entered, and Simon spoke. "Morning,
Niall. Remember the man I told you about, here to help you with your
vocals?" Oh, I see. "This is him. He'll take good care of you."

Yep, no doubt about that. I smiled, and Niall returned the smile. "Hello,"
he said to me in a delightfully quaint, yet surprisingly deep, southern
Irish accent.

"Hello, Niall. Sorry to get you out of bed early."

"S'alright," he said. "I need to start getting up earlier, anyway. Just
enjoying the lie-ins whilst I don't have to go to school," he replied with
a broad grin. For all his faults, in that moment, I so wanted to fuck him.

"I hear you're having a bit of trouble. Hopefully, we'll be able to get to
the bottom of it," I said. Quickly taking charge of the situation, I turned
to Simon. "Simon, I think it best if I see Niall alone."

Simon frowned, and Niall piped up. "Um, if the problems with my voice,
shouldn't my voice mentor be here? And Simon, too?"

I didn't look at him; I simply held my hand up in his direction and said,
"Niall, please." Resuming my discussion with Simon, I added, "Simon, you
know as well as I do that for me to do my job properly," I emphasised the
word 'job', hoping to get the message through his seemingly thick skull, "I
need to be alone, and free of distractions."

Simon stared at me for a moment. "Yeah," he replied slowly. "Yeah. Ok. If
you need me, Niall, just dial nine on the phone." Before waiting for a
response, Simon turned on his heels, and stomped out of the room. I
followed him, closing the door securely and turning the gold key in the
lock.



I turned back, and sat myself on a computer chair put before a desk, with
Niall staring at me as I did so, sat on the edge of the bed. "Right." Now I
had to think of a way to put him into a trance, which conformed with
Simon's ridiculous story that I was here to 'help with his vocals'. I hope
the lad didn't have any questions; I didn't know the first thing about
vocals, and whilst I could offer a suggestion on how to make his voice go
up an octave, I'd rather do that for him myself. "Vocals. Niall, voices are
funny things. A lot of external stimuli can affect them; even things you
might not think could affect them. Changes in environment, changes in
circumstance - new people, literally anything. Do you have any idea what
might be affecting your voice?"

He slowly shook his head. "No. Not really. I mean, if it could be anything,
though...well, I wouldn't really be able to tell. I mean, what with all the
changes we've had - the new house, the new people. I wouldn't really be
able to be specific...would I?"

The little pseudo-smart arse played right into my hands. A brain surgeon of
Harry Styles' calibre, this one. "No, quite right. Which is why I think
it's probably best if I put you under a light trance so we can explore your
personality more directly, with the help of some neo-regressive
techniques."

"Is that what you did to Harry?"

"Oh he mentioned me did he?"

Niall broke eye contact and looked at the carpet. "Yeah. A little."

"I'm sure he told you what a brilliant time he had round my office,
then. Shall we get started?"

Niall smiled slyly. "Yeah...alright. Let's do it." I told him to rest back
on the bed, which he did, his head on the pillow, his arms by his sides,
his legs slightly spread as they rested on the duvet. After retrieving my
induction aid from my briefcase, I switched it on, and making sure to
select a calming, melodic pattern, I held it up before his eyes and asked
him to look at it. After about 30 seconds, his blue eyes became unfocussed,
and started to droop. I began my induction.



"Ok, Niall. I want you to close your eyes, and empty your mind, so that
only the sound of my voice remains. In your mind's eye, you see all the
distractions in your life slowly fading into darkness, so that only you
exist; only you, and my voice which, although unseen, serves your guide
through your mind. Do you know why you need a guide, Niall?"

"N...no?" His voice was already slowing, and slurring.

"You need a guide because the brain is a complex place, Niall. The brain is
a complex place, and you don't know very much about it. I, however, know
lots and lots about your mind, Niall, and that is what makes me the ideal
guide for you. Don't worry; I shall be your guide, for free, and not demand
anything in return. Isn't that good of me?"

"Yyyeah..."

"So as you stand in the darkness of your mind, alone, you might find
yourself feeling scared. But you find peace in listening to my voice,
Niall. You find it reassuring, and relaxing, and listening to my voice is
like being wrapped up in a warm blanket, safe and cozy; at peace, like you
were an hour ago, before you awoke. Do you understand?"

"Think...so..."

"But, Niall, for me to fulfil my role as guide, there is one thing I must
ask of you. And that is your trust. You must trust me completely, because
otherwise, I won't be able to lead you through your mind, will I?"

"No..." His voice was a little shaky. The fear I spoke of had made it into
his subconscious, which was good. As I suspected when I basically told him
to shut-up during my discussion with Simon - which he did - he was a
natural submissive, already well trained in doing what he was told. That
would explain why my induction was going so easily.

"No. And it's important to you that I can lead you, Niall. I help bring
illumination to the darkness. And as you stand in the darkness, you realise
that the darkness is indeed not absolute: that you can perceive something
beyond your immediate vicinity. Stare into it, Niall. You can so nearly
make it out...but not quite. But keep looking. As you stare, you will feel
yourself slipping deeper and deeper into your trance. With each passing
second, you slip further in; like sliding into a warm, relaxing bath. " His
head resting on the pillow, he would of looked at peace, were it not for
the fact that his eyes were open, and vacant, staring into the middle
distance.

He was now well and truly under; and in record time, too. I was about to
move on to some more substantive abuse, when something caught my
attention. That something was between the boy's legs. It seemed that the
act of induction had aroused him, and now his cock was tenting the loose
material of his sweats.

"Niall," I said, genuine confusion in my voice, "are you wearing any
underpants?"

He replied conclusively, "no." As if that was the end of the matter.

"Err, why are you not wearing any underpants, Niall?"

He frowned as he considered his answer, before responding, "I just got up,
didn' I?"

I chuckled. Fair enough, I thought. Unlike Harry, Niall appeared
significantly more malleable to sexual subversion when in a trance; so
knowing that I wouldn't face any opposition, I decided to forgo my usual
efforts to initially shield the mind from what I was doing, and simply
reached over and gripped Niall's fleshy poker through the soft, yielding
fabric, like it were a joystick. Which, of course, it was. My hands deftly
roamed over his shaft, in an attempt to get the measure of the lad, which
was more considerable then I might otherwise expect. Seeing Niall, I always
imagined him with a perfectly respectable, if average, mid-teen
cock. Feeling him now, though, made me realise how wrong I was in making
such a baseless assumption. In length he was around 5 and a half inches,
perhaps a little bit less, but the thing was thick, like he had a spark
plug down there, and delving lower into his crotch, I felt a pair of nuts
that felt like fat plums in a crinkly leather sack. He murmured as I did
this, and the lids of his eyes fluttered, but otherwise he didn't
react. Intrigued (both professionally and sexually) by his reaction, I
decided to explore him further. Withdrawing my hand for a moment, I gripped
the waistband of his sweats, and stretched them out and down, nimbly
tucking them behind his weighty Gaelic bollocks, which I took a moment to
cradle in my palm, weighing them out of admiration. His legs, chunkier then
I might otherwise expect from his overall build, spread and hunched up
slightly in response. His groin had a small patch of blond pubes directly
around his cock, shorter than that of an adult, and sparser, too, like
newly sprouting grass. As I ran my fingers over the ridges and furrows of
his ballbag (which I was still holding for him), I could tell that his sack
was completely smooth. I ran the fingers of my unoccupied hand through the
hairs he had; they were silky smooth. In doing so, the back of my hand
rubbed the shaft and pink glans of his turgid spike, and as it pulsed and
produced a dewy drop of prejizz, I was reminded to get back to the issue in
hand.

Wrapping my hand around his prick, I coyly asked him, "so what's going on
between you and Sophia," yanking his bollocks down as I did so, causing him
to reflexively open his legs further, and purr like a kitty cat. This
turned me on so much, I rewarded him by leaning down and deftly swiping my
tongue across his knob, taking in the juices that had collected on the
sweaty head. He groaned at this.

"MMMmmm...we...we're just friends, is all." I slowly but firmly jacked him
for five minutes or so, just to get settled into a good rhythm. As I did
so, continuing to fondle his balls, it was obvious his sexual experience
was limited, and that he could spew before long. I knew I would have to
keep my mind on controlling his cock.

Running my hand up and down his taut Irish cock in reasonably quick time,
gripping the head and gently twisting on occasion, I said, "Niall, I know
there's more to it than that. I suggest you think about being honest with
me...because boys who aren't honest with me-" as I said this, my hand
slowed to a maddening crawl up and down his length. "-don't get
rewarded. So, let me ask again, what's going on between you and the girl?"

"AHH-HA, it's just, you know, I'm just talkin' to her, tryin to fuck her!"
As he said this, I moved my hand more quickly, and with my other hand ran
my blunt fingernails across the taut, damp sack of his bollocks, now sticky
with sweat after having my hand glued to them all this time. He sighed
appreciatively.

"Why are you trying to fuck her, Niall? You seem like such a nice boy, and
I don't see your band mates rutting anything in sight." Harry's previous
experience of rutting my hand didn't count, principally because he still
didn't know it'd happened.

"Sooo...hornyy..." he moaned in response. Might sound stupid, but this
confused me, as I didn't know if that was some sort of answer, or if he was
just expressing how he felt at the moment. Not wanting to take any chances,
I slowed my hand down.

His eyes widened, and he had a kind of scared, deer-in-the-headlights look
on his face, indicating he didn't approve. "I...I...get so horny hereeEEE-"
I'd sped up again at this point, and ran my thumb over his angry red dome,
causing his voice to go up an octave - see? I said I could help with his
vocals. "-AAaand I can't wank, so I have'ta find a girl ta fuck around
with!" He started thrusting into my hand now, with my two hands pretty much
remaining stationary; it was amusing to watch him thrust up, and cause me
to pull down on his own fat balls as he did so, before thrusting back down
onto the bedcovers with a bounce, resheathing his cock, time and time again
in a very determined fashion.

"Why can't you masturbate?"

"ARGHh....its...its a s-s-SIN!"

Oh, how delightful. "Yes, Niall, I thought your balls were a little
bloated," I squeezed them as I spoke. "And it does explain why you're on a
bit of a....um...hair trigger, shall we say-" although he was doing
admirably at the moment. "But fucking the girl in the room next door, so to
speak, will prove problematic for your future career." I don't think this
argument carried much weight with him, in his current state. "What we need
to do, Niall, is find a way for you to get your rocks off, without
compromising your closely held Roman Catholic belief structure. And I think
I have just the ticket for you." At this point I stopped wanking him,
letting his gooey cock slap against his T-Shirt, and removing my hand from
his balls, which were so over-heated that it was like removing my hand from
a pair of juggling balls left out in the rain. He emitted a sort of
disappointed grunt, so out of sympathy for the Irish lad, I removed the
joggers from his legs, revealing a surprisingly compact, tightly defined
pair of legs, with wonderfully muscled thighs, sprinkled with barely
perceptible peach-fuzz. This left him in his white T-Shirt, now sticking to
him and slightly transparent, and his grey socks; it also gave his
prodigious testicles some breathing room, allowing them to coalesce on the
blissfully cool, starched white bedcover he was lying on. Knowing that poor
Niall couldn't cum from his own hand, I simply told him that he had
contracted a life-threatening disease, which would kill him if he
ejaculated. As his doctor, I insisted, he must seek my permission before
cumming, or he could DIE. He implicitly believed me. At this point, I told
him to wank away. No fuss, no muss. Extricating myself from the situation,
I unlocked the door and went into the cooler, but still stifling hallway.









Part 2b: This Week's Special Guest Star: Harry Styles, as Himself



As I walked to the staircase, I sniffed the hand which had held his balls,
still sticky with sweat. Hmmm. Fresh teenage bollocks, still sweaty from a
night's sleep. What an exquisite scent. I was ripped away from my reverie
by a more-moody-than-usual Harry Styles, just at the top of the
stairs. Watching me as I approached he said bluntly, "What the fuck are you
doing?"

It was a fair question. But its fairness didn't make me any less angered by
it, the arrogant little fucker. My response, I knew, would certainly ensure
I'd manage to take him down a peg or two, right now. "Betty Boothroyd
Bludgeon's Boris." An odd response? Certainly, but it was the trip word I
had planted in his brain at the end of our last session, in order to
circumvent the laborious process of inducing him yet again. It's actually a
fairly standard technique, employed for all patients, many of whom require
several sessions in order to resolve their issues. Of course...it's open to
abuse, as the gently swaying form of Harry now standing before was a
testament to. I placed my hand on his developed shoulder. "Harry, when I
count to three, you will open your eyes and follow me. You will also do
exactly as I tell you, because if you don't, I will leave you like this
forever. Do you understand?" It was, of course, nonsense, and impossible,
but he wasn't to know that, and I knew that unlike Niall, he would need an
implicit threat in the back of his mind in order for him to do what I had
planned.



I led Harry back to Niall's room, opened it, entered, and relocked it. Upon
opening the door, I was overwhelmed by the smell of boy-sex. I was pleased
to see Niall do as he was told; lying on his bed, head resting on the
headboard, legs stertched and splayed open before him, wanking his fat
Catholic dick for all it was worth, prejizz flying all over the place as he
did so. I sat on the bed next to him, and looked at the two boys for a
moment. "Harry, come over here." He moved like a zombie to the side of the
bed, where I was. I reached for the waistband of his trackies, and pulled
them and the grey striped boxer-briefs he wore under them down to his lower
thighs, which I stroked for a moment. His cock was soft, although it began
to lengthen as I gripped his loose foreskin, and idly pushed, pulled and
prodded it. My other hand returned to the Niall's nutsack. My other hand
"Harry," I said, "you and Niall are mates, yes?"

"Yeah," he responded, in the monotone he seemed to speak with when both in
and out of a trance.

"And as mates, you help each other out, right?"

"I...guess so," he replied, his cock now stiff and demanding attention,
which I was happy to provide, with my hand now methodically gliding up and
down, occasionally slipping down to his hairy coconuts.

"Niall needs a favour. You see, he's a strict Roman Catholic, which means
he's not allowed to spill his seed using his own hand. So, out of respect
for his faith, I thought you could offer up your arse to him, whenever he
needed to get his rocks off; that's alright, isn't it Harry?"

"N...nnnooo...." he replied, with difficulty.

"Harry, Harry, Harry," I said disapprovingly, "we must respect each other's
religious difference. Tolerance is what makes this country great, Harry."

"I do, but-"

"Great, then if you do, then you'll help your mate continue to live by the
religious teaching he holds dear, won't you?" I yanked both the Celtic and
the English crinkly teen ballbags that were in my hands as I said this,
causing Niall, who was still wanking, to groan, and Harry to take in a deep
intake of breath.

"Well, I guess if there's nothing else he can do..."

"There isn't." With that, I released the four sixteen year old bollocks I
had in my hands, and helped Harry remove his trackies and underwear. "I
think, Harry, to make sure this is going to work, we'd best test you
out. So stand up the bed, yes, that's it, right onto the bed, with one foot
on either side of Niall's flanks. That's it. Now just move up a little bit
so your over his middle. And kneel down." Harry was now on his knees,
placed over Niall's cock, looking down towards Niall's feet with his own
feet upturned, on either side of Niall's flanks. He was still dressed in
the grey hoodie and white socks, with his fit long legs being the only part
of him uncovered. It was the only bit of him I needed. "Now, Harry, reach
behind yourself, use your hands to grip your arse cheeks, and pull them
apart, please." He did so, revealing his puckered, hairy little hole, which
my tongue had already become familiar with. I instructed Niall to stop
wanking his red, angry looking cock, which he reluctantly did so. Taking
his cock in my left hand, and Harry's shoulder in my right, I proceeded to
compel the two band members to dock with one another. Holding Niall's cock
delicately, directing the fiery head towards the darkened epicentre of
Harry's crack, I gripped Harry's shoulder tightly, and pushed him further
down. Would lube be necessary? Probably not. Niall's cock was certainly
slip-sliding all over the place as I was holding it, and it wasn't like I'd
used any when I shoved practically my entire hand up Harry's arse. Heh. And
I wondered why the boy was stroppy around me.



It wasn't long before I made 'contact', requiring me to take Niall's cock
in hand a little more firmly, in order to slide the bullet-shaped head into
his mate's anus, making both boys groan and curl their socked toes in
unison, each for very different reasons. Taking my hand from Niall's cock,
I wiped the cummy residue in Harry's full head of hair, before standing on
the bed myself, placing my hands on both of the boy's shoulders, and
pushing, really quite firmly. Harry groaned all the way down Niall's thick
pipe, till his arse-cheeks were ground into Niall's sweet downy
pubes. Harry looked like he was about to cry, and Niall looked like...well,
looked like he was enjoying lad-on-lad anal sex far more than a Catholic
boy should be. I knelt and stared at Harry's face as I said,"Harry, push
yourself up, so just the tip is in you." Planting his hands on the
bedspread, his thighs demonstrated some tight definition as he pushed
himself up; I ran my hand along their prickly, damp expanse as he did
so. "...and down." He returned back to a sitting position, doing so more
easily than he did the first time, with both boys moaning as he did
so. "Now keep doing that until I stay stop."

"AR......GH......ARGH......AHHH....AHHH....AHHH..." like a puffing
choo-choo train pulling away from a station, Harry steadily built up a
faster and faster rhythm, the more he bounced on Niall's stiff prick. I
stood, unzipped the flies on my black suit trousers, and extracted my cock,
beginning a slow and methodical wank about six inches from Harry's face as
I took in the vista before me; the facial expressions, the interplay of
firm, teenaged muscles at work, and the smell of teenage boys bedroom; lynx
deodorant, and churning, sweaty bollocks. It all helped bring me closer to
climax. Nobody spoke; just occasional animalistic grunts as Niall thrusted
with all his might to meet Harry's downward thrusts with a loud 'slap',
shoving his knob into his bandmate as deeply as he could. I took the
opportunity to extract my blackberry from my trouser pocket, and took a
couple of pictures. What, out of all this, tipped me over the edge, you
might ask? The deep blue eyes and pained expression on Niall's sweaty,
hair-matted face, and his masculine, testosterone-laden voice saying
between deep breaths, "Please...please, can I cum, please?"

"Ahhhh...ye, yes, cum now," I whispered, as my own orgasm overtook me,
coating Harry's ascending and descending face, neck and hair in spunk,
whilst Niall fired unseen jet after unseen jet up into his bowels. Without
any instruction from me, Harry's cock also fired white-hot stream after
white-hot stream of spunk, straight through my legs and onto the bedspread
of Niall's bed, a few feet away. After five good shots, he began to
subside, coating his cock in the dregs. As I myself recovered, I reached
into Harry's hair, and rubbed the semen into the long locks. My legs
feeling weak, I stood down from the bed, and sat down.

"Alright, alright, stop Harry, for Christ's sake, stop." Harry, still
raising and lowering himself like an energiser bunny, stopped. "Get the
fuck off him," I said. He did. Standing on the bed, his head nearly
reaching the ceiling, he looked a magnificent teenage male specimen, albeit
somewhat sullied by the fact that he clearly been used for the purposes of
sodomy, and his grey hoodie detracting somewhat from his classical
beauty. "Harry, get off the bed." He did, nearly falling off it in the
process.



"Niall," I said, "there's an ointment that'll help with your vocal
chords. It's smeared all over Harry's face; you'll have to lick it off
him."

Niall frowned in disapproval. "Listen, fuckwit, context is everything." He
now frowned in confusion. "Normally, you'd be right to avoid licking your
friends face. But the context of this situation is, Harry's just let you
fuck him up the arse so you don't offend the Pope - so I'd say that what I
just asked isn't too big a deal. Okay? Just fucking do it." Natural
submissive that he is, he stood up from his position on the bed, and
dutifully started licking Harry's face. "Gulp it all down," I said
encouragingly. When he reached Harry's full pouty lips, he delicately
licked each one in turn, like a curious cat, before slipping his tongue
into his mouth. Harry, for his part, still just standing there, opened his
mouth further, letting Niall explore in the insides of his mouth. They did
this for a few minutes, during which time I took four or five more
pictures, before Niall withdrew, and looked at the floor, as though
embarrassed. Niall's cock, slick with various juices, jutted out of his
groin.

"Still frisky, Niall?"

"Hmmm..." he replied, unable to form words since his orgasm.

"Harry," I said, looking at the sweat soaked teen, "get on your knees." He
wordlessly slipped to his knees. "Do you remember me saying, in our last
session, how much you liked the taste of that medicine I gave you?"

"Yeah..."

"Well, Niall's got a nasty buildup of the stuff, and as your such good
friends, he'll let you have some. You just have to get it. Before you is a
thick straw; just put your lips around it nice and tight, and suck. Mind
your teeth. Niall, cum whenever you want."

"Thanks," Niall responded. Such good manners. I laid back on the floor, and
just watched them go at it. Harry slid his lips around Niall's prick,
formed a tight seal, and began to suck, somewhat clumsily. Without saying
anything, I stood, moved behind Niall, and knelt. Spreading the lads
cheeks, I slid my tongue into his musky depths, and licked from the back of
his pendulous babymakers, which were now most excellent, having collected
and stored all of the boy's tastes and smells from the previous hour and a
half of fucking and jacking, up to his lower back - confirming that his
crack was almost completely (and presumably naturally) devoid of hair, with
just a small outcropping lining his hole. I ran my tongue back down to his
shiny penny, and proceeded to make love to him, gripping and relishing in
the feel of the firm curves of his thighs as I did so. I felt them tense
and become hard as granite when my tongue breached his virgin portal, and
he emitted a scared little yelp. As I investigated the teen's musky depths,
he started to emit other, more gutteral sounds, and backed his arse up as
far as he could into my face. After five minutes or so, I withdrew my sweat
and saliva strewn face from his posterior, and stood behind the small
boy. Soothingly running my hands up and down his flanks before running them
up under his now sodden T-Shirt, across his hard, flat stomach and up to
his sloping pecs to tweak first his left, and then his right nipple, I put
my chin on his shoulder, watching Harry's clumsy blow-job whilst
sandwiching my semi-erect cock firmly between Niall's flaming-hot ass. As
ever, he didn't seem to object.

Watching Harry for a moment, kissing Niall's ear as I did so, I thought it
best to give the confused straight lad a few directions.



Placing my hand on the back of his head, I firmly shoved him down onto
Niall's plug, until his nose was in his golden curls and he was coughing
and spluttering like a bitch. He naturally tried to extricate his mouth
from this uncomfortable position, sliding his tongue back up the way it had
come, and much like Don Corleone in the third Godfather film, just when he
thought he was out, I pushed him back in, causing him to emit yet more
coughs. After a couple of minutes of this, his saliva had matted Niall's
pubes and was dripping down onto his balls, or rather my fingers, as I had
once again taken charge of them. His breathing was incredibly laboured, and
as it would be difficult to explain why he had passed out, naked and
covered in sperm, I felt it best to let him catch his breath, and allowed
him to remove himself entirely from his pal's prick, with my hand taking up
the position his lips had just vacated, luxuriating in the feel of Niall's
stone-hard cock, and wide-domed knob. I slowly cork-screwed my hand up, and
down, up, and down, whilst squeezing his puffy tits through his T, on
occasion running my hand up the T, visiting all the points of interest on
his sweaty torso and firm abdominals. My cock would sensually saw up into
the moist furrow of his crack...but I didn't want to fuck him. Not yet, at
least. I found the idea of turning Niall from a submissive into a dominant
not only personally stimulating, but professionally, also. If it wasn't
highly illegal, I'd write a paper on it. Wanking him, first slowly, then
steadily building up speed, I would every so often smack Harry in the face
with Niall's stubby cock; Harry would flinch, whereas Niall would simply
keep on looking down, impassively. One thing I liked about Niall is that
when he got close, he would really start to moan and groan and wriggle; not
only did his writhing arse feel great on my cock, but it would be a good
sign for me to stop wanking him; scratch his balls, flick his nipples, or
gently baste his sopping wet knob. I did this two or three times, before
finally going for gold with the lad, and bringing him off to another
orgasm. He fired six firm shots straight into Harry's face, where it joined
my own previous contribution, before drizzling onto the floor, the base of
his cock, and my hand. I removed my sticky fingers from his well-used cock,
and licked my fingers and palm clean of his tasty sacred spunk. '100%
Irish' indeed. It was quite sweet, and still wonderfully thick. I wondered
whether Harry's arse got the best of the boy, but I was perfectly happy
with these leftovers.



Speaking of Harry, he looked quite a sight, and was quite a site, with two
loads of spunk coating his face in a thick paste; one from a forty-two year
old professional, the other from a sixteen year old Catholic boy. I used my
fingers to one again scrape a load of the stuff from his face, causing
globlets to drip down onto his top. Offering the soup to Harry, I
instructed him to open his mouth and stick out his tongue, at which point I
smeared the stuff on his pallet, before instructing him to gulp it
down. Taking another finger-full, I this time offered it to Niall, shoving
my fingers into his mouth; he as vey compliant, and allowed me to shove
nearly my whole hand in there, before I instructed him to suck my fingers
clean. He grimaced. "I don't know what your fucking problem is, Niall," I
said, "this is a fine delicacy, and you love the taste of it." He was soon
sucking on my rank fingers with wild abandon. "What you should do, Niall,
is get down there and lick it straight off your mates face, if you like it
that much." Niall got down on all fours in order to reach the still
kneeling Harry, and made great, broad-sweeping licks across Harry's
impassive face, slurping up his own produce, like a happy, uncaring dog. I
rubbed his upturned rump as he did so, wondering if it really would be such
a big deal, were I to fuck him.

It was at this point that there was a loud, piercing knock on the
door. Running to the door, remembering to put my cock away as I did so, I
opened it a crack to see a young Louis Tomlinson wearing trainers, white
socks, football shorts and a T-Shirt. "Alright; you the hypnotist bloke?
Was sent up to tell you lunch is in an hour and half, but the we're all
playing a football game against the boys in the garden in half an hour. So
Niall needs to be up and about by then."

Somewhat understandably, I was eager to get back and finish up. "OK, thanks
Louis."

I went to turn, when he continued. "I was wondering..."

"Yes?"

"I was wondering, about this football game-"

"I can't play."

He smiled. "Yeah, no, I...I guessed that; no, my girlfriends here,
watching...do you reckon you could make me play a little bit better?" He
smiled, "I'd like to impress her."

I thought for a minute. "I'm sure we can work something out, Louis. Give me
five minutes."

Slamming the door in his face, I turned back, just to see Niall licking the
last strands of jizz from Harry's face. "Right, both of you, get you're
fucking clothes on. You've got a football game to play." Turning to Harry,
I took the dirty sweater he was still wearing and wiped his face with it,
adding to the dried strands of jizz already on it. He slipped on his
boxer-briefs and trackies. I vigorously rubbed his hair, to try and work
out the most visible clumps of spunk. "When you close this bedroom's door
behind you, you will awaken, and not recall anything that occurred in this
room. This does not bother you. Any pain from your arse you will blame on
your own sexual peccadilloes, recalling that the last time you had a wank,
you shoved a cold carrot up there, and liked it. This also explains why you
don't have much of a problem with Niall here giving you a good fucking
whenever he feels like it. Now fuck off, Harry, and stop giving me the evil
eye all the time." He slowly moved to leave the room. I'm somewhat ashamed
to say that, for pure vindictiveness and spite, I added as he left, "oh,
and Harry, don't bother having a shower or changing your clothes; you think
you look fine."

Soon, it was just me and Niall left in the room. "Niall, now you've got
free reign over Harry's backside, you've got no need to find relief from
the cows in the house, have you. It doesn't make you gay; you're just
finding relief, in accordance with your religious convictions. That's
all. And to that end, you must always be nice to Harrry, and not let anyone
find out about the two of you. Do you understand?"

He nodded in ascent. "Right. When I click my fingers, you're going to wake
up. Whenever I say the words, 'Felicity Fucks Philanderers', you will
return to the state you are currently in. Do you understand?"

He again nodded, and I clicked my fingers. His eyes opened, and he rubbed
them, as though he'd just woken up. He looked at the wall clock and smiled,
"Well, I caught up on my sleep, anyway."

Err, yeah.

He looked worried, "Jesus, the game's in half an hour; I have to get
changed." I went to leave the room, when he ran to the door. I asked in
confusion, "Isn't this your room?"

"No! It's Harry's room. I just came in to have a go on his PSP."

With that, he ran out the door, slamming it behind him. I looked at the
room, in something of a new light, I guess. It was then that I noticed the
white translucent stain streaked over the duvet...ah, yes. Harry's load. I
wasn't particularly keen on changing the boys sheets for him. Although the
room generally, and the duvet specifically, smelt very strongly of Niall
Horan's sex organs, and Harry's ass. Shrugging, I just turned over the
duvet; problem solved. With that, I went off to find Louis Tomlinson.