Copyright 2006 Herb Cat. Do not reproduce or distribute this story without the author's permission.
Please note: this story depicts oral, anal, sado-masochistic and group sex between males. If any of these offend you or are illegal to publish in your jurisdiction, or you are under the age of 18, read no further.
The characters, locations and incidents in this story are fictional. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
As an author, I welcome feedback on my writing. Please send any comments about this story, positive or negative, to Herb_Cat@mailcity.com. Thank you.
Part Four - I Need Feedback
All weekend, I pondered the events of the previous few days. These boys had amazingly prolific mantools and it was a real pleasure to me sucking them off in such abundance. Of course they were bathing me in humiliation, but that just made it all the more exciting. I was loving it, and I knew the rest of the semester was going to be wonderful. But I was also beginning to realize I truly loved these young men. And somehow the world had just written them off as fuckin' athletes who weren't worth shit off the field or off the court. I knew better. And I knew I wanted to give these fine young men more than my sexual services, as valuable as they were.
I was an expert cocksucker of course, but I also knew I was a damn fine teacher. I accepted each student who came into my classes on his or her own merits. I learned all I could about them and challenged myself to discover the way every student could master the subject matter. Now here I was teaching a section of jocks. I knew the unwritten protocol, of course. If they were star players, you gave them a pass. No one would ever require you to justify the grade. Every one, the teachers, administrators, coaches, and alumni all knew the rules as well as the students. So I knew I could get away with spending every class period this semester sucking my ten boys. However, in all good conscience I knew I would be doing them a disservice. I had to find the key to reach these boys academically.
On Monday, I stood in front of my Shakespeare class and took the roll as usual. "Baker." "Here." "Davidson." "Here." "Englehart." "Here, Mr. Kent." That voice. Of course. The stranger in the locker room was Englehart. No wonder his voice was familiar. Englehart was a brilliant scholar, one of my star pupils. He asked probing questions and gave astute analyses. But I only knew him in the context of my classroom. It had never occurred to me that this handsome, well developed and well endowed college stud would be on the football team. I smiled at him and was granted a big grin in return, before I continued the roll.
I got to B11 before any of my boys and tore open the ream of lined paper I had brought and set it on my desk. I also set down a coffee mug filled with sharpened pencils. I took a marker and wrote Mr. Cunt in bold script on the board. Then I waited. I could hear them bounding down the stairs en masse and in moments they burst into the room.
"Hey, hey, Mr. Cunt. Always good to see yoo."
"Yeah, yoo done real good last Saturday."
"Hey Cunt," complained one of the basketballers, "No fuckin' fair. Yoo's playin' favorites with the football team."
"Oh, yeah? Why dontcha go lodge a protest with the dean, smart ass?" Lots of laughter, fake punches and back slaps accompanied their removing their pants, as all of them were obviously anxious to get down to the business at hand without delay.
"OK, Cunt, yoo know the routine. On yoor knees."
"No, not yet."
"What the fuck! Listen, Cunt, yoo know why we's here n yoo know why yoo's here. So let's get this party started."
"Listen, fellas. I do want to suck you. I really do. Every night I've been dreaming of your delicious cocks in my mouth."
"No shit. Hear that, Guys? He dreams bout us. OK, so com'n. Whatcha waitin' for, Teach?"
"Hear me out. I really want to serve you well. I want to be assured that I'm really doing the best I can for you. And the only way I can learn that is through feedback."
"What the . . ."
"Feedback. Detailed feedback. That way I'll be able to see how I can improve. How I can do better by you. I need you to show me how to perfect my technique."
"Yoo wants US to teach YOO, Teach?" More laughter.
"Well, yes, in a way, I do. You see this paper here?" Groans. "Yes, I know, you hate anything that resembles actual schoolwork, but believe me, when you discover what great service you'll get from me later on you'll agree the effort was worth it."
"What yoo want from us, a fuckin' `port card?"
"No, not just a grade, a D or F or whatever. I want each of you to tell me how it feels getting blown by me. As soon as I suck you off today, I want you to sit down and write what you felt. You have to do it immediately while it's still fresh in your mind."
"Yoo mean still fresh in yoor mouth." Even I laughed at that one.
"Yes, exactly. The best feedback is immediate feedback."
"I'm gonna feedback all right, feed da back of yoor throat, Cunt." I looked at this man, one of the players from the locker room. His cock was already hard and moist.
"OK, you seem ready. Let's do you first." I knelt down in front of him and began licking the length of his shaft. I had already learned that he enjoyed having his balls massaged. In fact I knew a lot about every one of these guys, even though I only knew one by name, Hernando. When he eventually came and I swallowed his load, he grabbed a paper and pencil and sat down, writing furiously.
Quickly, the next jock came forward for his service. And one by one, -- well, somewhere along the line, two tall lanky boys came up at once and had me lick them simultaneously and then alternate between their cocks, -- each of my students got his expected blow job. And then each sat down to write about it.
I stood up, my mouth still drooling cum, and collected their papers. I sat down and began reading them aloud.