Senior class trip by Matthew Lake
Steve was always one of the "bad boys" in my small town high school. Although he was a member of the wrestling team and did car repairs after school at his Dad's service station, he had a reputation for using his good looks to seduce the more naive co-eds, leaving one a single mother of his first son, and whispered rumors of abortions in his wake as our high school years progressed.
I distinctly remember hearing of Steve's sexual conquests second hand from a friend named Chad. Chad was generally considered a good kid, although it was more because he just didn't get caught fucking up or, as was the case with Steve who just didn't care what people knew as long as he got laid. Chad related that he and another friend and Steve had been driving around town (a practice called "cruising" and really one of the only things to do in our town) and picked up Sonja, known for being pretty easy. Chad watched while Steve nailed her in the back seat before they dropped her off on the square.
For years after that as I jacked off, I imagined that it was me, not Sonja, that Steve had picked up. That it was me he had degraded first by pushing me down to suck on his cock before making me surrender my ass to him. And all of this while his friends watched my humiliation.
But as the end of our Senior year drew to a close, I had yet to even see Steve naked, let alone be asked or forced to service him. Which isn't to say that I didn't take the opportunity to watch him swagger down the hallway in tight jeans that hugged and accentuated his fantastic ass or his bulging crotch. Although it was my intention to sneak peaks, it's clear to me know that my staring at Steve's treasures was obvious to anyone who cared to see it.
So how did fortune befall me that as most of my senior class boarded the school bus at 6:00 AM for our three-day senior trip to the Ozarks--our last chance to party together as a class before graduation and the rest of our lives--I ended up in the seat across from Steve. The hours long busride got underway and soon most everyone was asleep. Although Steve was wearing dark glasses, I quickly ascertained that he, too, was asleep, and began to check him out in earnest.
He was probably about 5'10". He wrestled at 171 lbs our senior year. He had short dark hair and brown eyes (although they were hidden behind sunglasses at the moment). His face was smooth, the way some guys are who just haven't had to start shaving yet even as seniors in high school. He was wearing a clingy t-shirt that showed off his nice pecs and thick arms. His jeans were as tight as always, hugging his thighs and capturing his equipment as I could only imagine, although I spent time during the trip looking closely for any impression that might reveal a detail or two about his package.
Apparently, I was a little too obvious in my admiration and Steve was a little less asleep than I had thought, because his hands slowly moved down to his package and he started to stroke himself with his right hand while his left rested on his thigh. My breath caught in my throat as I knew I had been caught in the act. My eyes jumped from Steve's crotch to his eyes, and I saw him smirk. I could feel the blush move over my face from my neck to my hairline. Steve looked down to where he was rubbing and my gaze fell involuntarily. He began to pinch his nipple with left hand and I could see that his right hand was clearly stroking his cock-tube in his jeans. It continued, and Steve motioned me over to sit next to him on his seat instead of across from him in mine.
I moved over quickly never taking my eyes off his stroking. He reached over with his left hand to grab my left hand and place it on his hard cock. I began to rub his manhood through his jeans picking up right where he left off. Being this close to him, I could smell his muskiness, not strongly, but as if he had not showered since the morning before. It penetrated me, overwhelmed me, intoxicated me. I realized that my own dick was rock hard and throbbing as my heart raced. Steve leaned over toward me and whispered in my ear.
"I can't believe you are such a faggot for my dick." I turned me head to look at him, but he quickly and quietly reprimanded me. "Look forward." I did. "Now listen," he said as he reached over and began to lightly brush my left nipple with his hand. It hardened immediately. "I've always seen you checking me out, but I never thought I might need to use you myself until this morning." He pinched my nipple hard and unexpectedly, making me jump slightly in my seat. "Do not call attention to yourself, faggot," he wispered matter-of-factly and pinched it again hard, but this time I did not jump. "There's no guarantee I will find some twat to pound on this trip and if I don't, it might be nice to have your cocksucking mouth as a back-up. I know that you'd give anything to swing on my piece, so you will make sure that your queer mouth is available if the need should arise. Shake your head yes if you understand." I did and he pinched my nipple hard again maintaining the pressure, letting it build. My eyes began to water from the pain. "Good," he said as he let go. I drew in a deep breath.
As my nipple throbbed and the blood returned to it, Steve moved my hand away from his dick. I continued to look forward, but could make out that he was unsnapping his jeans and quietly sliding the zipper down. As he opened his pants, the smell of him became stronger. He reached into the band of his underwear momentarily, and then pulled his finger out. He leaned toward me, moving his finger to my nose. "Something to remember me by for the rest of the trip," he said and began to smear his pre-cum under my nose. At that moment, his powerful, masculine sent was a high like none I've experienced to this day. My reverie was broken though, as he finished zipping up and leaned over one last time. "Now get back to your own seat, fag."
If you'd like the story to continue, email me at matthew_lake@yahoo.com