Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. No actual psych majors were harmed in the telling of this story. If you are offended by homosexual situations or homosexuality in general, loosen up. Failing that, stop reading and go do something else. If you are underage or it is illegal for you to be reading this where you're at, grow up and/or move. Also, stop reading.
Author's note: Thanks again for all the feedback, guys, particularly those of you with questions and/or suggestions; you've given me lots to think about. Please note that I'm going to continue the slow pace of this story, but for those of you itching for "the good stuff" (as some of you put it), check out my new one in the Encounters section called "Fun at the Company Picnic". It's a stand-alone story that gets down and dirty in a relative hurry.
Feedback and/or criticism cheerfully accepted at altonfree@yahoo.com. Please put "Pressure" in the subject line so it isn't automatically deleted. Enjoy!
Pressure Part 3
By Alton Free
I spent a fun weekend deciding what kind of underwear would look best on Travis' shapely body. I still didn't have a great idea of what his ass was like (although it was damn near perfect in the naked striptease in my masturbatory fantasies), but I was sure he had a nice firm set of melons back there. In the end, I decided on a crisp new pair of white CK briefs. The premise of this little experiment was the old I'm-at-school-in-my-undies nightmare, and I'm sure that's what my little hottie wore back in grade school. If I wanted to make it as realistic as possible, I probably should have gone for Hanes or Fruit of the Loom, but I AM a gay man after all. Form over function in all things.
I debated briefly (no pun intended) about putting him in boxer-briefs, figuring that the hybrid might help ease his transition out of those baggy old man's drawers and into a more flatteringly form-fitting garment. But this was MY show, and I wanted him in as little as I could get away with. Besides, thinking back on the boner he'd popped through his boxers, I was starting to get the impression that Travis was getting pretty comfortable with me calling the shots. He'd hardly voiced a word of protest when I suggested a different underwear style, and had even agreed to let me pick it. For that matter, he'd agreed to the plan itself rather quickly. I wondered where this agreeability was coming from. Did he trust me that much? Or was this whole exercise turning him on to the point where he'd pretty much do anything I said? I decided to test that theory a little at our next session.
Monday finally arrived. I walked to my office after my last class with Travis' briefs in my pocket; they'd been there all day. I'd been semi-hard ever since I put them there, knowing that in scant hours they'd be on intimate terms with all Trav's best features. When 3 o'clock rolled around, and I heard the knock at the door, I swear they twitched on their own.
He came in already blushing, and already boned, too, from what I could make out through his jeans. "Hey," I greeted him. "Any quizzes today in Abt's class?"
"Nope," he said, not looking me in the eyes. "This'll be my first test today".
I wasn't sure if he was talking about the practice test he was about to take, or stripping down to butt-hugging briefs in front of a gay TA, and suspected he didn't either. If the latter, I was determined that he'd pass with flying colors. Although I suspected the colors would all be shades of red.
Time to show him what he'd be wearing for my viewing pleasure today. Pulling them out of my pocket, I extended them to him. "Here", I said. "I had to guess at the size, but I think they'll fit all right." Actually, I knew they would. I was sure Travis was a 32" waist; the briefs were a 30". They'd fit JUST right.
He looked at the white cloth as if I were offering him a live snake. Reaching out with a trembling hand, he asked me, "Sure this is necessary?"
I debated telling him about the sticky surprise he'd left under the desk last Friday, but just said, "Well, the whole point is to make you uncomfortable, and I'm sure these will do a good job of that, since you're used to boxers. And this way, you don't have to worry about anything...er, popping out." He blushed harder at this mention of his Friday boner, which he still didn't know I'd seen, albeit in translucent reflection form. He took the wadded-up briefs and opened them up, dismayed at the lack of material soon to be covering his crotch and ass.
He stood there for a few minutes, apparently waiting for me to tell him where to go change, or at least for me to turn my back. I just stared back, until he finally heaved a deep sigh, and began to toe off a sneaker.
"Yes!" I thought. "Christ, he's ready to do this right in front of me!" I had other ideas, however. I had a hunch, and wanted to see if it panned out. "Hey," I said, before he could get his shoe off, "There's a janitor's closet right next door...why not change in there?"
He looked at me with gratitude more naked than he'd be himself in the next few minutes, and said, "Good idea. I'll be right back".
"I just wonder," I thought to myself as he left the room.
I'd been thinking about his bulging shorts: if I had a boner that I didn't want to have, and I had the opportunity to maybe get rid of it, wouldn't I take it? I didn't think the briefs would have a negative effect on Travis' rod; quite the contrary. And if he found himself naked in a storage closet with a hard-on, knowing that in a few minutes he'd be wearing nothing but a crotch-enhancing pair of shorts, I didn't think he'd pass up the opportunity to tap the keg.
I willed myself not to follow discreetly and listen at the door in hopes of catching an audible sign that my hunch was correct and instead settled into my chair, my dick growing longer with each piece of clothing I imagined was coming off the Greek statue behind the wall. I did glance at the clock before I sat down, though: it shouldn't take too long to drop trou, slip on some underwear, and put your pants back on. Then again, if Trav was ready to rumble, it probably wouldn't take him too long to shoot his goo, either. Still, I figured I'd be able to tell if he'd taken more time than strictly necessary to change clothes.
It was getting near the five minute mark when I thought I heard a muffled moan from the wall behind my head. Probably wishful thinking on my part, but I did turn to stare at the spot he'd be in, willing my x-ray vision to finally kick in after years of disappointment. Sadly, it again refused to comply, and I had only my imagination to guide me through the Travis Moylan sex show I hoped was going on next door. Shortly, however, I heard the unmistakable sound of plumbing in the wall, and smiled. I would bet my tuition that Travis was washing the evidence of his cardio workout down the sink. Such a waste. A glance down at my khakis revealed that Trav's wasn't the only fluid in the immediate vicinity, however; I was leaking like a dairy cow. I'd better start concentrating on business fast...I was about ready to burst, and I hadn't even seen him in his briefs yet.
A few minutes later, he walked back in the room, carrying his Abercrombie boxers in one clenched fist. I'd known he'd never dare leaving the closet without his pants on, no matter how short the distance to my office, but I'd thought he might have taken his shirt off in there, to spare himself the feel of my eyes following its departure from his body. However, he was fully clothed, if walking a bit funny. And the front of his pants revealed nothing more than his naturally generous package. I wondered if he could make it through the entire test without sporting wood; I looked forward to finding out.
"How do they feel?" I asked, cruelly drawing attention to the ball-hugging briefs I'd be looking at shortly.
Again with the red, he said, "They're a little tight. And they feel real weird...I haven't worn briefs since I was ten."
"I'm sure you'll get used to them in no time," I said cheerfully, thinking that he'd have lots of opportunity, if I had my way. Wasting no more time, I said, "Shall we get started?"
In order to avoid endless repetition, it would be safe for you to assume that Travis continues to blush while in my presence throughout the remainder of this tale; I'll be sure to let you know if that's not the case. Notice my lack of information to the contrary as I watch him take off his sneakers and slip off his socks. He's moving a lot slower this time: those briefs were really making him nervous. Impatient for the main event, I was nonetheless enjoying the slow strip-tease going on right in front of me. It gave me time to focus on attributes I'd overlooked before. For instance, I'm not one to notice extremities, but Travis had really nice feet. My gaze followed his hands as they left his socks and traveled up to his t-shirt; the hands were nice, too, good solid wrists and long, graceful fingers. Imagining those fingers wrapped around his shaft just moments before, I watched as they took hold of the hem of his shirt and began to lift. The first thing I saw was the waistband of those sexy briefs, peeking out from his saggy jeans, intersecting his happy trail, which was being slowly revealed inch by furry inch, along with a stomach you could wash clothes on. Then his pecs, well defined without being too massive, a quarter-sized nipple placed pertly on each one. I loved the groove at the base of his neck leading down to those bricks...what I wouldn't give to just lick him there while he stood with his head thrown back. I had to settle for watching his t-shirt make its dramatic exit from his godly torso. He tossed it carelessly on the window sill, then reached his hands down to the button of his jeans.
Glancing at me furtively, he made a clumsy show of trying to subtly turn his back while he worked on his pants. This was more than fine with me. For one thing, I could have stared at that naked back all day; there was serious V action from those massive shoulders down that trim waist. More importantly, I was finely going to get to see that ass just about as naked as it could get; every smooth curve enhanced to white cotton perfection. As his hands left his zipper and moved to his waist, I held my breath; when the jeans began to slide down, I nearly moaned. As I watched those brilliant white buns slowly make their appearance, I realized my imagination had seriously underestimated Travis' rear. If bubbly butts are good...and they are...this was the Lawrence Welk of butts. The too-tight material was stretched taut over those shapely mounds, and I could almost make out the dark crevice between them through the new material. "God bless Calvin Klein," I thought, as the jeans passed over the last of the white and on down the legs. It was a criminal shame that this butt wasn't on a billboard in Times Square, not to mention being hidden daily under baggy boxers and baggier jeans. It was then that I had my first real doubts about my ability to keep these sessions professional (well, as professional as they'd been, which I'll admit isn't saying much). I knew there wasn't much I wouldn't be willing to do to get my hands on that ass. I also knew I'd be testing the limits of Travis' compliance soon.
And, oh...there they go. With his gorgeous butt bent over practically in my face, the considerable bulge of his sack not quite hidden between his legs, Trav slid the last bit of denim off his legs. Slowly standing erect (as was I, naturally...well, not standing), he began to fold his jeans, taking more care with them then he had with his shirt. I realized he was trying to avoid giving me a frontal view, and wondered if he was already stiff again. Still giving me nothing but the back end (fine with me!), he walked over and laid his jeans down next to his shirt on the sill. It was only a few steps, but I knew I'd be replaying that walk in slow motion in my head for many nights to come, watching his buns shift in all their musclely glory as he moved those few feet.
Finally, the clothes were stowed, and he had to face the music. He turned his head to see if I was still watching, and grimaced slightly to find my eyes glued to his body. I could almost see him turning over his options in his mind; hand cover or no hand cover? To cover would seem childish and self-conscious, to not cover would be...problematic? His modesty won out, and he placed his hands in front of his crotch as he turned to look at me sheepishly, and almost scurried back to his seat. He was so adorable! He was doing a masterful job of hiding his bulge; I couldn't make out a single detail. However, when he began to lever himself into his desk chair, his hands did come off long enough for me to confirm at least a woody-in-the-making within his cotton prison. Christ, but this kid was turned on by taking it off! And hating every minute of it, too!
Opening the folder on my desk, I quickly scanned the class notes I'd obtained from Dr. Robert's TA. Then Trav and I ran through the subject matter that would likely be on the test he would be taking Wednesday. This stuff was old hat to Travis, but he required prompting for every question and his answers were slow and unsure. It wasn't hard to figure out what was breaking his concentration. What WAS hard was somewhat obscured by his table-top, although I was getting a lovely view of his big cotton-covered balls, and the base of his unmistakable erection. I refrained from staring, although I couldn't help a glance every now and then. Travis seemed unaware of just how much of him I could see; when he looked down, he saw a table-top, and was therefore able to convince his desperate mind that that was all I could see, too. Pretty big stretch, but his dignity had only two lifelines left: the table-top, and the tiny white briefs. Given Travis' mindset, the table-top was definitely the rope to go with.
Still, having his torso and legs completely exposed to my view was more than enough to rattle him, although he was performing better verbally than he had with the written test he'd taken on Friday. Our conversation was taking a bit of the tension out of the situation, forcing him to concentrate on something other than his near nakedness. All too soon, though, the sound would stop, and he'd be left with the written test, his own thoughts, and a gay TA silently staring at his almost completely displayed body.
Finally, we completed our run through, and I reached over to set the alarm.
"Ready?" I asked.
"As I'll ever be," he muttered. I set the alarm, and told him to begin.
This time, he started sweating almost immediately, and with more force. Knowing just what all that moisture was going to do to those cotton briefs, I watched enthralled as the beads appeared on his forehead and chest. As appealing as he normally was, glistening, he was irresistible. I couldn't have turned my head from his body if the dean had walked in the door and offered me tenure. I cursed my erection, wishing I could get up and walk casually around the room to take him in from all sides. Every now and then, he'd reach up with one magnificent forearm and wipe away the sweat flowing into his eyes, giving me a lovely view of the patch under his arm. I've never been into armpits, but I could have stared at the beads of dew in that light brown meadow for hours on end.
As expected, the free-flowing water was taking its toll on his lower-half as well. I watched his bulge gradually go from solid white to nearly transparent. His luscious plums stretched the wet cotton even as they were squashed together. The base of his shaft was thick and pink through its translucent veil; if it hadn't been for the extra layer of cloth where the material overlapped to create the fly, I'd probably have been able to make out individual veins. I couldn't wait to see the rear view.
Travis never took his eyes off his paper, and I never took my eyes off him. We seemed to be frozen in time, the nearly-naked stud and his clothed admirer, no movement but the scratching of the pen and the occasional swipes at his brow. If this was all there was ever going to be, it would have been an image I could treasure forever. However, the best was yet to come, and I wanted the test over as badly as Travis did.
After an eternity, the buzzer sounded. Travis jolted in his seat, startled, droplets flying from his short sandy hair. Then he sat there frowning down at his test.
I cleared my throat to drag him out of his reverie, and held out my hand for the paper. This was the moment I'd been waiting for. Learning from my previous mistake, I'd positioned his desk several feet from my own. One of us would have to get up to make the exchange, and I had no intention of doing anything of the sort.
He looked up at me, saw my hand extended, and did some quick mental geometry. Realizing I expected him to get up and hand me the paper, he seemed about to protest, but instead, placed a hand on the desk top and started to rise from his seat.
If there was any one moment that clearly signaled his slide to surrender, that was it.
He got up, one hand clutching the test, the other cupped over his groin. However, as has often been said, it takes two hands to handle a whopper, and Travis proved it to be true. While the majority of his package was concealed, it was readily apparent to anyone in the room (and I had that privilege) that he had a big ol' throbbin' boner. The tip was neatly outlined over his left thigh, straining his underwear so much that the waistband had pulled slightly away from his body, the mingling of sweat and pre-cum giving me an almost naked view of that thick mushroom head. He looked ready to explode.
He speedily, if awkwardly, covered the distance between us, and handed me the test. As soon as my fingers grasped it, he shoved his other hand down over his bulging dick, and turned towards the window sill to get his clothes. Now was as good a time as any to see how far I could push him.
"Just wait right here; this won't take a second," I murmured, pretending to study the paper on my desk. And he immediately stopped. I glanced up at his eyes, which were pleading with me to let him get dressed, but I was merciless. I took my time grading the test, all too aware of the embarrassment flowing off him in waves.
He'd failed it, of course. It remained to be seen how he'd do wearing pants in a classroom, after having been subjected to this humiliation, but unless other measures were taken here, in our sessions, I had no doubt he'd fail each one he took for me. These weren't results I was willing to live with. I had another motivational tool in mind for Travis, but I wanted to hold off on introducing any new twists until he'd been able to take a real test, so I could see if just the act of wearing clothes improved his comfort level. After he took Roberts' exam on Wednesday, I'd know if he was ready for the next step.
Finally, I looked up at him. He was standing there with his eyes closed, still cupping his groin, muscled arms framing his moist chest. I knew that he didn't give a shit about the results; the only thing on his mind at this moment was cover, sitting miles away on the window sill. And yet, I was sure that he'd be running through this scenario over and over in his mind when next he spanked that big, thick monkey of his; I doubted it would be too long before that happened, either.
"Not so good," I said, meaning the test. Travis' eyes opened, and he looked down at me glumly. "Let's see how you do on Wednesday. Remember, whenever you come up blank, just remind yourself you're fully dressed. That should go a long way towards helping you relax."
He didn't look like he'd ever relax again, but he nodded. "Can I get dressed now?"
"Sure," I said graciously; the word was barely out of my mouth before he was off to the sill. Another view of that incredible bubble butt, enhanced by the sweat-induced transparency that rendered almost all his rear completely visible. His twin mounds of hard-muscled flesh shifted gorgeously with each step. No, I didn't think there'd be any way of keeping my hands off that ass. Luckily, the plans I'd already made would allow me closer contact in the not too distant future. So much depended on how he did Wednesday in Roberts' class.
He stopped in the act of picking up his jeans, and, glancing back over his shoulder and, gesturing in an unintentionally inviting way towards the seat of his briefs, asked "Do you...need these back?"
That threw me for a loop. I'd never considered just what the arrangement was going to be, underwear-wise. Did I keep them and present them to him at the start of each session? Or did he wear them home, presumably wash them, and wear them when he came back in two days? I was VERY interested in getting my hands on those sweaty briefs, and even more interested in what else might go on in the janitor's closet if he had to take them off. However, as much as I was getting off on how embarrassing wearing them was for him, I DID want him to get somewhat used to them. And it was very erotic to imagine him walking across campus with them on under his jeans, convinced that everyone he met would know what he was wearing, when, in actuality, no one would.
"No, hang on to them. I bought them for you...they're not my size," I laughed. "Just be sure to wear them Wednesday."
"Okay," he sighed as he picked up his jeans. I was mildly surprised when he didn't slip his boxers on over the briefs; he just put his jeans on, pulled on his shirt, and stuffed the boxers into his bag. Perhaps he was getting to like the feel. More likely, he'd done it unconsciously. Whichever, I loved the fact that there was nothing between the denim and those marble globes but that tight white material.
"How do you think it went today?" I asked him when he'd finished dressing.
He shrugged. "I dunno," he said. "I felt really stupid sitting there in just those...things. Definitely couldn't concentrate on the test. But I can't imagine not being more relaxed when I take a test with my clothes on."
"That's the idea. Wednesday, we'll go over how you did on Robert's exam. There might be a few things we can do to improve your performance in here, too."
"Okay," he said, not a trace of alarm in his voice. If only he knew what I had planned. He thanked me, and left.
"Oh yes," I said softly aloud, after the door had closed. "We'll definitely be trying a few things next time." Standing up, I walked over to the cabinet in the corner and opened the door. Unzipping my khakis, I placed a hand inside and idly rubbed my aching cock as I looked up at the top shelf, where my frat paddle was waiting.
End Part 3
Next: Travis goes into show biz.
Like it so far? Shower me with kudos at altonfree@yahoo.com. Think it sucks? Let me know at the same address.