Amir and I left the auxiliary gym building dazed and sated--if sore--walking close together but not touching or speaking. After separating to visit our lockers, we met up again and approached the student section of the parking lot. Without discussing it, without even looking at each other, we both started heading for his car. Now that we were outside, dressed in the same clothes we'd had on before, a shy reticence had come over us. Not exactly shame or regret, something else. Simple confusion, maybe. He in particular seemed shaky, afraid even.
But it looked like we were leaving in the same vehicle. So whatever it was, it was evidently having little success in diminishing an unspoken resolve to continue--though neither of us was sure of the next step--what we'd started.
The rueful grimace on his face as he shifted in the hard imitation-leather seat, wondering how he'd be able to keep his mind on the road, was especially cute. Now I couldn't stop staring at him. My intent gaze brought out his pleased, nervous smile I remembered from the shower room.
Eisen, you fucking idiot, I thought. You're falling for this kid.
Once we'd gotten as comfortable as we were going to get, Amir turned the key in the ignition. I didn't even think to ask where we were going. Being with him in the closed space of the car was beginning to make me excited again. But it was different now, a low, unfocussed feeling, like being mildly drugged, reminiscent of the sensual feel of the last long kiss in the shower. I smelled the cooling sweat and the sex on him, on us, and relived delicious scraps of the afternoon. His slick fast- moving hand on my inflamed cock. The ache of wanting so badly to cum. His eyes. The musky taste of his mouth, his ragged lush lips. The hot naked skin-on-skin closeness of our bodies there in the middle of the aux locker room.
Now that my sublimated desire for him had broken the dam, so to speak, there wasn't much I could do except try my best to control its course.
"What would Edgewick have thought of all that?" Amir asked with a dreamy tight-lipped smile and a sidelong look at me. As if he'd read my mind.
"I have a sneaking suspicion the old pervert might be pleased with the unforeseen side-effects of his handiwork."
His gorgeous eyes were half-lidded, giving him a look of masculine coyness. "I agree."
He steered us around a corner and started going up what was essentially the town's main drag, past competing fast food places, takeout pizza joints, the bowling alley, the laundromat.
"Was today your first time--?" He glanced at me.
I knew what he meant. "Yeah. Getting it from Edgewick, that is. Cafferty's caught me in a few bad moments before. Resulting in swift application of the Ping Pong Paddle of Correction."
Amir's tongue darted out over his thick, fine lower lip. "Me too. One time."
We let that exchange sit in the air between us. I couldn't guess what he was thinking, but I was busy with highly graphic speculations about what one of Cafferty's robust, bun-flattening paddlings might do to Amir Khalili's tight bouncy gem of an ass. I could clearly imagine the warm dusky-rose glow rising first on the crown of each cheek, then spreading--like a surprised blush--over his whole butt til only the sweaty recesses of his as-yet-all-but-unexplored crack remained unaffected.
We rounded another corner, entering an upscale residential area lined with trees, pulled up to a well- kept cream-colored house and got out. In the kitchen Amir somewhat awkwardly offered me a soda and we stood (rather than sat) sipping from our Cokes and talking for a few minutes. I mostly listened; I hadn't realized how thirsty I was.
After we were done, and again without discussion, we started down the hall toward his bedroom.
It was dim and cluttered, dominated by an unmade waterbed. There were a TV and a couple of video-game systems in a hopeless tangle of black cords and plastic casing shoved in one corner. On one wall, he displayed the numerous and varied awards he'd garnered in the course of his high school career.
Experiencing an atavistic twinge of our erstwhile rivalry, I found myself surveying this collection to make sure he didn't have more to display than I did--but was dissuaded from such petty considerations when I felt his hand creeping up my back. I turned and ran my own hand over his chest. He smiled at me in that shyly sexy way. Those little brown nipples showed through the shirt, still damp from the sweat and the shower floor where he'd carelessly tossed it.
He locked the door behind us. After all, he had a couple of brothers who'd be coming home at some point. I'd seen them at school: cute skinny Salim, a sophomore, and tasty, developing Qasim, a junior. Both Honor Roll kids like their brother, only quiet. No debate team or loud arguments in the cafeteria for them. There was an older Khalili boy, too, who now attended a local college. Rahman, a dreamily handsome doe-eyed creature, somewhat more muscular and lighter-skinned than Amir.
Mrs. Khalili, Amir had related over our sodas in the kitchen, had died in a car accident shortly after Salim's birth. Before the family moved here, Amir and his brothers had been partly raised by their aunt and her husband, who'd tried hard to make up for the loss of the boys' mother and their own inability to conceive.
It had been strange to hear about his life like that, all these personal details, even stranger than being naked with him.
"I always thought you were hot, Aaron," he whispered, eyes down, hands moving down my sides, across my front. Then lower, his fingers skimming my fly. Now his whole essence purred with sensuality, his earlier slight trepidation and our mutual shyness gone.
I held him by the back of his neck and nibbled his ear. There was a strong scent of stale sweat in his limp black curls. He responded to my mouth by stretching his neck, sighing with pleasure as I licked a long swath down the smooth burnished curve of his throat. His hand traced its way down my spine.
"Don't get me wrong," he said, pushing me back so he could look in my eyes, "I hated you. But-- I'd see you all the time, in gym class, for instance," (and I remembered the previous year, remembered my half-conscious half-wish that the Arab kid I disliked so much would change near my block of lockers so I could see if he looked as good out of his clothes as he did in them-- remembered watching his dark swarthy legs in the baggy nylon shorts, his lean, quick movements--remembered giving him dirty looks) "in that thin shirt you used to wear," he continued, "and at free practice debate when you'd get so passionate and everyone would look at us--and during the fight--" He started to undo my buttons, skating his short blunt little nails over my chest. "Well. You know the cliche, of course. 'So beautiful when you're angry'. It's cliche to even talk about it as being a cliche, I know--but it's so true for you god, you're even hotter when you're completely livid--"
I grabbed him by the hair at back of his head, ate up his mouth like a juicy bit of fruit. When I pulled away, my hand was still caught up in those sweaty curls, and I spoke into his neck. "I remember gym class too. You in those shorts. I wanted to grudge-fuck you like you wouldn't believe."
We dragged each other down onto Amir's bed and lay there on our sides and stripped each other, constructing a kind of nest for ourselves of twisted sheets and discarded clothing. The cum dried onto our bodies was crusty, flaking. That we'd done that, put our nice school things on over each other's jizz, turned me on ferociously.
I stretched to get a look at his firm golden-bronzy ass, over which I ran tentative fingers, checking my eagerness for the moment. His butt still had a distinctly ruddy tinge, and the cane-marks crossed it, solid and wine-colored.
"Still sore?"
"Yeah. A lot. You?"
He touched my ass as well. I winced.
"Yeah... Here, let me rub yours for you."
"Be my guest."
"You have lotion or something?"
Amir leaned across my body (the feel of his velvety naked torso and bare arms thrilling) and rummaged in the night-stand, bringing out an economy-sized tube of hand lotion whose primary purpose was pretty obvious.
"Here."
I took the tube, which was a little greasy, thinking of Amir lubing up one of his elegant long- fingered hands, lying back on the bed, his tight white briefs hitched down to just below the slight jut and dip of his narrow hip-bones, his dark cock curving toward his belly-button, the door locked. I saw him slather the base of his boner with white lotion it would look bluish in the dim light cast by the bedside lamp, like frosting against his dark skin and slowly work his way up, eyes fluttering contentedly shut as he called up a favorite fantasy. His hand would move faster, then would gently squeeze the mushroom head of his cut cock, with its impossibly soft rose-petal texture. His finger would lightly tease the piss-slit. He would sigh back into his pillow. Then more fast, light strokes on that excited dick, his hips bucking a little, that beautiful ass (hidden, in this position, from the would-be voyeur) squeezing and relaxing against the mattress, fucking his own quickly shunting fist. Then slow and lazy-- tormenting himself, as he'd tried to do to me. His lips would part, trailing spit.
Lather and repeat, until at long last white licks of cum painted streaks on his lean chest. Did he ever taste it afterwards?, I wondered.
"Turn on your stomach," I told him, patting him insistently just below his tail-bone, an act which only fed my urge to slap that deep-cracked rosy-golden butt back to its previous angry crimson. He did as I instructed, settling on his belly, spreading his long legs and poking out his ass. It was almost like he wanted me to finger him up there though I told myself I'd have to be careful in that particular department, given his earlier reactions. I touched him just below the fold of his ass, gave the lower right globe a gentle squeeze. He craned his neck back to watch me looking out for the safety of his cute little asshole, maybe?
I laid the tube o' lube aside, and shifted over so I was straddling the backs of his lower thighs, just above the knees, my hard cock jutting out facing his ass, one hand pressed against his deliciously smooth and well-formed back.
"What ?" he began, trying, without all that much vigor and with zero success, to twist out from under me.
"Khalili, relax, I'm not gonna hurt you." Not exactly true, if all went well in the future, but an honest enough answer for the moment. "I just wanted to get at a better angle."
"A better angle for what exactly?"
"A better angle for getting some of the sting out of your sweet, raw little ass. Unless you'd prefer I put the sting back into it." I smirked.
He twisted some more and fixed me with a beautifully wicked grin, his eyes smoky-smoldering, narrowed -especially the blackened one--to a kind of cocky squint. "You do that and you better believe I'm gonna return the favor."
"Not too worried about that right now. I think I've got you where I need you." I grabbed both his lean wrists before he could react and pinned them against his lower back hard enough I surprised myself to make him grunt. Loud.
"Ah! Fuck, Eisen, let go!"
"Are you going to be nice for me?"
"Nice how?"
Now he was really being deliberately difficult. I held onto his wrists and pressed them further up on his back but not too far causing him to cry out hoarsely.
"Nice. You know like, hold still for me while I take care of your pretty Arab ass... I'm afraid I'll have to smack it if you don't quit wiggling it around."
I almost regretted saying "pretty Arab ass"; maybe he'd take it the wrong way. But that was exactly what it was, after all. I mean, it was indisputably pretty, it was documentedly Arab, and it was most certainly, most indubitably, an ass: two plump and hard mounds closed over one tantalizing twice- glimpsed orifice.
"So smack it. Just keep in mind what you'll be setting yourself up for if you do that."
"Yeah, if you can get me and if you can hold me down long enough."
"If Edgy hadn't pulled us apart, you'd know for sure right now that that's more than possible it's probable."
"That I doubt. If you recall, I was winning."
"Oh, bullshit, you were not." He saw me raise my hand and quickly recanted sort of: "Okay. Okay. You were winning. Go ahead and rewrite history while you've got the upper hand." His eyes gleamed devilishly, and his grin returned, wider. "'Cause it isn't gonna last long."
At that, I gave his bare sore butt a couple of quick solid slaps. In order to do so I had to take one hand off his pinned wrists for several seconds (I would have to think about handcuffing this boy someday--a really hot idea, having him chained up like a rare pet, playing with his body any way I liked--I'd never realized before how kinky I was, it was a little unnerving), which turned out to be my downfall. Two things happened in rapid succession. One, he arched his back at the loud smacks across his caned and spanked rear end, the sight causing my hard cock to grow a little, and two, I found myself no longer on top of him, but next to him, his legs scissored tight around mine, my arms pinioned to my sides by his strong hands. He was looking directly into my eyes.
"Arrogant little bastard," he said fiercely. He almost spat with each word. The look on his face was hard to characterize a kind of mocking, gloating tenderness.
"You gonna smack me?"
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"I might."
"Not happening. No way I'm going to repeat your mistakes. I'm not letting go."
"So you're just going to keep me here and look at me?"
"Maybe. You're pretty fucking gorgeous." He leaned in close and kissed me. "I ought to tie your hands. That'd keep you from making trouble."
"I'm no trouble."
"Oh no," he said, with an ironic tilt to his dark eyebrow, "Not at all. It only seems like you've been had it in for me since freshman year."
His grip had relaxed ever so slightly during the course of this short conversation. Taking advantage, I twisted hard, and broke his hold on my upper body. I punched him in the ribs--with enough force to leave a bruise, I would see later, though I hadn't intended it. While he was occupied with that, I managed to extricate my legs. I grabbed him and tried to wrestle him onto his belly again, which, as he recovered from the shot to the ribs, turned into an energetic nude tussle on the bed, during which each of us had at least two or three occasions to yelp as he landed on his recently-disciplined butt. At one point Amir pinned me and gave me a hot slap on mine. I did the same to him seconds later. The combined effects of all this -the semi-combative situation; the constant shifting sensation of his sweating limbs against mine; his sharp, excited, not-entirely-clean scent; his sexy look of blurry dishevelment -served to fully reawaken the terrible urgency I'd felt in the aux shower.
Finally I got him and held him down with all my strength. And I had an idea.
"Hold still for a minute, Amir," I whispered into the sweat-shiny curve of his neck, just below the soft earlobe.
"Why?"
"Just trust me. Lay on your side. And stay still."
Shockingly, he did it without any protest.
Aware of his curious, skeptical gaze, I quickly changed position so that our heads were on opposite ends of the bed, then moved close to his body, gripped the base of his erection, and began to lick and then suckle the soft-textured head. It didn't taste bad. Or--really--like anything at all. Just hot young skin and hot young sweat. It was a little salty, but that was from when he'd shot earlier--I'd sampled my own cum before, so I knew.
A delighted shudder ran down through his entire body. I imagine his pretty toes even curled at the first touch of my mouth on his virgin cock-head. He gave a breathy, ecstatic croak. Must be his first blowjob. And--if I was as lucky as he was--it'd be mine too. I squirmed my crotch in close to his face, hoping he'd be willing.
After a moments's hesitation, he circled my stiffy with tentative fingers. Then he hesitated some more. And--just as I was about to take my mouth off his cock to tell him to get on with it, dammit, Khalili--I experienced possibly the loveliest sensation I'd ever had experienced to date. First his wet warm velvet tongue, then his whole wet warm velvet mouth, cautiously tasting, then lapping like my cock was a tall ice cream cone in some unconventional new flavor Amir wasn't sure he'd like, then finally slurping and slobbering with greater abandon than I'd dared hope for. The softness and wetness were delicious on my sensitive penis, and when his tongue grazed the tiny slit I shivered. He licked circles around my cock-head, a wonderful sensation which I promptly duplicated on him. I wanted him to feel every scrap of ecstasy I felt.
I knew it would feel even better if we took each other's cocks in deeper and created a kind of seal around them, tight and moist, like the way a pussy was supposed to feel or, as I prefer to think of it, the way an Arab boy's well-lubed asshole would feel. I relaxed and prepared to take him in further. It wasn't difficult; I felt like eating him alive anyway. I depressed my tongue and let his smooth young cut cock slide in. I didn't gag; I was very careful. I tightened my lips in a ring around his shaft and moved my head back and forth, sliding along the hard dark length.
Amir, a fast learner, took the hint and created a similar seal with his lips. I moaned and my foot twitched involuntarily as his luscious mouth accepted the blood-packed excited flesh. He was good, made his mouth incredibly tight. He managed to take me in further than I took him, almost deep- throating me.
He would swallow me deep, then pull back and tease my cock-head with his agile tongue, suckle and kiss my shaft with his full soft lips. I was in paradise, hazily aware that I was moaning loudly and continuously as I worked on his cock. The vibrations must have felt good on him. I could taste his salty pre-cum. I let it trickle down my throat. Every so often he'd use his spit-lubed hand to jerk my shaft as he tenderly kissed and nibbled the head. Sometimes we both stopped to breathe, masturbating one another not too vigorously; neither of us wanted to bust a nut just yet.
During one of these pauses Amir said breathy, apologetic, "I--I--sorry--Aaron--I can't go anymore-- my mouth--"
"It's okay," I breathed, my own mouth numb and tired. "I have another idea."
"What's that?"
I let go of his wet hard-on and pushed his nuts out of the way, craning my neck forward and in. I gripped his toned thighs and pulled his butt gently toward me from the front.
If he wasn't going to let me put a finger in...
"You better be clean, Khalili," I muttered.
"What--?"
The tip of my tongue slid over his perineum. Then it hit his asshole.
"Aaron, what are you ?" Amir's voice had risen an octave--in fear? shock? pleasure?
"You must have showered this morning," I commented evenly, pulling away for a moment to try and spread him better, parting the sparse shiny black curls in his crack, and examining the color and shape of his bud. Small, obviously virginal, a dark rosy-purple, with some variation of shading in the folds of the pucker. The only hole I'd ever seen, but a real cute one nonetheless. "You taste like soap. And sweat of course."
"You just licked my--" Amir was incredulous, scandalized. But he didn't try to move or ask me to stop.
I did it again, giving the long-sought opening more detailed attention this time. I held his ruddy- cheeked butt open by his thighs so as not to hurt the spanked and welted portions, and I swirled my tongue-tip slowly around his demure little rim, dipping into the tight hot passage itself, licking up and down the inner crack. There wasn't too much hair there, like I said, but what there was was soon matted down with spit. Now I had an up-close-and-personal view of the peachy golden-brown rear and deep-shadowed crack that I and my cock had drooled over in Edgy's office. I was not disappointed. His was a consummately edible little rump.
He was writhing as I tongue-lashed his naughty ass (this was a "punishment" I doubted Edgy'd ever thought of even in his wildest fantasies), not trying to pull away but kind of grinding his crack against my lips and tongue.
Suddenly a shock of wet hot sensation slid up my spine from the region of my bottom. I became aware of Amir's hands cupping my sore lower buns, and realized what the little shock meant--he'd also put his tongue where it shouldn't be. My good dirty boy.
We licked each other's secret spots, more like a pair of randy dog-boys than ever. When I began to probe him, to slide my tongue in and out of his thrusting butt, he actually screamed. To think our poor teenage butts could be, in one day, the conduits of both the sharp strangely stimulating pain of deserved discipline, and also the nasty animal pleasure of a sloppy mutual rimjob. And that one could lead so naturally to the other.
We only eased off after our cracks were coated and the roots of our tongues ached--at least my tongue did. I'd been more the prospector than Khalili had, though my spit-slimy butt hardly felt cheated.
For the next few minutes Amir lapped softly at the welts and the sore, blushing areas on my sit-spot and the roundest parts of my butt, the parts that had been by default or intention punished the most. I did the same for him after resting my tired tongue a little, concentrating mostly on the stripes--whose intense dark color fascinated me---nibbling and kissing them, worrying them with the edge of my tongue til Amir moaned from the painful-soothing stimulation. His butt was a map of pain, and I roamed it with my open mouth more to provoke than to relieve.
When Amir suddenly stiffened and lifted his head, I was equally surprised and frustrated. Then I heard the front door banging shut.
"Qasim must be home." It was almost a groan. How he knew which brother it was is anybody's guess.
"Great, he can join us."
I kind of expected to get hit for that one, but when it happened I yelled anyway.
"Shh..."
Amir got up and started gathering our clothes. He tossed my boxers and shirt at me, then dove over the side of the bed after my pants. I pulled the shorts on over my boner.
Thirty seconds later we were dressed, if slightly disarrayed--shirts left untucked so as to hide our unsatisfied erections. I noticed Amir had buttoned his shirt unevenly and pointed it out. He shrugged, grabbed a sweatshirt off a laundry pile near the door, and threw it on.
"I'll take you back to school to get your car."
I laughed. "Watch we see Edgy coming out."
"Nah... He'll be gone." Amir consulted his watch. "It's four o'clock already."
We got our shoes on and exited the bedroom, leaving the tube of lotion forgotten on the bed.
In an attempt to distract myself from the monster case of blue balls I was nursing, I checked myself out in Khalili's side mirror, even as the car-seat continued to remind me of my all-too-recent stint across Edgewick's desk. I touched my hair. Khalili must have put his fingers through it at some point. It stuck up crazily, which made me laugh. My eyes were still a little pink behind the glasses, and by now my lips had plumped up a notch or two beyond merely "bee-stung", which is how a long-ago would-be girlfriend (my few dutifully-orchestrated dalliances with females have been too abysmal for thought) had insisted on describing them at their normal size.
We spent the short ride back to school mostly in frustrated silence.
As the sign marking the entrance/exit to the T_____ campus came into view down the road, Amir took his hand off the wheel (a hand as beautiful as his feet) and gestured at the approaching school complex.
"I never asked. How'd you end up going there, anyway?"
"What's a nice Jew-boy like me doing in a backward enclave of Papist barbarism like this...?"
He flashed a heart-lacerating grin. "Yeah. Something like that."
"I could ask the same about you. With insertion of appropriate ethno-religious epithet, of course."
"I prefer 'raghead' over 'camel-jockey' if it's all the same to you."
That beautiful smile. I itched to reach across the gear-shift and stroke his thigh, but restrained myself somehow. At this rate I'd never win another debate against him; I'd just stand there hypnotized by his black eyes and mentally summoning up every detail of his nude body under his clothes. Yeah, sure, knock down all the settlements. Take Jerusalem while you're at it. Whatever. Just c'mere, willya?
"My parents liked T____'s academic reputation better than all the other area schools," I explained, after I'd (mostly) killed the urge to feel him up while he was trying to drive. "That was basically it. They met with the powers-that-be and got me out of religion class and said I could safely ignore all the Jesus-and-Mary stuff. So far it's worked. To an extent."
Amir shrugged, a brief liquid movement. "Same story here. Dad looked around for a school that had good college-prep-type classes. He didn't really much care about the religious element. I don't even know if he talked to them about it. We're kinda lapsed anyway. They had to ask me and my brothers about it. Like, 'Yeah, I'm a Muslim'. 'Oh, so we thought, Arab boy, so we thought. Free second period for you'. Not such a bad deal." There was a pause. "My dad liked the discipline, too."
Amir blushed as he said this--which just about made me melt.
"What will your parents do?" he asked, suddenly. "When they get the phone call from Edgy's office, I mean."
"They won't be too happy. My dad will probably lecture me at length about avoiding trouble at school if I want to look good for the college admissions boards."
"They won't--uh--follow up on school discipline?"
"You mean," --I almost laughed, though he looked very serious-- "will they spank me?"
"Yeah." Amir blushed again. He was going to have to stop doing that if he didn't want me to attack him in the middle of the car. My damned cock hadn't gone down at all. If anything, this conversation was making things worse.
"They never have before. I don't think they really like the idea. But they like T___, and they told me a long time ago that if I get in trouble there I have to take what they give me. It was partly my choice. I was under the impression corporal punishment was used there much more rarely, so I didn't bother to sign the thing that lets you opt out and get after-school detention instead. I figured I wouldn't be getting in any serious trouble anyway. Seeing as I'm such a good kid." I eyed him.
"What will your dad do?"
"Well. He'll be pretty pissed."
"Even if he knew why we were fighting?"
"Yeah. Definitely. He wants me to comport myself with dignity at all times. Guess I fucked that one up."
"What's he going to do?"
"He won't be back til tomorrow, then he has to leave again. He has a couple of business trips this week. He's really going to be pissed. I'll probably have to sit through a lecture similar to the one you were talking about... and..." He trailed off, reaching to flip the turn-signal. Strands of damp black hair still clung to his temples. His blush was high on his cheekbones. He looked as excited as he was embarrassed.
"And?"
"And he probably will decide to... to reinforce what I already got." He was blushing very seriously now, his face accumulating a redness comparable to that of his smacked ass. "He doesn't always but It was the way he was raised, see?"
I almost asked if I could come over and watch, but I knew he'd regain his usual wit and counter with the admittedly apt suggestion that I come over and take my share of the butt-warming. So I kept quiet.
We pulled up next to my car in the abandoned parking lot, and Amir had me put my number down on a piece of scrap paper and scrawled his on another. As I got out he squeezed my hand tightly.
"Talk to you soon."
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