Date: Wed, 31 May 2006 17:49:54 +0000
From: S. K. <s.k.stories@hotmail.com>
Subject: 'Aaron and Amir, Part 7' (S.K.) (BB mast spank hs ) [7!8]

Our encompassing absorption in one another had set us both back in terms of
make-up work. To tell the truth, I'd barely done more than glance over my
e-mailed assignments the night before. How well could I be expected to
concentrate after the heady activity of the day?  I spoke to Amir first
thing the following morning. He--the little rebel--hadn't even checked
his. We decided we ought to spend some time *actually* studying today. And
that it would be more effective if we did so separately, as I knew and he
knew that the nearness of our bodies would prove far too magnetic a
distraction.

So I forced myself to lie on my bed and do the reading for English
Lit--normally a favorite subject, if I could be said to have a favorite at
T___, but today an unwelcome piece of drudgery--and the "critical thinking"
questions for history, half-successfully banishing thoughts of Amir.
Naturally, I could do little to prevent the occasional brief musing about
how his formerly caramel-colored butt might look after yesterday's tangle
(no pun intended) with the hairbrush. Yummy visions of dull red and livid
dark purple spread over sweet firm curves, contrasting with the pure creamy
brown of the narrow hips, the long elegant muscles of the legs. I imagined
his squirming body under my insistent hands, his legs twitching, the large
feet curling, moaning as I spread his battered buttocks apart, crying out
at the first wet feathery touch of my tongue. Once or twice, I jumped up to
have a look at my ass in the full- length mirror on my door. It was
well-bruised, and I tried by studying it to better predict the condition of
Amir's darker butt. .

At around noon, Amir called to say he had bad news. Rahman, may he rot in
hell, was home again, and had friends over. He had even gone so far as to
ground Amir--probably still pissed about yesterday's little "spill" --
confining him to his bedroom. There was no way he was going to let me come
over; the day was shot.

Amir was angry and apologetic, even--I was touched by this--somewhat sad:

"I'm really sorry, Aaron. He's such an asshole. He says he's so busy and
has so much work and then he blows off school to get stoned with all the
rest of these fucking hyenas... You know I want to see you. I've been
wanting it all morning. Didn't do much for my concentration.  You realize
I'm gonna have to jerk it if I want to get anything done."

I could picture his shy sexy smile, the way the lush skin around the
shimmering eyes would crinkle, creating a complex work of shadow.

"There's a nice image to get me through the day."

Right now, he would be stroking himself through his flannel pajama pants,
lazily rubbing the length of the hard shaft between his thumb and his first
two fingers, in preparation for a long and satisfying session. What else is
a boy to do, sequestered in his room for an entire day?

"Yeah--but I wanted you."

He spoke in a low voice. Even though his door was, I can only presume,
closed, I could still hear the raucous laughter of Rahman and his "hyenas"
out in the living room.

"Well--I should go. If he finds out I'm on the phone... Anyway, he'll be
gone again tomorrow. You can come over really early, okay?"

On the not-quite-utterly-shitty side, I'd be able to get even more done
today, and spend all of tomorrow naked beside him, soothing his ass--which
I hoped would still be bruised enough to need soothing.

I hung up and faced the bleak day ahead. The sound of his voice alone had
given me the beginnings of an erection, too, and I'd looked forward to
relieving it with his increasingly expert assistance.  Instead, I took care
of it myself before trudging to the kitchen to make more coffee. Then I hit
the books with a frustrated vengeance.

*

Day three of our suspension, my last day to have Amir to myself
uninterrupted. I fretted over whether to bring the condoms, finally decided
to be prepared for any eventuality and stuffed the lube and a few rubbers
into the front part of my backpack. If things drifted naturally in a
fortuitous direction, I would offer--but otherwise wouldn't mention them.

He greeted me at the door, pulling it tightly shut before turning on me and
kissing my mouth wetly and with almost alarming hunger. He had just woken
up, maybe a half hour ago, right before he called me. Wearing a thin
wife-beater shirt (fresh white cotton against hot olive skin, small silky
curls showing under his pits) and the pajama pants, he looked every ounce
as delicious as he had the day before yesterday. He'd shaved--the skin was
like damp silk along his jaw--and brushed his teeth.  I licked residue from
the corners of his luscious mouth. My messy boy.

"I was just about to shower," he said.

"I like you a little ripe." I buried my face in the side of his neck, in
the natural scent of his heavy soft hair.

"I thought maybe you'd want to help me wash." He nibbled my ear lightly
with his two front teeth.  "I'll do you too."

I was intrigued, as much as I liked the aroma of yesterday's sweat--perhaps
because I'd had a hand in creating it. We'd forgone the pleasure of washing
together after our punishment Monday, in favor of the filthy kick of
buttoning our school shirts over each other's congealing jizz, but the
thought of our two bodies slick and writhing under the water contributed as
much as his slowly massaging hand to the rapidly-growing stiffy in my
jeans.

"We'll use my bathroom."

"You have your own bathroom?"

I'd used the one in the hall off the kitchen on Tuesday. It was clean, with
a wide deep tub. I pictured us reclining in a hot bath, imagined wrapping
my finger in a soapy washcloth and working it in between his cheeks.

"Yeah, between Qasim's room and mine. I can lock it on his side so he can't
come in. It's the door near the bookshelf. Kind of a mess, but it's more
private than the main one."

He was right; we didn't want any nasty surprises. I was thinking, of
course, of one particular nasty surprise--one with big black eyes,
beautiful black curls, and a mean streak.

We went into Amir's room, shut and locked the door. We'd shut and lock the
bathroom door too.  Mean streak or no, Rahman couldn't come through two
locked doors. At least, not without causing damage that was bound to make
his daddy very angry with him.

Amir moved to lift his shirt, but he'd revealed only the smallest perfect
band of honey-brown belly when I suddenly tackled him. We fell onto the bed
in a tangle of limbs.

"*I'll* undress you," I growled, running both hands through the curls
framing his delighted face as I lay on top of him.

"No, I'll undress *you*," Amir countered, laughing, taking hold of my
wrists and rolling me onto my back. He forced my arms above my head, held
them with one hand, went up under my shirt with the other.

"How about I get you back for that titty-twister you gave me the other
day?"

A sharp shot of thrilling pain went from my left nipple down to my swollen
cock. He rolled the tenderized nub between his thumb and forefinger,
slowly, grinning cruelly.  Didn't let go til I twisted my hand free,
grabbed him by the hair, reached up and latched my teeth onto his neck. I
bit the supple, salty skin hard enough to make him cry out. When I released
him, he punched me lightly in the chest. I grabbed his fist in my hand and
struggled to throw him off me.  He worked my shirt up over my head, and I
raised my arms, letting him remove it. Those cool hands felt marvelous as
he ran them all over my chest and belly.

"You're so white," he said. "If I bit you back, it would show up bright
red, wouldn't it?"

Before I knew it, he moved down and clamped his teeth on my side, just
below the ribs. I grunted, but it felt oddly good. He looked up and I saw
the shining black eyes, the blinking lashes, the white grin--and the pink
ring of indentations from his teeth on my pale flesh.

"You little bastard." I kneed him in the belly. The hard muscle had no
give, but he fell on his side from the surprise. And I pounced on him. As
always, Amir's wiry slimness and the smooth agility of his body gave a
definite feline impression, and indeed we play-fought like a pair of cats,
vigorous yet instinctively gentle. It was a bit like the day we first came
home to his house, after the real fight, except that today the object was
clear--to get his, or my, pants off--and thus we went at it with purpose.

I eventually wrestled Amir to the bed, pinning his firm thighs with my own
legs. I began to tug the pajama pants down off his butt. In his white
briefs and skimpy white wife-beater he was irresistible.  There were the
neatly-separated buns in his thin cotton briefs. Probably the pair from
yesterday, still imbued with his horny sweat. I squeezed his mounds through
the cotton and he gave a sharp yelp.

"Tender, huh?"

"Very tender."

I pulled the underpants off his tail, and was surprised to see--over the
faded suggestions of cane marks and the violet bruises from the
hairbrush--what looked like fresh, ruddy strap-marks across the middle of
his crack. He'd been punished just this morning.

"Rahman belted me," he said, looking back over his shoulder, a hard glint
in his eyes. "Jealous?"

"What'd you do?" I asked, stroking his back under the thin shirt, not
bothering to keep the glee out of my voice.

"You know. Yesterday. While you were punishing me. He always belts me
for...  for that kind of mess. He says it isn't punishment if I enjoy
it. I--I mostly don't like the belt. But he didn't hit me too hard, just a
couple strokes."

"Mostly?"

"Sometimes. Depends." Amir smiled evasively.

I kissed him, sliding my tongue along his lips. "On?"

"He... on what he... sometimes... he talks to me..."

"Talks to you?"

"He says certain things. Certain things get me hot." The smile got bigger.
He was beginning to look flushed, with instantly made *me* hot. Well,
hotter.

Amir reached behind him and patted his own butt. "I had it coming. I was
acting up all yesterday when he wouldn't let me out of the house. And I
never did my laundry." He grinned. "I'm just lucky he didn't whip my ass in
front of his friends."

"How did he do it?"

"Made me get on all fours on the bed like I was yesterday. Then he whipped
me about six times."

"So that's why you were all boned up..."

"Yeah--he saw that. So when I was bending down to get my pants, he kind of
kicked me in my butt, and I fell over. Then he left."

I raised my eyebrows, fascinated. "He kicked you in the butt?"


"Not hard." Amir glanced away from me. "Just to show he was disgusted with
me."

"You're still so hot," I said, caressing his rigid cock, then his bare warm
bottom.

"I know. Want to help me with it?"

"Gladly." I turned him on his back and closed my fingers around the shaft
of his blood-engorged cock, thinking I knew what he wanted. I had just
pressed my lips to the soft-skinned head when he stopped me.

"Not that, Aaron."

"What, then?" I flicked my thumb over his leaking piss-slit, provoking a
small but visible shiver.

I got an extremely palatable view of his pink rear as he bent over, fishing
in the clothes scattered on his floor. He came up with a brown belt of
medium thickness--the same one Rahman had used, no doubt.

"Do it this way."

My eyes must have gotten as big as silver dollars.

"You want me to hit you with it?"

"Until I cum, yeah."

He was looking at me with earnest eagerness in his black eyes--that
unmistakable shine, that look of vulnerable beauty and dark want that made
me slip up yesterday, that made me neglect my politics and my work and
everything except the boy who looked at me through those eyes, sweeping
away all objections, annihilating all defenses, the blushing
sweat-fragrant, half-naked angel who now pleaded with me to beat him into
"submission" one more time. To tell the truth, I was afraid of really
hurting him after all he'd already been through. But he seemed so hot for
it.

"I want to see you jerk off while I do it."

"Really?"

I sat up and drew close to him, whispered in his ear. "You are being
punished for being a dirty boy, aren't you?"

"Mmm-hmm..."

"Then I think it's appropriate, don't you?"

Amir stood up, his hand clasped uncertainly around the shaft of his
rock-hard penis. His long eyelashes and the curly hair falling over his
forehead hid his lowered dark eyes; his lips trembled.  His nuts knocked
between his lovely thighs. The white wife-beater was slightly too long and
covered the black pubic hair over his cock, and also the top of his butt,
where the two golden-brown globes split from the tapered back. I debated
ordering him to roll up his shirt, but decided to leave him like that. It
was the bottoms of his cheeks that really mattered--the soft fold of his
sit-spot.

"Stand facing the wall," I said.

He turned and went to the wall, stood with his long elegant nose bare
inches from the paint. I remembered us both bare-assed, sore, hard, facing
the walls in Edgy's office, longing to finish grappling with each other.

He was now perspiring visibly. It was a humid day--still rainy--and a very
humid situation. I reached to push the damp black curls from his glowing
forehead.

"One hand against the wall, Amir," I said, "and the other stays on your
naughty hard cock."

He placed his left hand, fingers spread, on the wall.

"Start stroking yourself, Amir. Slow."

The long-fingered hand moved up and down the smooth brown shaft, from the
base to the dark purplish head. Meanwhile, I placed my own hand on his
round butt. It tensed up exactly as I'd expected. The crack closed tight;
the sexy dimples on the sides grew more pronounced. I wondered: Where did
he come by this instinct to protect his hole? Perhaps Rahman's fingers
wandered during his spankings. Did he sometimes lay Amir over his knees and
rub his hot red bottom between swats?  Did he tell him the slow, sensuous
butt-rub was for "maximum humiliation", or to rub the sting in?  Did his
fingers sometimes graze his beautiful brother's sweat-damp little pucker?
Or maybe, when Dad wasn't home, a finger or two up the butt-hole was a
routine extra punishment for an errant Khalili boy...

"Legs apart."

I stood very close behind Amir. My hand still cupped around his bottom, I
nudged his bare feet apart with the toe of my sneaker. I felt his crack
open under my palm, so I slid a slow careful finger down the hot cleft.

"Stop," whispered Amir.

"Why?" I tickled him between his squirming buns with my finger-tip.

"`Cause I'm not... not clean back there..."

"My dear Mr. Khalili," I said into the back of his neck, "we've already
established that we are both dirty boys."

With more force, I ran my forefinger up and down his quivering crack,
tracing the bud.

"Now play with your balls," I ordered, "Cup them, weigh them in your hand.
Massage them."

Over his silken shoulder, I watched him dazedly carry out my commands in
front, while I continued to violate/stimulate him in back.

"Now, stroke your shaft again. Stroke it harder." I kissed his neck. "Rub
your hand over the head.  Thumb on the slit. Down the shaft again."

He did everything I said.

"Lick your hand. Get it wet. Spit on it. Rub it on your cock. Nice and
soft., just like this."

I caressed the line of his crack gently. When I found the rose, I felt it
shrink from my touch. I gave the timid pucker several light taps with my
fingertip.

"You want it now?" My lips pressed to top nub of his spine.

"Yeah." Husky, breathy voice. A voice that would've made me rigid had I not
already been.

"Alright. Keep those thighs apart, balance against the wall. And perk that
behind out, since you want it so bad. Come on--let's see how much your butt
wants it."

He arched his spine, and pushed his perky ass out, bumping my crotch and
making my already erect penis do somersaults in my pants. That's what it
felt like, anyway. I wanted to play with his crack a little more, to
prolong the wait for the desired belting. His ass was up and asking for it.

I took the belt, doubled it over, and laid it against his eager cheeks. He
immediately moaned and began to pump his cock harder. I massaged his cheeks
with the doubled strap for the next thirty seconds or so, softly, as he
stuck his ass out--almost pitiful, the way he was wordlessly begging.

I slid the tip of the belt down his crack, prodding his secret place with
the cool leather.

"Ohhh..."

Fisting his cock, he pushed his ass out again so he was almost doubled
over.  As if he wanted me to fuck him with that belt-tip. He spread his
legs more; his butt split open.  Ample golden cheeks on either side, dark
sultry cleft between, now spread to the air, and the little dark flower
kissing the tip of the punishment implement.

I used my fingers to push his mounds open further, and this time he was too
busy stroking from the base of his cock to the head to care that his brown
peach had been split wide, revealing all its splendor. I moved the belt
away, taking my time tickling his sensitized buns with it on the way out.
Then I replaced it with my first two fingers. I danced them up and down the
crack; he groaned and wiggled his butt helplessly.

I stuck the fingers in my mouth, coated them with saliva, then put them
back in his crack before he could come to his senses and clench up that
beautiful rear-end. I poked the small indentation that was his bud. And it
yielded to me. In fact, the forbidden hole seemed to suck my finger in.
Amir almost screamed.


"Shh." I gave him a wet kiss on the side of his neck.

It was so hot and moist in there, very soft and constricting. There was an
almost mealy feeling of glistening inside-flesh, flesh that wasn't meant to
be touched, and yet it was firm and tight, so much tighter than his mouth,
a wet velvet glove around my finger. A good part of the arousal at this act
came, I suppose, from knowing I wasn't supposed to be back there; under
normal circumstances, he didn't even want me back there. But right now he
seemed to crave it. At least, he wasn't trying to pull away. I slid my
finger in to the second knuckle. His butt moved against my finger to the
increasing rhythm of his masturbation. I gave the slick hole a moment to
adapt to my invading finger. Then I rammed it in to the last knuckle. His
ass tensed up in surprise; I could feel his insides trying involuntarily to
expel me. Oh, no. I was in and I was staying in. I slapped him hard on one
buttock, then the other.

"Relax."

He moaned, moved his backside out so his obediently-slackened buns were
smushed against my knuckles.

"Spank me harder," he said in a quiet, plaintive tone.

I twisted my finger inside him.

"You like that?"

"Yes!" he cried, abusing himself feverishly. I grinned. I saw that a flush
of blood had come up under the olive skin of his neck. "Hit me, please. Hit
me or I won't cum."

I laughed at him. "Maybe Rahman should beat you when you're a good boy
instead of when you're bad."

"You can beat me when I'm good," he said, and though he was facing the wall
I could hear a wicked grin in his voice. "Rahman can do it when I'm bad."

"Are you often bad, Amir?" I asked, my finger deep in the heat of his hole,
while I teased his buns with a few light licks of the belt at the same
time. I could see him seize up slightly, as though someone had blown a
breath of cool air along his crack.

"I think you're bad on purpose when you want your ass warmed. I think you
were bad on purpose yesterday, to make sure you got belted today."

I curled my finger inside him, twisted it deeper, moved around in there
like I was looking for gold.  He convulsed. I finger-fucked him; his hole
flexed around me. As I pumped inside his hole and his pumped his swollen
stiffy in front, three hard shots of cream arched from the purple knob. The
first plastered the wall; the rest he managed divert onto the carpet. I
removed my finger slowly, teasing the sensitive rim of his hole.


Smiling to myself, I swung back the doubled belt and applied a strong smack
to the undersides of his buns.

"Ahh!"

I gave him four strokes in a row, and they hissed before they landed with
successive dry *CRACK*s on his bottom. He yelled each time, cum dribbling
down his thighs, matting up his leg hair. His butt clenched beautifully at
each stroke. I could see every hard tense muscle in his thighs and
bottom. His flesh got that dark rosy just-spanked glow, so much like a
delighted blush.

His right hand was coated in thick jizz, the other he quickly clapped over
his behind. I let him rub for a moment before grabbing him by the shoulder
and spinning him around.

"You saw the mess you made on your wall," I said, smoothing his sweaty
curls away from his blushing face. "You needed to be hit for that. Besides,
you wanted to be hit."

"Yeah. *Before* I came, not after."

But he didn't look angry; his smile was soft and contented. I looked into
his eyes. You could barely see the marks from our fight now. The flesh
around the one eye was just a bit darker than around the other. Both eyes
were hypnotically lovely, and peering into mine with great tenderness.

"Come on, Mr. Eisen," he said, tugging at my jeans. "Get those clothes off.
We have to clean me up." He smirked, opening my fly. My erection had
moistened the light fabric of my boxers. "And it looks like you could use
my assistance down there first, am I wrong?"

He pushed me down on the bed.