Ends, Means and Steve

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

This story deals with themes of mental manipulation and authority. The difference between this happening in a story and this happening in real life is that in a story, nobody who actually exists gets hurt. Anyone seeking to practice this in the real world has serious moral and mental problems that they genuinely need to resolve. Also, as a cheery addition - my stories tend to be fairly ridiculous, and the odds of events panning out in the real world the way they pan out here is...remote, to say the very, very least.

I would say that this particular story is perhaps my most ridiculous, outlandish yet - so you have been warned, those of you who like 'realism'. It is a self contained story, towhich additional parts are not planned.

Some of you may know me from my other stories. These are: New Direction for One Direction - - - gay/celeb/new-direction-for-one-direction/ [Five Parts, Complete] Straight Lads - - - - - gay/authoritarian/straight-lads/ [Two Parts, active] Straight Liam's Gay Afternoon - - - gay/highschool/straight-liams-gay-afternoon/ [One Part, Complete]

I have recently established a website at http://www.asstr.org/~Just_Some_Chap/, which should now actually display stories in their entirety. It lists all my stories to date. I am also now listed under nifty's Prolific Authors Index as 'Just Some Chap'.

With all that being said, I would absolutely love to know what you think about this, or any other story I've written :-D

My email is Just_Some_Chap@hotmail.co.uk.

So with all that out the way...enjoy the story!

(M/t, authoritarian, oral, anal)

Ends, Means and Steve ---------------------

Chapter One -----------

Steve was eighteen, a year older than me, but in my year at college (high-school for the yanks), and I guess he was what you'd call a `pussy hound'. You know those guys who seem to have pussy on their mind all the time? If ever they talk to you, it's about girls; if ever they're part of a group, they'll turn the conversation round to girls in about five minutes? Yeah, well Steve was one of Those boys.

Not that I saw fit to complain. Steve (like everyone else at college) knew I was gay, and when I was with a group of fellas and one of them started talking about sex, a few would always look at me out the corner of their eye, to see if my head was exploding or something; I'd usually make my excuses and leave a few minutes later; but with Steve? Well, I made a special exception for him.

We had break directly prior to Maths on Tuesday's, and that was Steve's prime-time because, like him, I wasn't too hot on maths, so we were in the same class, and all the other faux bad-boys and myself would turn up to the classroom five/ten minutes before the class started, to listen.

I'd get a kick -- a cheap thrill, I guess, out of listening to Steve's fuck stories, as well as his wider thoughts on the female anatomy more generally. All the other straight boys would gather round, listening in quiet awe as he described his most recent exploits; I would listen with a similar expression, but for very different reasons.

Steve'd sit there, slouching in his chair with his thick legs spread with everyone else standing around, reciting details as best he could with his limited vocabulary, his hazel eyes alive with fire. It was easy to see why he did so well with the girls, of course, and it wasn't because of his engrossing personality. No, it had more to do with his stylishly spikey and short dark blond hair and smooth, blemish-free, square-jawed baby face, attached to a big, developed man's body. Steve liked his sport - he'd applied to do Sports Science at Uni -- and could be regularly found at the gym.

It showed.

Muscular shoulders attached to sleekly powerful arms, reinforcing the plates of muscle that made up his pecs and defined abdominals, and all without a single noticeable hair -- I paid a lot of attention in PE.

Of course, I didn't get much of an eyeful of Steve's dick during PE -- we aren't compelled to take showers. Which, given the amount of sex which seems to transpire in such scenarios (if nifty.org is anything to go by), is something I regret on a daily basis. But, I got a better idea of his proportions during Steve's fuck-story-time, which was the reason I hung around. As he'd go into details of his girl's attributes, the shadows, particular folds of denim and occasional excitable arching of the appendage in his jeans (usually accompanied by him swinging his legs open and closed, lost in a moment of giddy abandon), would give me an indication of his own attributes.

And that was a lot of fun. But quite naturally, I wanted to see a lot more.

I wasn't entirely inexperienced, sexually. And I was a sneaky fucker. And it was that which led me to come up with `a plan'.

I like history, and politics. And the one thing that stands out if you study the course of human events during the twentieth century is that men will commit any crime if they think they're pursuing some idealistic, utopian end-state. Stalin, Hitler, Mao -- all caused so much suffering, because they all thought that they had the most perfect system of organising society in their heads, and any price was worth paying in order to achieve it. After all, what price do you put on unfettered, universal bliss?

Steve's idealistic utopian end-state was my sister. And my plan was to see how far he would go to attain her.

My sister was generally considered attractive. And I guess she was, if you like that sort of thing; big tits, a skinny frame, and a not entirely unpleasant face. But Steve? He was absolutely crazy about her. He used to know her, last year when they were in the same year, but now they didn't share any classes. He was so crazy about her, in fact, that she got HER kicks from being a little prick-tease. Going out with his friends, then turning him down; you know, the sort of thing bitches who think they're all that get up to. But bless him, that all just served to make him more eager.

And it was his eagerness which I was interested in.

I had very little in common with Steve. But the fact I always happened to be in the area whenever he was recalling his trysts, together with my sister, gave him reason to talk to me on occasion. During one such conversation, just before maths was due to start and the two of us were sitting opposite one another at a table, he asked (as he always did) what my sister was doing at the weekend. Rather than sparing his feelings, I gave him a list of the boys she was intending to spend time with over the course of the three days.

"But you know," I said, leaning back in my chair, putting my hands behind my head, all casual like, "I've been thinking. If you're that eager to...get to know...my sister, well-"

"You'll put in a good word for me?!"

"Well, yeah...I mean, maybe I could put in a good word for you...if it's that big a deal, I mean..."

"Mate, you know how I go on about her all the fuckin' time! That'd be sweet!"

"Now hang on a minute, Steve. My word carries a lot of weight with my sister," a lie, "and I care a great deal about exactly who she goes out with," another lie, "so I ain't just gonna go recommending you because you've asked me to, now am I?"

"I guess not," he said through gritted teeth, the previous boyish smile now gone. "I had no idea you were so close with your sister," he added somewhat wryly. "I don't think I've...EVER...seen her speak to you, even though you both go to the same college."

"I know," I replied jokingly, "she thinks I make her look bad. Can you believe that?"

He went to speak, no doubt with some sarcastic `no' which he would go on to find hilarious, but I cut him off by leaning in close to the table, so I could smell his delightful deodorant, and whispered, "but she really values my judgement, especially concerning boys." I looked around, as if to check I wasn't being overheard, before whispering conspiratorially, "I think it's because I'm gay. She recognises that, you know...I've got an eye for these things."

He nodded, seriously this time. "That...actually...makes a little bit of sense."

Of course it does, I thought. I'd scripted my whole routine weeks before.

"So...what are you saying, exactly?" His brow furrowed in genuine confusion. "That I have to...spend time with you? `Prove myself'?"

"Well, I wouldn't put it in quite those terms..." Of course, proving himself was exactly what I had in mind; but he'd just said it so derisively, I could hardly admit to that now. I'd have to be more subtle. Just at that moment, the teacher walked in and began bringing the class to order. "Listen Steve, this isn't really the best time to talk about it; meet me at around half four by the gates, ok?" I'd picked a time an hour after college ended, to test his resolve. It would be a good sign of how willing he was to go along with what I had planned.

I was happy to see him nod his head, but with some apprehension; he clearly was not happy at this turn of events. I only hoped that I had judged Steve's need for pussy accurately, or my whole plan would collapse.

Chapter Two -----------

The postponement of the rest of our conversation allowed me to consider where to go from here. I slightly modified my plan, but I was so amped up, I couldn't stop myself from pushing ahead with it today.

Steve met me outside the gates at around 4.30pm. As soon as I saw him, I shouted "come on then," and turned around, walking up the road. Steve, eager little pup that he is, jogged to catch up with me. My cock got a little harder when he just did what I asked. I wondered about what else I could get him to do -- but I knew I couldn't push things too far. Not yet.

"Alright Steve?"

"Yep. Thought you were gunna run off."

I laughed, "nah mate; I knew you could catch up with me using those long legs of yours." Wanting to turn the topic back to his favourite subject, I continued, "my sister likes boys with long legs, you know. She's a very...physical animal."

"Is she."

"Oh yeah! She's pretty superficial like that. It's all about looks and stuff."

Steve stopped moving, holding out his arms, as if welcoming my appraisal, and shouted, "what about me, eh? Not good enough for her, am I?" Steve was dressed in white trainers, loose blue jeans and a bright blue sweater.

"I never said that."

"Well if she's always turning me down, and if it's all about looks, then that must be it, right?"

"It's not that at all!" I shouted, pretending to of momentarily lost my temper, and then carried on walking, in silence, as if I had said something I shouldn't of. All those queer-ass drama lessons were finally paying off.

"How can you be so sure? Has...HAS SHE SPOKEN TO YOU ABOUT ME?!"

"Steve, I can't just betray my sister like that!"

"Listen, if she's said something about me, I...I have a fucking right to know, man. I mean, where's my fucking right to reply? Eh? When do I get to have my say, if I never bloody find out about it?"

"Ok ok ok," I replied, doing a good impression of an uncertain and exasperated person, holding up my hands in mock surrender, "fine. You make a good point. But you absolutely can't tell her -- or anyone else - about this."

"What has she fucking said."

Not exactly the response I was hoping for, but provided everything went to plan, I didn't need his assurance -- he'd be begging ME not to spill the beans. Provided everything went to plan.

"Well. And remember -- this isn't me saying this, ok? This is just my sister."

Steve stood, impassive, arms folded, singularly lacking in the confidence I usually saw from him in the classroom. I'd stripped it from him. Oooh, another boner. I ignored it; had to focus all my energies on the web of lies I was spinning.

"According to one of my sisters friends; who I guess you've...had sex...with," could literally be anyone, "you're, um...lacking...in a certain area. If you know what I mean."

"Un-fucking-believable," he replied, after a couple of minutes in stunned silence, clearly in shock.

I whispered, "the sexual organs department, is what I meant."

"Yes I know what fucking department you're referring to! I'm not a total moron! It's STILL unbelievable!"

"So..." now it was my turn to look all confused, "it's not true, then?"

"WHAT? Of course it's not true! How could you possibly think it's true! You know as much about my sex life as I do!"

"Well..." I began sceptically, "yeah, but I just thought that was all bullshit."

Steve just looked on impassively. "Oh. I see. Well that explains it. She thinks I've got a small dick, and you're telling her I'm some saddo who makes up my own fucking life."

"So EVERYTHING you say in that classroom is correct, then?"

He paused for a moment, before retorting, "listen, the point is, I ain't got a small dick, ok?"

I chuckled.

"What are you laughing at?! You've probably got the smallest dick in the fucking year!"

I act shocked. "There's no need to get so personal...I don't have to tell you this stuff, I'm just trying to be helpful...I think I'll go home now."

Steve grabs my arm, his fingers gripping me, ensuring I can't get away, whilst turning on the charm as he does so. "Listen, mate, listen; I didn't mean it. You know that. It's just really stressful, ya' know? Just...I'd just be really grateful if you'd tell her it wasn't true, and to give me a chance, ok?"

I replied without emotion, "I can't do that, Steve. And what's more, I think I'll have to tell her about this conversation when I get home; I feel quite sick about betraying her like this. Now let go of my arm."

He didn't let go of my arm. I had trouble not melting in the chocolately fire of his eyes as they fixed on my own. "It's not true. Ok? Do you understand? It's a lie. It's a lie, and it's ruining my chances with her. She might really fucking like me if she gave me a chance!"

I stopped resisting, and pretended to give his comment thought. "The problem though Steve...is that, I don't know it isn't true, do I? I mean, my sister's mate has actually had sex with you...how am I supposed to compete with that? Tell my sister that you've told me you actually have a perfectly reasonable dick, and because you say it, it must be true? I mean Jesus Christ Steve, I really don't mean to offend you -- but EVERY bloke with a small dick says that."

"Oh fine, fuck off then."

He turned back around, heading back in the direction of the school, and his own house.

"Steve," I shouted. He turned. "Get back here."

He walked back towards me. "If you're THAT eager to...prove yourself, shall we say...well, there is an obvious way you can do so."

"What do you mean?" I left his question hanging there, until the pieces slotted into place in his own brain. "What? You're not suggesting..."

"Man, it's up to you. It's just an obvious suggestion. Besides, we're just blokes; it's no big deal."

"You're fucking queer. That makes it a big deal."

I smirked. "Well, I ain't gonna lie...I'll get my own kicks from...seeing...it, but it IS a solution to this problem, isn't it?"

Steve looked up and down the road, partly in contemplation, and partly to see if any of his friends could see him, I think. "If I agree to this, it means absolutely nothing, and it leads absolutely nowhere, understand?"

A bizarre request, but given where I intended to take this relationship, quite prescient, I guess. I readily agreed, happy to add one more lie to the pile I'd created over the past afternoon, so long as it furthered my aims.

"When d'you wanna...you know...get this over with," he asked.

I replied, enthusiastic to get things moving and keep up the momentum, "how about now?"

"Dude, we're in the middle of the fucking street."

As if this wasn't all part of the plan, I pretended to think for a minute. "Well, the school field IS just over there..." I pointed.

"I dunno, man..."

"There's no one at school now," I replied. "No-one'll see...listen, if you wanna back out of all this, then you can, I know things are moving pretty quickly; you might of agreed to something you don't want to..."

He knew what I was implying. "It's nothing to do with my dick, alright? I ain't reluctant because of THAT -- I just don't wanna have to take my clothes off on a fucking field,"

"Like I said, if you're unhappy about all this..."

Having tweaked his sensibilities sufficiently, he walked off towards the field in a huff, declaring, "right, we'll do it right fucking now."

I followed behind, smiling.

Chapter Three -------------

Steve's undoing was sealed on that day, on a windswept school field in March, although he wouldn't realise it til weeks later. In the dark light, I felt sure no-one would see us; but the fact we were standing in the middle of a large school field comprised of about 3 football pitches and a couple of rugby fields, directly adjoining the well-lit school complex, was no doubt quite intimidating to him. We both stood there, me watching him watch the school, his eyes fixed on the tiny, well-lit windows, no doubt wondering if there was someone in one of those rooms looking out at the field, seeing two lone figures, and stopping whatever they were doing to see what the figures would do next. Perhaps retrieving their camera phone, to zoom in...identify the figures...and take a picture, should they do something interesting.

His backpack hung halfway down his ass behind him, weighed down with whatever the fucking moron put in his backpack of a morning. The jeans were so loose that you couldn't really see much of his rear anyway, but given his active lifestyle, I knew it'd be a humdinger, and I intended to get my claws into it soon enough.

"Come on then," I said, very business-like. "We've both got mothers to get home to, haven't we?"

He smiled at my unfunny remark; a sign in itself of how nervous he was. "Yep," he replied, turning to face me.

He watched with rapidly mounting horror as I reached down and unfastened his jeans, unzipped `em, and yanked both them and his white Aussiebum boxer-shorts down his thighs; his jeans continued their downward trajectory, pooling at his white sock-tops, which were about shoulder-width apart. By the time he realised what I was doing, and by the time his brain told him he was angry about me doing this myself, it was over, and I guess he didn't see fit to complain about it because he just stood there, watching me.

I myself also just stood there, for a good few seconds, feeling Steve's eyes watching me, his gay friend, watching his straight-boy dick. It was, I guess, everything I had hoped for. Soft, of course -- this whole situation wasn't exactly turning him on -- it was about four inches long, with a good thickness and possessing a dark, tanned complexion, capped with a tulip-shaped hooded dome, framed by lose, crinkly skin. Exposed to the cool air, his balls had retracted fully into his body, his sack consisting of a single tennis ball-shaped mass, coated in a dark fur which spread to encapsulate his whole groin.

After looking down there for a minute, I returned to look at Steve's face; his arms were still behind his back, clearly unclear what to do with them, where they'd been since I had unceremoniously pulled his jeans down. He was repeatedly biting his luscious, juicy lower lip, and staring off into the distance.

"You done yet," he whispered.

"Um... don't get me wrong, it's a nice lookin' dick and everything, but its, erm...well, it's soft, isn't it?"

He started shaking his head, still refusing to look at me. "No," he simply said.

"Listen mate, I ain't trying to deceive you or anything," boy was I going to hell, "I mean, it's just logical, ain't it? When a girl says `you have a small dick', she means its small when it's hard -- you know, compared to other hardons. She ain't saying its small when it's soft, but turns into a fucking great big whopper when it's hard, is she? I...I...dunno what to say, in all honesty." I frowned, as if in thought. "Did...did you think, like, seeing your dick soft would be the end of it, or something?"

I was trying to make him feel stupid now. Not the hardest thing in the world to do. "I don't know what I thought," he mumbled indignantly, a tremor in his voice.

He surprised me when, without another word, his soft, big right paw reached down and started mechanically yanking on his soft cock, his eyes still focussing tightly on the dark vista of the field, and resolutely refusing to satisfy my unspoken urge of having the buff straight stud look at me whilst he wanked himself. Not completely devoid of pity, I stood to one side, allowing him to zone me out as I watched.

Facing away from the school building -- which he did for his own mental health, I think -- gave him a slightly ethereal appearance; with the light silhouetting him, making him -- and his thick, methodically moving arm -- cast a long shadow as he went to work.

Went to work achieving a whole lot of nothing, though. He wasn't getting hard. In fact, I think wanking on a field with me present had made the hapless teenager get softer if anything.

My encouragement's didn't help. "Try thinking of my sister," I advised; "maybe spitting on your hand'll help", I suggested.

At which point he replied, "WOULD you shut the fuck up. You're the bloody problem, not the solution." I stood in silence.

For a minute...maybe two.

I reached across and gripped the hard muscle of his right shoulder, so wonderfully displayed through his loose blue jumper, squeezing it and rubbing my hand up and down, feeling the bone, deep in his shoulder, move to and fro as he did himself.

"What are you doing? Stop doing that."

"I thought it might help," I replied, continuing to rub.

"Well it isn't."

"What about this" I asked, my hand gliding down onto the pronounced, sloping heartland of his right pectoral muscle.

I barely managed to squeeze the solid breast tissue before his left hand swept up and batted my hand away. "Don't fucking touch me," he stated.

I stood for another ten minutes, watching him not get hard. This was exactly what I had intended, of course; but him crumbling and letting me get my mits on his joystick was not something I could really control. It depended on how much he wanted to sleep with my sister...I decided to up the stakes for him.

The first he knew about the picture I took was the sudden flash of my phone. With him looking at me, his hand stopped, I put my phone back in my pocket, and went to make my way back to the main road.

"Did you just take a picture of me wanking?!"

I turned around. "What? Oh. Well, yeah. Of course. I'll tell my sister how big it was soft, that you couldn't get it up, and if she doesn't believe me, I can show her the picture."

I turned back around and resumed walking, like what I'd just said was perfectly reasonable and deserving of no further discussion. He hobbled after me, pulling his jeans up as he went. "You can't do that! She'll think I'm an absolute retard for wanking infront of her brother!"

"Well...I have to say WHY I'm so late home, don't I? And like I said earlier, I don't really like lying to my sister...and if I'm honest, the whole afternoon's been a bit of a bloody let down. I mean, here you are, Mr. Super Stud, and you can't get a stiffy just because some lad from your class is watching. I don't know how you manage when you have an actual girl as the audience."

"This...this is about me not wanting you to touch me, isn't it? You're mad that I didn't want you groping me. Ok, fine; you can...hold...my shoulder, or something; just gimme a bit more time, ok?"

Inwardly, I smiled. But this was no time for compassion; I had to press my advantage. "No. I'm pissed off. You've wasted my fucking time, Steve. And if you think you're gonna get away with telling those stupid stories in maths, you've got another thing coming, if you'll pardon the pun."

I turned around again, and he got predictably angry. "Wait, man...just...ok...just...FUCKING WAIT, ok? Just STOP for a minute."

I stopped, but before he had a chance to say whatever it was he wanted to say, I turned and jumped back into his face, taking the initiative, and stripping the great charmer of even more confidence, and dignity.

"Right. You want me to waste more fucking time here with you? Fine. But please, don't flatter yourself by thinking I'm actually ENJOYING this. I suggested this meeting to you today in maths as a fucking favour -- TO YOU. So you could know how things really stand, and maybe if I got to know you, I could put in a good word -- I didn't suggest it so I could be in the freezing cold at 5pm on the school field, watching some great big lumbering oaf with an attitude problem rub his wet noodle. This -- all this -- is YOU, not me. I didn't make you do ANY of it. Ok? Do you understand, Stevsie? I'm not speaking too quickly for you, am I? It's all YOU. Now, let's look at this fucking LOGICALLY, for just a quick minute -- I promise, it won't hurt TOO much. You're standing here trying to get a hardon for me, yes? And you're not getting one. That's the sad truth. Now, the obvious way around this is for me to intervene, isn't it? But I don't want your bloody attitude to get in the way and make this harder -- if you'll pardon the pun -- than it needs to be. So you're going to tell me, Stevsie. You're going to tell me what you want me to do. Now, what do you want me to do?"

"You know what..."

"No. You tell me. What it is you WANT me to do."

"I guess I...want...you to...make me hard. And...and not tell your sister about it. About this...about any of this. Ok? And, um...then we'll call it quits. Right? You...have your bit of fun, then that's the end of it, and nobody ever hears about this again."

I bowed with a flourish. "Well why didn't you just say so? Your wish is my command. Now, you just stand there."

I strode back to the boy, now standing with his designer jeans haphazardly hanging on his hips, backpack still securely fastened to his back by both straps.

I knelt.

He cautiously took a few steps backward.

I recklessly scooted forward.

"Gotta reach your dick, ain't I Stevsie? Pretty difficult if you're beyond arms reach."

"You're like, six inches away from my dick, dude."

I smiled, looking up at him. "I don't like to stretch my arms."

I carefully unzipped his jeans halfway, and reached into the small opening with my hand.

"See Stevsie," I began, "the trick is, to keep yer dick nice and warm. He doesn't like being all cold." As I spoke, my hand made contact with the gnarled thatch of pubes above his dick. Gliding further down, the tip of my middle finger ran down the loose skin which coated the soft yielding flesh of his teenage appendage, stopping for the briefest of moments when I reached the rim of his covered crown, to gently tickle and scratch the ridge, looking up at him as I did so; seeing him breath in, but manfully try to hide it.

He was determined to derive no pleasure from this; for it to be just business.

I wouldn't let him.

My inquisitive finger continued its downward journey, reaching his peepee hole, which I investigated with similar diligence, softly tickling with my nail the delicate collar of skin covering his knob.

After a few moments with my hand inside his warm jeans, I felt a slight stiffening in his shaft; something which was confirmed with the skin at his opening parting to allow the very tip of his boy bulb to meet the pad of my sweaty finger, which stroked the little fella, eager to get more of him out into the open.

Steve disguised his heavier breathing with clearing his throat and then snorting through his nose, which to be honest was a pretty unattractive thing to witness, all things considered.

After a few minutes of careful and judicious petting, I decided now was as good a time as any to carefully grip his two-thirds hard cock, and slowly pull back the skin from his helmet, and start gently fisting him, my hand, together with his malleable flesh, gliding over the head of his prick over and over.

With my other hand, I pulled the zip of his jeans down fully, and reached in, beneath the hand already pleasuring the simple-minded straight boy, and solved the mystery of Stevsie's missing boxer-shorts; I'd wondered where they'd gotten to -- in his haste, he'd previously only pulled up his jeans, and his underwear was just pulled up in a bundle, up to his inside leg.

Stretching the shorts down a little so I could surmount them, I took possession of Steve's nuts; now in the warmer environment, it was possible to investigate them a lot more thoroughly -- although whereas previously I could only rely on my sight, now, I could only rely on my touch.

I intended to make full use of this sense.

With the nails of my fingers raking down the rear of his still-firm, but gelatinous sack, which now rested securely in the palm of my hand, my thumb was free to poke and prod each distended bollock, making out their oval shape, and walnut size. My other hand was now speedily running up and down the much stiffer six and a half inch shaft of the boy.

I think we could both see we were now moving beyond the strict remit of `making him hard', but with him staring up at the night sky, emitting quiet, pained sighs of satisfaction from the pit of his stomach, I could see he wasn't really about to complain.

Deciding to go for broke, I delicately hefted his nuts out into the cold night air, quickly followed by his shaft, which I could now look at for the first time; pointing proudly up towards the night sky, the thick man spike possessed a pale hue along the shaft, which after the collar of wrinkled skin near the sensitive ridge, gave way to the bright floral pink shade of his slimy head.

I ran the tip of my index finger along the fat pulsing blue vein which ran up his shaft alongside the pronounced tube his sperm traversed when he was fucking some girl. My middle finger ran up that one; when I reached the pink crown to which the fuck tube led, I took the opportunity to cheekily diddle his glans with my rough nail, causing his entire organ to flex and stiffen still further with need, a silver bead of seminal fluid seeping over the edge of his tip, and sliding down the granite shaft.

With him now perfectly on display, it was no effort at all to reach one again for my phone, and take a pic of the needful lad, on the school field in blue jumper and white trainers, with his backpack on, and his pronounced cock and balls hanging out of his designer denim jeans, like some respectable middle class teenage fuck-toy.

"Don't worry," I said reassuringly, "that's just for my personal amusement."

He didn't make any more of it; presumably feeling he could trust me, after I'd just spent 15 minutes playing with the sex organs he usually only let pretty girls to play with.

"That's it, then?" He asked, breathing still quite pronounced. "You're...done?"

I knew I could've done more. He was basically asking me to finish him off. But he needed to learn; he was dancing to my tune now, not his own. He wanted to cum? Then he can't cum.

"Yep," I said, going to stand up, before stopping myself.

"Oh, I nearly forgot," I added, returning to my knees before him, resulting in the beginnings of a cocky grin from him -- a grin which was removed when I casually leaned forward, ran the tip of my tongue up along the dewy line created by the fluid I'd spied previously.

Quickly gliding along the prickly, salty stick of rock till I reached the tip where my tongue sampled the gamier, more base flavours of the clueless lad's knob, I sealed my lips around it, creating a vacuum, and sucked twice whilst swiping my tongue here there and everywhere over his delicate tip, hoovering up all the juices and flavours which had coalesced on his greasy sheathed knob over the course of the school day.

"That's for me. Very tasty! My compliments to the chef."

He grinned, slightly, as if unsure of how to react, as he watched me stand up. The entire thing took 15 seconds, if that -- he didn't even know it was happening before it was over. I left him to return his organs to his jeans, and started back to the road.

"I'll speak to my sister about you," I shouted back at him. "Tell her what a good sport you are. Yeah, you're alright, Stevsie. A pretty good fuck, I imagine. I was certainly impressed, at least! I'll let you know what she says tomorrow at college. Oh, and sort your boxers out, mate -- you'll do yourself a mischief if you walk around like that with a hardon."

I made my way home with the taste of Steve's slimy sexual residue still on my lips and tongue; the stuff his big beefy body made so he could moisten up the vaginas he bore into, and here it was sloshing around my gob. I got quite a kick from that.

For once I was now looking forward to college. It meant pushing ahead with the next part of my plan; and I still had so much more of the gym-rat's big tight body to explore!

Chapter Four ------------

Steve made a good job of avoiding me the next day. No doubt, after an evening of thinking about it, he'd decided what happened was probably a little too gay for him.

Which was just as well, because it took another week for me to beg my sister into going out with him. Although she wasn't too keen; truth be told, Steve just wasn't her type. Not that I was going to tell him that.

He was over the moon when I told him about his upcoming date; my previous transgressions over his sexy body were seemingly forgotten, although he remained wary of me. I too was very happy, but for different reasons; it meant phase two of my plan was about to go ahead.

On Saturday, Steve turned up at about 6pm, dressed in a black shirt, dark jeans, and smart-looking light grey Adidas Originals Ciero trainers.

My sister was out. She would be out until around 8pm. This was kinda planned (she was always late, and whereas most people adapted accordingly, Steve didn't know. So he turned up on time). As I led him to the empty living room (my parents were away for the weekend) and explained all this, he wasn't happy at the prospect of spending a couple of hours in my august company.

What could we do until my sister came home?

Why, watch television without talking to each other, of course.

Halfway through BBC1 Saturday evening staple, Total Wipeout, I declared to no-one in particular, "well, the good news is, my sister ALWAYS fucks a guy on their first date. And what with my parents being away, you're definitely gonna get your end away tonight."

"Really," he said simply.

Eager to open him up a bit more (not like that), I continued, "yep. She'll definitely be getting acquainted with your dick tonight!"

Even though he feigned no reaction to that, his slightly tighter jeans betrayed the slight movement of his knob down there. Of course, it should go without saying that my sister NEVER put out on a first date; I mean, that's part-and-parcel of being a prick-tease, isn't it? This was all part of my plan to introduce sweet, hunky Steve to the wonders of gay sex more fully.

Added almost as an afterthought I said, "so long as you've trimmed your pubes, of course."

He frowned, looking at me with the faintest hint of concern crossing his face, "what do you mean by that?"

"Well, you have, haven't you? I mean...Jesus, don't tell me you don't know?!?"

"What are you talking about?" He demanded.

I looked very, very unhappy. "You mean to say I've gone to all this fucking trouble, organising this bloody date for you, and you haven't even done THAT?"

"How was I supposed to know?! And why does it even matter?"

"First, I thought everyone knew. Second, it matters, because big ugly bushes make her wretch. She can't stand `em. You seriously didn't know this?"

"Mate, it can't be that big a deal..."

"Oh, right. Sure. I mean, what would I know? I'm only her fucking brother. She only speaks to me about this shit all the time. But yeah, I'm sure you're right. Have a good night, pal; but honestly, I hope you don't mind spending £70 in town just to end the night with your own hand."

We sat in silence for a few more minutes, watching contestants wade through mud and jump over bouncing balls on the television. I say `watching'; my mind was on bouncing balls of a different nature, and they weren't on the television, but sitting in Steve's boxers on the other side of the living room.

His own mind was also clearly elsewhere when he ventured to ask, with a pained tone as if it was obvious which direction this was going in, "well do you have a razor or something?"

I chuckled. "You ain't shaving your pubes with my razor dude."

"What about scissors?"

I breathed in deeply, looking at the wall of my living room as I did, as if contemplating how best to say what I wanted to say. "Well, there are scissors in the house, obviously."

"So just gimme those-"

"But," I continued, "I'm really not sure I'm comfortable with you cutting your pubes with the family scissors."

"`Family scissors?'" He replied, derisively.

"My mum wraps my little nephew's Christmas presents with those scissors! And you wanna start trimming your pubes with `em!"

"Fine fine, for fucks sake," he replied, holding his hands up.

"But, we need to sort something -- or all this work I've put in for you will be worthless," I said, trying to keep up the momentum.

"So what do you suggest, then?"

"Oh! Actually, I do have some little scissors up in my room. I forgot about those!"

"Right. Go and get them, then."

"I'll be honest, Steve. And you'll think I'm a dick -- if you'll pardon the pun -- for me saying this, but there's gonna be a price for getting those scissors."

He sat up in his seat, looking at me as he folded his arms defensively. "Of course there is," he grumbled.

"Basically, I think it'll be best -- for both you, and me, if I do it."

"Do what?"

"The trimming."

He burst out laughing. "And how is that best for me?"

"Well. Firstly, I've already seen your dick, so that's not really an issue for you. Secondly, I've done it lots of times before, so I'm pretty experienced at this sort of thing. And finally, they're my scissors, aren't they? So if you want to do this, then you kinda have to do it my way. I mean, you could go to the trouble of going back home to do it -- but when's the next train? In an hour? Plus it takes half an hour to get back to yours...you won't be back til gone 9! My sister'd be well pissed off by then. Also, um...you know, I still have those pics on my phone...and, if I sit here bored, well, know knows? I might start sending them to my mates...might be better to, um...keep me entertained for a bit?"

"So you wanna...cut off...my pubes?"

"Wellll...if you asked, I wouldn't say no -- let's put it like that."

He sat there thinking for another few minutes. "This is so fucked up. I...I really don't wanna do this, man..."

"I know you don't. But you wanna get with my sister don't you? She won't go out with you again. She's in high demand, and it was hard enough convincing her to do it this once...up to you. Depends on how badly you want it, I guess."

"If I do this..."

"No, it doesn't make you gay. In fact, if anything, it makes you even straighter, because it shows the lengths you'll go to to have sex with a girl."

He theatrically sighed again, whilst having another think. He stood, like he was going to a funeral.

"I'm definitely gonna fuck your sister tonight, mate, no matter what. Let's...get it done."

Steve began moving out the room. I was going to push the point; to make him ask; but I decided against it.

I was already winning enough. And besides, before the sun rose again, I'd have him begging me for a lot more than that.

Chapter Five ------------

Hehehe. Steve was wonderfully, predictably determined to get some poon tonight. God bless him and all who sailed in him.

He was presently sat in my room, perched on the corner of my bed, his fancy jeans and tight grey Giorgio Armani boxers pooled at his trainered feet, which were spread as far as they would go, so as to give me the access to his genitals I had demanded. Just before he goes out on a date with my sister.

I plonked myself down between his chiselled thighs, running my hand up one of them as I did so, getting to about an inch from the relaxed nutsack resting on the edge of my bedspread, before backing off.

Without a word from Stevsie, I started silently parting and separating his pubic hair, stretching out the knotty, kinked brown hairs to their full extension, before snipping them away about half a centimetre from the root.

I was happy-as-larry, diligently shearing away, surreptitiously breathing in the secret, dank odour of his pubescence. Looking down at the white towel which I'd placed between his legs, I was a little surprised at how much hair he was losing -- there's a lot more down there then you might think.

Steve, unwilling to look on, laid flat on his back on my bed, staring up at my ceiling; his feet remained relatively close together, constricted by the clothes at his ankles, but he spread his thighs to their maximum extension.

Whenever my hairdressing duties would allow it, I would return to sliding my hand along the thick cords of muscle along those thighs, running my hands over the prickly, sparse hairs along them as I went; garnering an incoherent murmur from the straight boy above me.

Glancing up, I could see him with his arms up, over his face, as if trying to block me out of his mind again.

Free of his enquiring eyes, I was able to take several pictures on my phone as I continued reducing the patch of pubes to what you might find on a fourteen year old; the only indication that this was a man and not a boy being the fragrant emanations and thick oblong cock which dominated his groin, and which was once again slowly filling with blood.

I wondered whether he envisioned beginning his evening tonight in his date's brother's bedroom, on his back with his trousers round his ankles, having his crotch tended too by said brother. Probably not.

I had begun by trimming along the outskirts of his pubes, and got ever closer to the centre; when I got there, with his half-hard cock now pointing menacingly at my face, not more than a few inches away, I would use my third and fourth fingers to push his shaft this way and that -- for the purposes of safely pruning him, you understand.

Ignoring his increasingly inflamed organ, I wrapped my fist around the loose sack of jewels beneath, lifting them up and away from my bedspread and allowing them to pool in the palm of my hand, fingers softly encasing them, to ensure they -- nor he -- moved.

My other hand returned to carefully cutting, as close to the finely corrugated peach coloured, peach-shaped funbag as I dared, the mat of hairs that adorned his full sack.

My insistent, seemingly blissfully ignorant fingers only acted to heighten his arousal. My own sight was entranced by the sight of the boys cock, slowly rearing its pretty pink head skyward.

Leaning forward, I gently blew cool air over the sensitive organ; he immediately murmured a guttural "ughooooh" as I did so, with his thighs and cock both flexing in response; the knob fully revealing itself as he reached full extension.

"Is that nice, Stevsie?" I quietly asked, getting no response in return.

I was just about to move in for the kill -- getting so close I could smell the distinctively tart, acrid scent of his damp prick tip -- when we both heard the door slam.

His head shot up, wrenched out of that reverie I found ever so useful, and I think we both looked at each other in horror. A second later, he scrambled to his feet, pulling up his designer boxers and jeans, stumbling down the stairs with me not far behind.

It was my sister.

"You're early!" I said.

"Err, no, I'm late, dickhead. We said 6, didn't we, Steve?"

"Err, yeah. Yeah, we did," he replied. He scratched his groin as he said it, no doubt for very good reasons, but I think my sister believed he was masturbating the obvious erection still contained in his jeans. Probably not the best start.

"Right. Well let's go then," she said, replacing her black coat with a white coat, and opening the front door, with Steve following close behind, still trying to sneakily sort out his groin.

I turned and went up to my room.

I'd done a pretty terrible job of Steve's haircut. Of course I had -- I'd never done it before, and I just had a pair of parcel scissors for fuck's sake. But it didn't really matter.

I needed to prepare for later. Much later, when I would see Steve again, and it would be me, not my hot-as-fuck sister, who would be putting his respectable straight schlong to good use.

Chapter Six -----------

I heard the door slam at around 2am in the morning. About an hour later, I heard the door to my sister's bedroom slam. Silence engulfed the house thereafter. But, I knew a couple of things: firstly, Steve was definitely in the house, because he couldn't get home at this time -- no trains.

Secondly, they had spent about an hour downstairs in the living room, and I presume they weren't chatting. My sister would've got Stevsie good and horny.

Thirdly, my sister, bitch (or paragon of virtue, depending your view) that she is, would never ever fuck Steve after just a few hours spent together over an evening.

I slipped out of bed, and put on my clothes, minus my boxers, before heading downstairs.

Steve's hulking form was on the sofa, with a duvet slung over it. When I entered the living room, he turned and looked at me.

"Whadda you want?" He asked, a slight slurring to his speech as he looked at me with bleary, unfocused eyes.

"Just wondered what was going on."

"Nuthin's goin' on." He laid there in silence for a few seconds. Having turned the light on, I could now see that he was lying there, still completely dressed under the duvet. "Your sister isn't very nice," he added after a minute.

"No, she isn't," I said. I moved over to the sofa, adding, "you deserve better." He looked at me out of the corner of his eye, a frown creasing his forehead, as if wondering about the true meaning of what I'd just said.

"Live n' learn, I `spose," he said, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

"Do you wanna come up to my room? I've got a sleeping bag up there...if you wanna talk, I mean." Talking was the last thing on my mind.

He thought for a second. "'k." He pushed back the duvet, got up, and put his trainers on over his white socks so he could carry the duvet up the stairs, scratching his nuts through his jeans as he went.

Did he know where this was heading? He must do, I thought. But then, he was drunk. And stupid.

When we reached my room, he dumped his duvet on the floor, as I went to get the sleeping bag I had no intention of using.

"What...is...this?" I could tell from the breathless way he asked what he was referring to; what he had found.

I turned to see him holding a carrier bag, which he was staring into.

"Oh, that. Gimme that," I said, making for the bag, which he raised above his head to keep out of my reach -- and nearly falling over in the process.

"Comeon man," he says drunkenly, "jus', jus' what is it?"

I sigh. "It's...a joke. Ok? My sister's idea of a sick joke to play on her gay brother. When I'm out with a guy, she'll always leave her worn knickers lying about my room, so that if I bring a bloke back, it looks like I...you know. Have sex with girls. It's...its pretty fucking offensive, to be honest, but I just put them in a bag and stick `em back in her room at the end of the week."

"So...these are your sisters...panties?"

"Well they ain't fuckin' mine, if that's what you're implying."

"No no, I...I ain't. I just, um," he laughed, "I just never expected to...find them up here."

We stood like that for a few minutes, him holding the carrier bag. I knew what he was thinking. He was just trying to figure out whether I knew that, and how best to go about asking what he wanted to ask, in his drunken desperation. Ever the decisive sexual partner, I took the bull by the horns -- if you'll pardon the pun. "You wanna...do stuff...with my sisters underwear, don't you?"

"What?!" He sounded shocked at the suggestion. Shocked, and appalled. "Fuck, man. No. No way. That's just..."

"Pathetic."

"Yeah."

He continued to stand there, no doubt asking what value he placed on his dignity at this moment. His thoughts were interrupted by his hand suddenly delving into his crotch, scratching his balls once more. "But, how pathetic, really depends on what you wanna do with `em, right?"

"Well, if you're asking whether you can go downstairs and put them in the washing machine, then yes, I guess that'd be basically fine. If a little weird."

"Yeah. No, though. I mean, like...if I was to, um, steal them, or cum on `em, or something like that -- that'd be, like...worse than just..."

"Shoving your face into the carrier bag?"

A smile crept across his face. "I ain't suggestin' anythin'...THAT extreme, dude. But...I'm right though, ain't I?"

"Steve," I began, "I got a perfect solution in mind for ya'. A way that'll really turn this night around for you, and which'll allow us both to have a LOT of fun. And you get to keep your dignity, whilst getting acquainted with my sister's undies. But...well, you're gonna have to broaden your horizons, shall we say."

"I'm all ears, man..."

Chapter Seven -------------

Steve was very compliant. He wasn't entirely onboard with my suggestion, but he grudgingly went along with it, when he considered the alternative of a night alone, and all the unpleasantness that might arise from my photo album finding its way into the wrong hands.

I wasn't sure what he was complaining about really. I mean, he DID get to keep his dignity.

Or at least, one aspect of his dignity.

But you can't make an omelette without breaking eggs, right? And of course, the ends always justify the means -- particularly when you've had a bit to drink.

Steve was still in the safety of my room, and he was sitting in my computer chair, near my table, where I'd written many-an-essay. His wrists were tied down to the black armrests on either side of him.

Willingly tied, you understand: I wasn't breaking the law. No, everything perfectly above-board here.

He sat there, watching me, as I tied first one and then the other wrist with my used socks.

He got a little antsy when he really couldn't move his arms at all, but I rubbed his shoulder and quietly shushed him, like you would a small child, and he calmed down. I took my old school tie, and used it as a blindfold, and took one more sock from my dirty sock drawer, and shoved it in his mouth. A bit of masking tape ensured it stayed there.

This was all for Steve's dignity.

See, I'd applied something of a twisted logic on the boy...emphesis on the `twisted'. If he had no control over what I did to him, well, it wasn't his fault that it happened, was it? It was mine.

If he couldn't see what I was doing...it wasn't his fault, it was mine.

And if he couldn't voice his opposition...well, that would also render whatever happened as being my fault.

Oh, and I absolutely promised I wouldn't do anything he would disapprove of.

Because if I did, well, he couldn't really stop me, could he? So yeah. It was pretty important that I promise that. As I was putting on the second wrist-tie, I mentioned how I would naturally keep myself entertained -- as recompense for my services this evening.

He looked a little worried about that.

But he didn't say anything in the seven seconds between me saying that and me sticking a sock in his mouth, so, well, he must have been fine with it, right?

Yeah, he was probably fine with it.

His moaning and groaning provided a satisfying soundtrack as I began slowly unbuttoning his black Top Shop shirt. It wasn't possible to remove it, so I just separated the two halves of the shirt, withdrawing them to his muscled flanks. His moaning became more agitated as I ran the back of my palm of my hand over his chest.

Reaching into the carrier bag, I withdrew a lacy pink pair of knickers, holding the front panel to his face.

That shut him up.

Whilst my one hand explored the valleys and hillocks of his chest, tickling the fine line of dark hair leading down into the depths of his jeans, absentmindedly running circles around his easily excitable nipples, my other held the femine undies in his face. Like an insistent dog trying to get his tongue into an empty can of dog food, Steve kept pressin' his face against my hand, slobbering and snorting behind the cloth.

After a couple of minutes, with the moisture of his spit seeping through to my hand, I leant over and took one of his erect nipples into my mouth, applying just as much spit to him as he was applying to my sisters underwear.

He didn't noticeably react as I kissed and suckled on his teat, my fingers digging into the hard depths of his pectoral muscles, in much the same way he would suck on some girl's titties.

Withdrawing my face after a few minutes of contented licking and sucking, I gave each nip a little kiss before withdrawing my hand from his face.

Without the counter-force being applied against his head, his head flew forward at the sudden removal of pressure.

His face was a little dazed, and slick with spit. His head reared back to an upright position, and he sat there, his rounded six and a half inch brain distorting the thick fabric of his jeans as it ran down his outstretched left leg.

I'd seen it before, of course: once when I had his jeans round his ankles on the school sports field, making him hard and taking pictures of his peeking knob, and again, earlier tonight, when I had him in my bedroom having his stinky bush freshly trimmed for his date with my sister. And now here he was for our third meeting, tired and a little drunk from his date with my sister; the big horny punk tied down -- for his own good -- in my room.

I withdrew another pair of my sisters pants; a frilly black pair, with lace running along the edges.

I placed the gusset directly over Steve's nose, mashing it into his face as he once again thrust his powerful neck forward. I stood there, holding with one hand the underwear before his face, and gently pushing his short blond-haired head forward with the other, encouraging him in his low, slovenly activities as I stood above him, looking down at his rapidly beating heart in his chiselled chest, and the pulsing organ in his pants.

Gripping his short hair as best I could, I yanked his head back, til it was at a right angle to his torso, and carefully placed the undies over his face as I kneeled down on my hunches beside the blind, immobile hunk.

"Stay," I said, like you would speak to a dog.

His head began to move; I yanked it back again, speaking more firmly, "STAY."

He remained like that.

Leaning in to his ear I whispered, "thanks. Sorry for shouting. You're having the time of your fucking life, ya' big fuckin' piggy, eh? Don't worry, it'll all be our little secret. Maybe we can do it again? My sister's got lots of knickers, mate; no reason you can't come over for more sleepovers...Stevsie'd like that, wouldn't he? Coming over to my house, and gettin' strapped down whilst I fed him my sisters panties, like the good bloke I am. But this is all a little one sided, isn't it? I need to have my fun too, mate, and your pretty uncomfortable down there, ain't `cha? Yeah, Stevsie's jeans sure do look nice, but they must get pretty embarrassing whenever you get a stiffie in your boxers, eh? Yeah, I know, mate. You'd agree with me if you could. Just as well nobody else is here now, seeing you like this; that'd be pretty embarrassing, too, wouldn't it? Shh shh, Stevesie, nobody'll find out, so long as I don't say anything. You just keep takin' deep breaths, mate; let me get to work."

I continued, moving before him to remove his grey trainers, revealing his white socked feet, "I'm gonna get these tight jeans out of the way, mate, and get those designer boxers of yours off, to give that big ole' cock of yours a bit of breathing room, `k?"

Steve just sat there, moaning in response. It should be noted that he could've kicked me, if he truly disagreed with any of this; as I took his ankle in my hand, he allowed me to slip his sneakers off his big size 11 teenage feet, and was pleasantly docile as I quickly ran my hand along the powerful, damp arches of his socked feet, before planting them back on the ground.

I equally quickly reached for the snap on his jeans, unzipping the well-packed crotch, and roughly yanking them down and off his legs.

He was still sat with a pair of panties wrapped over his face, moaning incoherently, with the red head of his cock poking out the left leg opening of his underwear.

I leaned back up to his ear, "you know, mate, you must of hated that fuckin' date; that itch in your pants, which you couldn't scratch; which you couldn't tell my sister about -- I mean, how could you? `Sorry babe, but your brother had me in his room so he could trim my pubes just before we came out'? Hehe, yeah, must have been annoying, man."

The four fingers of my left hand reached down and began gently scratching through his tight boxers the area above his cock, which I had manicured earlier.

He slumped down into the chair, his legs spreading as far as they could, moaning his approval. "That nice, Stevsie? Eh? Yeah, a nice bit of relief for you. But let's see if I can give you any more relief, shall we?"

I stood, returning to the carrier bag. "But fair's fair, Stevsie. We need to keep you entertained, don't we? Hang on, mate. I'm getting a good pair for you."

I fished out a damp pair of white gym pants, near the bottom of the bag. Removing the pair already on the boy's face, I turned the new pair inside out, and slid them over his head, down as far as they would go, covering his entire face. I stroked the back of his head through the underwear as he breathed in deeply, his contained cock steadily pulsing out juice onto the carpet beneath him. "Thereeeee you go, little piggy," I intoned. "I look after my little piggy, don't I?"

I gripped his head more firmly. "DON'T I?"

He slowly nodded in ascent.

"Yeah. You keep breathing, pal. You keep breathing, and I'll take good care of you, downstairs. Okie dokie?"

Another nod, more fervent this time.

As I returned to kneel between his strong legs I continued, "poor Steve. He must have been saving himself for his big date tonight, eh? I bet that's why he's so horny."

The tips of my fingers danced along the cigar shape in his boxers, avoiding the exposed head directly. The presence of my fingers became more pronounced as time passed, so that after five minutes or so, my fingers were pressed firmly into the hard shaft of his cock, running up and down his length, the cotton chafing along the sensitive skin.

Unable to resist any longer, I leaned down, deep between his thighs which, after a drunken night on the town, were more musky than they were during our previous encounter on the sports field.

I firmly licked the savoury plum on the end of his dick, my tongue pulling it away from his thigh and welding my lips to it as I did so, sucking up his salty emissions and slowly taking in more of him, til my lips made contact with the crisp cotton of his designer boxers.

I stayed like that for a few minutes; he, dressed in nothing but his shirt, sport socks and underwear with my sisters underwear plastered to his face, and me, between his humid legs, diligently gulping down the infused breeding slop he was excreting as quickly as his balls would make it, my hands running up and down the backs of his calves, going from his knees down to the rounded heel in his socks, my heading being knocked this way and that as his thighs slowly swung open a closed, just like when he'd get excited reciting his fuck stories in Maths.

Eventually, I withdrew my face from his crotch, eager to move on to other things.

I slowly -- and carefully -- removed his boxers, sliding them down and off his muscled legs.

With his cock now in the open, it was able to rear itself back up to full upright glory, the skin peeling back in its eagerness, much like it had done previously in the evening.

I began by steadily jacking off the turgid teen organ directly before me, whilst providing further relief to his itchy balls with the calcified nails and calloused fingers of my left hand.

As I did this, he, moaning as he did so, slid further still off the chair, with half his arse now hanging over the edge, his legs spread and gently thrusting upward -- trying to get more of his cock into my melodic, uncompromising hand, and to dig more of his rounded ballsack into my maddeningly light scratching fingers of his bollocks. To reward him for being so compliant, my fingers would dig into the balloon-like sack every so often, resulting in a grateful groan.

Leaning down between his legs once more, I removed my nutty fingers, and immediately replaced them with my dextrous tongue.

From the lowest edge of one bloated, rounded bollock, over its hump, and into the deep valley beyond, I stopped only when my nose was pressed into the hand I was jacking his cock with, once more taking in all the prickly hairs on his sack, as well as breathing in the starchy adolescent smells of his funky crotch.

Having licked every inch of his bag, I took each of his charms into my mouth in turn; first the left, then the right, spending several minutes dutifully sucking all the zest from the finely fluted skin.

With his moans becoming loud and his organ standing rigid, the head adopting that familiar, glassy complexion, I stopped jacking him, and continued feasting on his other attributes.

I had silently scoffed at the desperate snorting noises he made when first introduced to my sisters pants; I was now doing him one better, digging further and further between his legs, pushing him back into the chair, and even up and off the chair on a couple of occasions.

He reflexively raised his leg a couple of inches off the ground at one point, which gave me an idea.

Knowing he was in no position to object, I took each of his thighs, and hooked them over the rests of the chair, sliding my hand up and gripping his entire package in order to move his centre of gravity as necessary.

When I was done, I leaned up, returning my hand to his cock and steadily wanking it again, "mate, what you have'ta do is, put your palms out so you can get a good solid grip of those legs, or they're gonna slide all over the place, k? Remember, whilst you're having your fun with my sisters undies, I need to have my fun too, right? Because, I think it'd be pretty funny if we pretend, whenever we're here like this, that you're just a snivelling little bitch who'll do whatever it takes to get their face in my sisters gusset? That ok with you, Stevsie? Yeah, I know its ok with you Stevsie, cos -- and this is the REAL secret -- we ain't pretendin', are we pal? Thaaat's it, you get a good hold of those legs there, like a good little slut. Good boy."

I ruffled his hair, through my sister's pants, and then knelt down again. With him getting close to blowing again, I once more let go of his cock -- too much vocal agonising from him, and I took hold of each of Steve's socked feet, swinging them back and forth for a minute, just because I could, really.

I then took a firmer, more meaningful hold of them, and extended them so they were completely straight, pointing up into the air, albeit with the feet slack and pointing back down to earth -- he might be straight, but he wasn't THAT straight - if you'll pardon the pun. From the defined muscle which plated his legs, I knew he'd have no trouble holding them there for me.

"Keep `em up there for me, little piggy. You got that? Keep your legs like that. Looks better on the film, doesn't it? NOOO," I admonished, like you would a child taking too many cookies from the jar. I took his flagging size 11 foot and returned it to its previous position. "Let's not start arguing with the director now we're half way through the film, eh? That won't be good for anyone, especially you, our leading man. Rather than keeping it in my private collection, as something to watch on rainy Sunday afternoons, I might just have to put it out on general release, half finished. Ok? See what I mean, piggy?" I hesitantly let go of his socked foot, and was pleased to see it remain pointing upwards.

"Good boy."

With his big body now prone for my pleasure, and still largely immobile, I returned to my knees before him. I roughly sucked his balls back into my mouth for a few fleeting moments, before lazily spitting them, along with a fair amount of phlegm, back out of my mouth, and travelling down to the arsehole that was now perfectly displayed for me, like a pearl in an oyster.

Descending into the murky, guttural depths between his well-developed cheeks, my tongue firmly licked up the entirety of his crack, leaving behind a slick trail of spittle as I went. His moaning had died down; I think he was more interested in what was actually going on, rather than voicing his concern or his support for what I was doing through constant noise.

Not wanting the lust which I had relied on to desert him, I returned to wanking his flagging prong, my thumb slothfully running around the tired and angry glans on the end, as I licked and lightly nipped at the hairy taint between his legs, my nose and eyes completely immersed in his fat teenaged ballbag.

Stabbing my tongue into his puckered pucker got me nowhere; he was so tight.

So I opted for the other entry vehicle.

He'll wish he hadn't been so reluctant to accept my tongue.

Running my thumb up along the seam of his cock produced a healthy syrupy globule at his urethra, which I dipped the index finger of my other hand in, coating it as best I could.

Resisting the urge to lick my finger, I instead forced it between his tight cheeks and, eventually, up into his str8 little arse.

He moaned at that.

With his fuck juice doing the job it was meant for -- easing the entry of cigar shaped objects into tight orifices -- I slewed my finger gently in and out of him, picking up a rhythm as I went.

With my second and third fingers having only the spit I'd deposited in his crack to use as lubrication, it was a little harder -- if you'll pardon the pun -- to push those up into the lad as well. But I did.

He REALLY moaned at that.

After about ten minutes, I was fucking him with my fingers for all he was worth, pulling back so only the nails of my triumvirate was within him, before slamming back up to the knuckle, trying my best to nudge the fuck-button deep in his insides.

My knuckles were saved from a compacted fracture only through the soft, warm, billowy ass-cheeks they had to ram into every time they swung forward, which acted like an airbag for them. Whilst his cheeks were pleasantly warm, his guts were on fire; it was like a furnace in there, and I wondered if I might get friction burns on my fingers from the ramming into him so quickly.

After a while, which was dominated by my computer chair creaking as my fingers rocked his entire frame backwards and forwards, my arm began to get tired. Really tired. I could feel individual muscles in my arm begin to fail, in a bizarre kind of anti-atrophy, but I kept smashing into him all the same, my other hand still slowly and laconically massaging his swollen dong.

Then, without warning, he began to start shooting. Like, really fucking shooting, like a geyser. The first shot went over his head -- clean over it -- and landed on my desk behind him. The second thick pellet landed on his head, near my sisters panty-crotch, the third and fourth painting his chest, before a weak spurt splashed against his abs, with a few more overflows from his cock, down onto my hand, and into his newly cropped bush.

My sticky hand let go of his cock, and my other hand withdrew from his arsehole.

As he sat there, his head lolling from one side to the other, I removed my own trousers.

After applying the boybatter which now coated my hand to my own cock, I lined up.

The first he knew about it was when I firmly gripped and pulled down on his shoulder as I thrust forward. He immediately knew what was going on, no doubt having wondered previously if this was where I was heading, shouting "NO, PLEASE-"

But it was too late.

He let out a loud cry, his legs, and every other muscle, flexed like granite, the very tips of his toes now pointing to the heavens.

Without a word, I pushed forward, the searing heat my fingers had experienced, now wrapped around my cock deliciously softly, like hot, immobile butter; firm, yet yielding to me utterly on each and every thrust.

My own muscles were already tired and aching -- but not as much as his, I knew.

My available hand returned to his spent, overworked cock, sliding back the slick sensitive head again and again, which was now reluctant to return to its previously hard state, as if chastened by the last experience, but unable to resist the yanking of a firm hand.

After another fifteen minutes or so, I could feel my balls tingling, and tightening. I slowed, not wanting to cum yet, even though it was gone 4am.

The schoolmate beneath me continued writhing in anger that I was jacking him to another cum, as if willing his cock not to give in, whilst also humping into my hand, just wanting it, whatever `it' now is, to be over.

Another fifteen minutes.

Steve's cock, now red and raw and furious, suddenly hardens. I make one last effort, slamming myself repeatedly into his ass once more.

He cums weakly, jizz peppering his abs and yet more for his limited pubes.

I cum strongly, onto his lower intestine, dousing his fuck nut whilst I'm at it.

I withdraw, and spend five minutes on his chest, silently licking up the thick teen cream from the nooks and cranies of his torso, quietly enjoying the musky, spicy flavour notes of his strong, fortified gloop. It soon feels like my mouth is coated with the stuff; like I could start blowing bubbles if I just opened my mouth and exhaled.

For the first time, I notice it. The putrefied smell of teenage ass. The smell of Steve's thoroughly abused bowels. I open my curtain, stark naked, and swing open a window.

The cool air makes me realise I'm caked in sweat.

I sit on the floor for a few minutes, to gather my thoughts. I nearly fall asleep, but Steve's moaning reminds me to release him.

He doesn't say anything as he puts on his clothes, drying off his chest with his underwear before going to put them on. I just lie on my bed, but stop him from putting his boxers on.

"Wanna swap?" I ask, pointing at the carrier bag.

He doesn't. He wants to leave. He wants to put all this behind him.

But his hand relaxes, and he gives me the underwear, moving to the carrier bag and picking out a pair he likes, looking at me apprehensively as he does so.

He goes downstairs. I know he won't get to sleep. He'll leave at around 5.45, to catch the first train home. He doesn't, and won't, say a word.

Afterall, that's the way we men do things, right?

But I know he knows the score. I smile at the camera, still filming, on my bookshelf.