Amir relaxed into the water-filled mattress and let me unzip him. As I ran my hands over the hot flesh under his T-shirt, rolled his nipples between my fingers, he breathed as if in a deep-dreaming sleep .
The air was increasingly balmy in his room, even with the window open. It was turning into one of those summery weeks you sometimes get in mid-autumn. Of course, the area inside my boxer shorts was experiencing its own heat wave, for unrelated reasons. Especially in back, as the faint friction of my jeans ceaselessly reminded me.
Not that I was complaining. Not now. I had my Amir where I wanted him, the only X-factors, so to speak, being the additional irritant/stimulant of Rahman's role in this twistedly lucky scenario, and the threat of his imminent return. Under Amir's silky skin, I felt his slow heaving exhalations, the quick, strong pulse of his heart. I almost didn't care if his asshole brother came back and found me on top of him.
Almost.
Our eyes locked as I peeled his jeans down to the middle of his thighs. Underneath, he had put on -- by my special request--the too-tight white cotton briefs that looked so hot in contrast with his olive thighs. He just watched me with that bright-dark gleam in his eyes, didn't interfere at all. His cock was poking the waistband of his briefs and dribbling clear fluid into the fabric.
"Going to hurt me bad, aren't you?" he asked, his big black eyes unwavering, his smile growing. It was sort of a dazed sexy smile now, with a glimmer of fear somewhere below the surface.
I didn't answer, just gripped his upper arms and heaved him onto his stomach. He went over without resistance, his strong body momentarily pliant. Once I had him ass-up and belly-down he started wiggling in my grip and tried to move his head to look at me over his shoulder. He still didn't quite trust me behind him. I put my hand on the back of his neck and pushed his face gently down, my fingers caught in the tangled overspill of his hair. There was sweat collecting at the hairline, where I'd noticed he usually kept his curls trimmed short. Now it had gotten long enough so that licks of sweat caused the little ringlets to spike out every which way. This small, intimate detail was somehow both endearing and deeply exciting. His hair was gorgeous, and the sweat there was tangible evidence of just how hot and nervous I was making him.
I kissed the back of his neck, licked lightly at the droplets of sweat. Fuck Rahman's imminent return, and fuck Rahman too -- nice thought, that. My hand slipped down Amir's back; I watched him shiver even in the afternoon heat, just like he had in Edgy's office. I rolled his T-shirt up to his shoulder-blades. The muscles in his back tightened under my touch.
"Nervous?"
"Mmm-hmm..."
One of my hands rested just above his jutting buttocks, the other still applied soft but effective pressure to the nape of his lovely neck. I wished I could put him over my knee, but that was impossible with my butt a solid, tender red under my pants. I'd never be able to sit comfortably to spank him. A pity. I wanted the feel of his lithe body over my thighs. I lightly tugged a few of the soft black hairs on his upper legs, making him squirm and rub them sensually against one another. His ass cheeks wiggled a little too. They filled the wash-thin briefs beautifully. I pulled his thighs open—with some effort--so his legs were splayed out from the bed in a V-shape, and then I stood between them, crouching with my knees balanced against the bedframe. My denim-covered crotch now lightly prodded the well-delineated cleft in his bottom. He made a soft shocked noise and tried to jerk away. A gentle but authoritative yank on his hair stopped that effort cold.
"Stay still," I warned. "You had your way already."
I ran my hand up his leg and rooted under the band of his briefs, working my fingers across the firm flesh of his right mound til the tips reached the silky bit of fur in his crack. There was a lot of plump hard cheek to get around; the tight elastic of his leg band dug into my knuckles. When I reached his hot crevice my constricted fingertips seemed to make deep impressions on the soft hidden flesh. His buns were almost rubbery with sweat--around his hole I was mildly surprised to find him practically soaked. This was a very nervous boy.
My face broke into a wide grin he couldn't see. All his squirming succeeded only in driving my fingers nearer the prize.
"Pleeease, don't, Aaron, pleease..."
The muscles rippled along his spine in his pathetic attempts to get away from my insistent hand. If he really wanted to, I thought, he could get away. He was easily as strong as I was.
Any apparent ambivalence aside, his whining persisted.
"Aaron, don't... What about Rahman...?"
"I seem to remember a certain delicious Arab boy saying something about `maximum humiliation'."
Amir groaned. I could feel his pucker right under my finger. "Do you have any idea what he'll do to you if he catches you... back there.. like that?"
"No, I don't. Maybe I want to find out."
Another groan.
"Maybe you like the idea of getting a spanking from him, but I sure as shit don't, and I've actually had the experience."
"I find that very difficult to believe. I saw how hard you were after getting the cane across your bare ass." I smiled at the memory.
He changed tack: "You know, he might just send you home. You're wasting a lot of time digging around back there, `Aaron Eisen'."
I grabbed the brush in my other hand, withdrew my roaming fingers, and then brought the wide flat back down hard into the center of his white-covered bottom.
"Aagghhh!" Amir's cry was distorted by an accidental mouthful of bedsheet.
"Enough out of you."
I looked at the spot where I'd just whacked him. What I really wanted was to spank him on his briefs, at least to start. It would be quite the turn-on to see those ripe buns jostle against each other inside the sweaty fabric as I laid the hard brush-back down again and again. Better yet if I could use my hand. The material would turn translucent from all the perspiration, the cotton would mold along the dark split that led to his sweat-saturated hole. Through the light cloth I'd be able to see the deepening redness of his tasty round behind. When I peeled them off, taunting him about his red little ass, he'd have tears in his eyes already, would beg me not to hit him on his bare flesh.
But I had no time for that, and if I had any say in the particulars of our future trysts, there'd be many other opportunities. I rolled his briefs down off the two muscular golden mounds. A brilliantly evil idea had occurred to me, one I thought would appeal to Rahman if he did walk in in the next few minutes.
I folded the briefs fabric over and over into a compact elastic strip around Amir's butt-crease, pulled the roll away from his body--provoking a hard gasp as the material tightened against his front--and let the fabric go like a rubber band. It hit home with a fiendish snap.
Amir howled and scrambled up on his knees. He began to rub his bottom violently. I knew Edgy had zapped him in that especially sensitive region, and--I saw--there was the purple welt to prove it. I didn't think I'd ever forget the order or pattern of those six strokes, still darkly evident on his flawless skin. I gripped his wrist, hauled his hand up against his back as he'd done to me, shoved him back into position. Nose in the mattress, cock pressed against the leather-upholstered bedframe. Then I delivered several firm hand-smacks to his bare seat, concentrating on the welted spots.
"I know you know better than that... "
He used a few regrettably unenlightened words to describe my ethnic makeup, and put forth crass but rather clever speculations about my mother's sexual proclivities--none of which were sufficiently muffled by the waterbed mattress. I heaved his protesting head up by a handful of sleek black curls and slapped him in the face, an act which surprised him as much as it excited me. The unshaven cheek was rough against my hand.
"Do you need your dirty little mouth washed out with soap as well?" I spoke softly, a part of me listening for Rahman.
"N-No..."
It was an idle threat, of course, a sudden ridiculous inspiration likely influenced by some TV show or book, but the instinctive panic in his reply assured me that, in the Khalili household at least, it was also still a viable punishment for a mouthy boy. I wondered about Salim and Qasim. Were they good boys or bad boys at home? How often did they get their cute golden-brown behinds smacked and their luscious little mouths soaped out? And what about Rahman? A strong young man like that, you'd need Edgy's cane or worse to get his attention. The thought of making red cane-stripes on Rahman's athletic ass gave me a pleasant twinge in my ever-ready cock.
I slapped Amir's face again, harder, doing it with enough force to rock his head sideways. An awkward task from behind, but if his yell was any indication I managed it admirably.
"You just keep your head down and that cute cocksucking mouth shut until I'm done with the other end of you. Got it?"
He nodded. I could almost hear him gritting his teeth. I let his hair go and his face fell back into the mattress.
Without warning, I turned gentle again, began to lovingly caress the cheeks of his ass--softly, softly, then with greater ardor, kneading the sculpted flesh--finally relaxing into the same kind of maddeningly sensual pre-spanking butt-rub I'd received. Paying special attention to the beautiful cane-welts, skimming his now-exposed crack with my two thumbs, one on either side, pulling his butt-cheeks apart, pushing them back together. Then I slid his briefs down past his knees and clean off his body. As I negotiated the elegant bony feet I pinched his toes appreciatively through the sweaty cotton. He seemed to like that.
There were several seconds of charged silence. Then, with a breath as deep and damp as that mouth- watering butt-crack, I ordered, "Get up on your hands and knees now, Amir."
Displaying a refreshing lack of hesitation, Amir got on all fours and poked his backside up. I iterate: I was wild for it -- the hard plump globes more rounded and pronounced due to his arched back and spread thighs. I couldn't wait to turn that sapid dark skin a luminous crimson.
As soon as he'd gotten as settled as possible, he indulged yet again his troublesome compulsion to look warily back over his shoulder. I saw one large dark eye staring at me, soft and shiny with a kind of ecstatic dread. I saw the graceful curving line of his sexily prominent nose, the shadow of his plump upper lip.
So I struck the sole of his foot with the brush, right in the middle of the sensitive arch, where there were plenty of nerves. He yelled and nearly toppled forward. An arm under his waist steadied him; my hand fleetingly caressed his runner's six-pack. I had to press up against him from behind again, only now it was his naked butt I was nudging with the turgid tent in my jeans.
"Didn't I tell you to stay still?" I scolded, pulling back, hitting him hard near the top of his butt, then a smart smack on each cheek for good measure. "And to keep your head down?"
He murmured assent; his head went down. I wanted to laugh imagining him looking at his own cock from that angle. Hard as ever, I could see, despite his fear and embarrassment. His nuts dangled. I couldn't resist cupping them, stroking and gently kneading.
I let his balls go and delivered another resounding slap across the fleshy top mounds of his backside. I slapped his butt around eight or so times, getting him right in the middle of it to create a round pink patch across his crack. Each spank made his nuts wag. He kept still, but I heard several harsh intakes of breath.
Then I stopped. I wanted him to be unsure at all times of where I was behind him and what I was going to do. I moved backwards on the bed to look at him, to admire this body I'd wanted since probably the first day I saw "the Khalili kid" back in freshman year, sweetly awkward with his cheap plastic binder and too-big hand-me-down clothes. I measured every part of my Amir with rapt eyes, watched his wiry muscles shift minutely, as though he were a cut of lean, fine dark meat and I planned to marinate him in his own lusty sweat and devour him. I loved him this way. Head down, heart slamming anxiously. The tendons in his legs and arms tensed and evident; the fingers splayed out on the bed; the toes on his big handsome feet half-curled in anticipation.
I touched his shoulder--and thrilled at another deep, genuine shiver of fear. My fingers traced the gracile definition of his tapering back, then rested on his (almost) willingly-offered ass.
My cock ached. I almost regretted positioning him this way; it was far too distracting. No one would dispute that his butt needed to be spanked, and spanked without quarter--but raised up and spread like that it just about begged to be fucked into next Labor Day, plugged hard and merciless as he screamed into the chewed fabric of his pillow, or maybe his own sweat-drenched underwear.
I laid the brush against the split of his bottom, saw the flesh tremble. I tapped it a couple of times, teasingly; the small subdued reactions mesmerized me. After a moment, I brought the implement down on Amir's right cheek with a satisfyingly solid splat. Then I did the left, striking with similar force. Each time, his ass jumped and he muttered a low "oh -- ow", as the muscles twitched in his upper thighs. I brought the brush down again. Again. Again.
I alternated cheeks, watching his peach-cleft open and close as he tightened up unconsciously with each smack. Blood was beginning to rush up hard under the spanked skin. A pink dawn of mounting warmth and discomfort. Good. I stopped alternating buns and began simply paddling him hard in the middle of his now-openly-squirming rump, earnestly punishing it. The sound of flat wood on pert Arab-boy butt echoed in the humid room. I'd cupped that golden-brown flesh in my hands, licked it, spanked it in play, and watched it being caned; I knew very well how firm it was, his almost deceptively plump and boyish ass. But my relentless brush-smacks were hard enough to make the flesh seem spongy, even soft. SMACK -- the shapely cheeks would go flat in the middle, causing his dark open crack to close to a single line. Quiet gasps from the other end. His irrepressible behind -- just that much redder -- would bounce instantly back to wholeness. A juicy little rear just made for discipline. I'd never spanked anyone else--but I didn't need to, to know that.
At some point he started crying out sharply--"Ah!--Oww!--Oh!"--as his buns retracted and rebounded, turned crimson in that circle around his crack. The sides of his cheeks were decidedly rosy under the natural tone, but not nearly hot enough.
There was a little problem, too. I was starting to see some unacceptably pronounced wiggling -- trying to deflect or displace the slaps--as his butt got redder and redder. And the involuntary wincing had become a conscious and continuous tightening of his gluteal muscles.
After a certain point, he lost his head and did what I hadn't thought he'd ever do. His hand flew to his butt-cheeks, and, predictably, he lost his balance as well. I caught him and smacked his knuckles the way he'd done to mine, then resumed slapping his squirming bottom with the brush back as I scolded him.
"What" SMACK "did you say" SMACK "would happen" SMACK "if I did" SMACK "what you just did," SMACK "Khalili?"
"Did -- what?" The tears were really running now; I could hear it in his voice.
"You just tried to block me. Remember what you said you'd do if I did that? You're tightening your ass up, too."
Realization dawned on him; he understood what, in his pain, he had allowed to happen. "N-No... fuck.. I'll... don't, please... Aaron...." His voice rose pleadingly on my name.
I turned the brush around in my hand and stroked the bristles against his bottom.
"Did you maybe want to get hit with this end?" I teased, "I really thought you'd know better than to pull something like that."
I nudged the inside of his crack with the bristles. He began blubbering.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I really wouldn't have, Aaron, you know I wouldn't have --"
This was utter bullshit and I told him so, accompanying the verdict with a sharp hand-swat on his behind. He looked back, opening his mouth to plead with me again. I saw his lips part in surprise or alarm. I took little heed, shoved his head down and slapped his butt a couple more times. He was quiet after that, meekly accepting of whatever I was going to do to him.
As I shifted on the bed to continue the attack on Amir's battered ass, I happened to turn a little toward the door, and catch sight, out of the corner of my eye, of Rahman standing there against the doorframe, watching us with those smug dark eyes. He saw me jump and laughed, taking a long sip of the cappuccino he'd bought down the street. There must have been a line or something. I'd all but forgotten about him. How long had he been gone?
How long had he been back? Had he seen the bristle-massage I'd been giving his brother? Did Amir's sudden submission to the new depth of agony he was about to experience have more to do with Rahman's appearance than anything else?
"You're doing good, `Aaron Eisen'; why don't you keep going? He knows better than to whine and bitch like that with me."
Annoyance flared up briefly. I was getting tired of him always saying my name like that.
"Can't you just called me `Aaron'?" I blurted. "And don't you have work to do?"
Amir was watching me again, perhaps wondering what his brother might do to shut me up -- and thus momentarily spare his glowing ass. My irritation turned on him.
"Head down, I said!"
SMACK -- he got the bristle end on the inner side of his left cheek -- up inside the crack, pretty much. And did he yell.
"I'll call you anything I like," Rahman said, making no move to touch me and smiling at his brother's misery, "And my work isn't your problem. Keep hitting him."
That he didn't need to tell me twice. I raised the brush.
But Rahman had more to say. He was smirking with a kind of unsurpised mirth, pointing between Amir's legs.
"And don't mind his hard little cock there."
Amir's face must have been the most adorable crimson. The back of his neck certainly was.
"He seems to like getting a sore ass, God knows why. Always makes him hard as a rock. I'm pretty sure he jerks it afterwards too."
I stroked Amir's red rear end with the bristles as he grew increasingly embarrassed. I was so hard myself I thought my fly might pop open. Rahman chuckled and went on:
"He's been that way since he was thirteen or so. Just don't mind it, like I said."
I shrugged to indicate I did not mind. Exactly how little, he'd likely never know. I kept my hips turned so that he wouldn't see by the shape of my jeans that I didn't much mind anything that was going on this afternoon.
I hit Amir five or six more times with the bristles. They made scratches on his already dark red butt that didn't bleed, but certainly stung, from the way he was twisting, trying to stay up on all fours. He was whimpering and crying softly. That pathetic sound made my whole body hum. It seemed the tight hardness of my cock had roots deep inside me -- in my arms, guts, nipples, even in my toes and fingertips. It was a wonder Rahman couldn't tell. Maybe he could.
"Get the sides of his ass more," Rahman instructed.
Good idea. I sliced the bristles down across the side of his left bun, smushing it against the right one and making Amir scream. Then I did the right, then the left again, and so on, til the skin was hot and bright, and there were a few scrapes from the bristles on the burning flesh.
I stopped to breathe. Amir sniffled.
"Turn the brush around again," Rahman told me. "Get him on his welts."
I could do without the step-by-step guide, and my glare told him so.
"I'm telling you how I'd do it," Rahman said simply, forgetting to be angry with me. "You've never spanked anyone before, have you?"
"No," I said warily, a little insulted that it was that obvious.
"Well, I have. Amir has too." He snorted. "As you could probably tell."
At my questioning look--
"Salim. And Qasim, once or twice."
The tension in my cock shot up another few notches at the savory images this new piece of information produced. I'd have to ask Amir sometime about how he helped keep his cute younger brothers in line.
I switched back to the flat side and hit him low on his ass, where the welt I'd noticed before stood out even against the rest of his burning flesh. I hit his other welts. He cried. Then I hit him some more, and the muscles of his ass jerked, and he cried some more. When he fell forward onto the bed, I didn't bother yelling at him to get up, I just delivered a flurry of quick stinging whacks to the underside of his butt. I saw his nuts against the soft mattress, purple and heavy. He was clutching the sheets and sobbing.
Rahman had disappeared again. Lest he think he'd influenced me one way or the other, I simply continued smacking Amir, who continued crying. His long body was shaking, writhing with very little control. I had to practically chase his butt around on the bed, the way he was twisting and turning.
Frustrated, I pinned his thighs down with my own legs, unmindful of the sting in my ass as I sat.
"Just a little more."
Nothing but crying in reply.
"You stay calm," I warned, "or I'll let him out there know you're making trouble for me."
I put the brush aside, wanting his flesh under my hands. He sniffed, his face buried in the pillow. I felt the two round buns clenching, and so I gently kneaded and massaged Amir's rump for a moment before I slapped it again, a dozen times, as hard as I could. I wanted him to remember it. He yelled with each fiery stroke, his hips twitching wildly, then it was over.
I sat back and watched him cry. I don't feel exactly great about it, but that sound really got me going. I was diamond-hard and leaking like I had while he was over Edgewicks's desk. His sobs seemed to be playing along my cock, a voluptuous tingling sensation. I just couldn't feel sorry for him while I was like this.
Rahman, drawn either by the cessation of the slaps or the sound of his brother's agony, showed up again in the doorway. I sensed his presence and turned my head to look at him. He'd left his cappuccino this time.
"Not bad," he said, after a moment. "He cries like that for me too. But I usually do the insides too." His lush lips parted in a dark smile. "You know, near his asshole. It's very embarrassing for him that way, you can imagine."
I could and did imagine, which of course didn't help the situation below my waist. And I filed the idea away for consideration later.
"Get up, Amir," Rahman ordered.
No move to do so.
"Get up."
Nothing.
"Aaron, make him get up."
I dragged Amir up by the shoulders. He neither struggled nor cooperated. He was just a hot dead weight in my arms.
"Ehhhh... you dirty little fucker..." I heard his brother's snarl of disgust before I saw what had provoked it, only a few feet away from me. The pillow was drenched in tears and more than a little snot. The sheets were twisted and sweaty. In the center of the mattress, where his crotch had been, was a long smeared whitish stain.
I looked down at Amir's body, holding him from behind. His shirt was coming down over his nipples, and I snatched it up without thinking. Were he to move, my own "dirtiness" would be nearly as obvious. My cock felt close to bursting, especially with his warm sob-racked body pressed against mine. Sweat slicked the lean muscle of his upper arm where I gripped him. His shoulders hitched. I wanted to bite him on the strong tendon between his neck and shoulder, wanted to suckle his neck and hear him moan through his pain.
His cock was only half-hard now. Semen smeared his flat belly and the indentation of his navel. Now I knew at least some of the writhing hadn't been from the pain. I wondered exactly when he'd shot.
"You're going to do your laundry today," Rahman said. With a glance at the huge pile near the door. "All of it."
My nose inches from the back of Amir's dampened head, I saw him nod slowly, black curls stuck to his blushing olive neck. The scent from his hair alone was going to put me over the edge.
"If I had time, you'd be getting the belt for this right now." Rahman shook his head, but he was smiling strangely, as if there were some private joke between himself and his brother. "Sick. You and Qasim, both."
My head spun. Amir shifted his weight against me, and I had to suppress a groan. His brother had to be stupid or blind or both not to guess what was between us from the way I was holding him. I had no idea what my face looked like, didn't want to know. It was the face of a boy trying desperately not to erupt in his pants, that's all I was sure of.
"I'm going now. I'll tell Dad I dealt with you. And we'll talk about your little mess later, rest assured."
He shut Amir's door on his way out.