Student Teacher

From: Derek Adams

Picture: Uncredited

Published in: Playguy, December 1991

The ABCs of Ass-eating, Butt-fucking, and Cock-sucking!

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I had been looking forward to this stint at student teaching for a number of reasons, not all of them academic. Oh, sure, putting all the theory I'd been cramming into my head over the past four years into practical use was bound to provide an adventure, to say the least. I was excited by learning and I wanted to do my best to pass it along to others. Beyond all that, though, was a desire to escape from a situation that was starting to drive me crazy. I had been involved for most of my senior year with Rhonda, a woman in my Education Theory class. We had reached the point in our relationship where the next natural step was physical intimacy, and that's when my life became a nightmare.

I'm twenty-three, a good athlete, healthy, and endowed with a healthy cock and two sperm-filled balls--just like every other man. Unfortunately, something was seriously wrong with me. When Rhonda and I went away for the weekend at the end of last term, my hard-on, which usually demands two exercise periods a day, deserted me completely. We tried everything we could think of, but it was no use. I couldn't get it up for love nor money. Finally Rhonda left me in our hotel room, amid tears and all sorts of paralyzing self-doubt on both our parts I stayed on, partly because I wanted time to sort things out, but mainly because the idea of a five-hour drive together was more than either of us could face.

I swear to God, Rhonda hadn't been gone for more than ten minutes when I was overwhelmed by a tidal wave of horniness, my cock furiously squirming around in my pants, demanding attention. I tore off my clothes, so angry at my uncooperative body that I fleetingly thought about doing something to hurt myself. Then I looked into the mirror hanging over the dresser and studied my reflection.

I looked good. I had been playing tennis pretty seriously for years, and my body showed the results of all the time on the courts. I was lean and hard, every muscle developed for function, not for mass. My cock was lean and hard as well--the classic seven-inch probe, with a red cap crowning the circumcised tip. Now that I was alone, I was so hot that my cock was arcing up against my belly and my nuts were drawn up tight on either side of the shaft.

"Where the hell were you all weekend?" I snarled accusingly, taking the aching tube of flesh into my hand and squeezing till it hurt. The knob on the end flared and darkened to a deep shade of purple and a glob of honey squirted out and dribbled across my fingers. I stroked the shaft, sending rushes of sensual pleasure through my frame. Whatever my problem was, it was evidently in my head, not in my equipment.

I sprawled back on the bed, all my confusion temporarily masked by a surge of sensual need that I couldn't deny. I started fisting my dick with my left hand, letting the right explore my torso. Wherever I touched myself, the sensations churning in my cock and balls were intensified. Whether I grazed my fat nipples with the ball of my thumb or stroked along the inside of my thighs, it all nudged me closer to the moment when my cum-tube would puff out full and tight, ready to splatter my hot load up over my chest and belly.

By the time I stroked the nerve trigger at the end of my cum-tube the final time, I was writhing with lust. My shoulders hunched forward and my hips slipped off the mattress as I watched the hole in the end of my meat dilate, gaping at me like a tiny mouth. The first few thick pearly drops oozed out and drooled down onto my gut, then I tensed up like a coiled spring and blasted a wad of cum right between my eyes! I grunted in surprise. But before I could point it in another direction, I blew again, this time covering my lips with heavy cream. I finally got my boner pointed up in the air and finished off the show with four more hard-pumping blasts that shot up two feet in the air before splashing down across my belly and thighs.

I had no intention of eating my own spunk, but it trickled into my mouth, salty with a slightly bittersweet aftertaste. At first I was disgusted and started to spit it out, but I licked my lips instead, rolling the thick juice over on my tongue, savoring the taste and texture. When that was gone, I wanted more, so I scooped it off my face and thighs and sucked my fingers clean. By the time I had finished the clean-up, I was so aroused that I jerked off again. Finally I fell asleep, totally drained, my fingers wrapped around my dick.

Rhonda and I still had a class together and we were civil. But soon she began dating another guy in the program, so I was glad to get away from campus. Lake Saunders was a great place to do student teaching. The community was supportive, the school was well-funded and the students were receptive to learning, as long as you kept their attention. I had two sophomore history classes and a junior literature class, and I felt totally in control.

Then last month, Fred Hodges, the head of the Humanities department suffered a serious heart attack and I got asked to take over his honors class in Contemporary Issues. This was an elective course offered to seniors who were college bound and I was quite flattered to have been chosen. I spent the weekend poring over the curriculum and went in on Monday morning ready to conquer the world. Instead, the world as I knew it started slipping rapidly out from under me.

The problem wasn't the course; I quickly established myself as competent in the eyes of twenty discerning students. No, the problem was me--specifically in my reaction to one of the students.

Gordon Dimopoulis was the undisputed star of the class. Bright, articulate, always ready with a well-reasoned opinion, he sat in the front row, eager, intent and hungry for knowledge. My response to him scared the hell out of me. I quickly realized that I was wildly, passionately attracted to him, and I didn't know what to do about it. I'd never felt this way about anyone before, certainly not about another man.

Gordon looked as Greek as his name sounded. He was a tall and slender eighteen-year-old with one of those bodies that would have been skinny if every muscle hadn't been honed to peak condition. His hair was coal black and curly, falling down over his forehead in an unruly mop. His features were strong-high cheekbones, a long, straight nose, full sensual lips, and a jawline that looked like it was sculpted out of stone, shadowed a purplish-black by his heavy beard. His eyebrows were a thick straight line, like someone had slashed across his handsome face with charcoal, then rubbed through the center, leaving only a smudge of fine hairs above the bridge of his nose. To top it off, he had the kind of eyes you could drown in--large, dark brown and soft-looking, fringed with dark lashes that would have been extravagant on a girl. They communicated warmth, sensuality and a desire that I couldn't miss, even though I tried not to notice at first.

To make matters worse, he looked at me all the time during class. Not in the way students are supposed to look at their teachers, as a sign that they're paying attention, but as though he was trying to pry into my soul and lay it bare. It unnerved me so badly that I stopped looking at him, except for occasional furtive glances. Every time I did happen to glance his way, Gordon was always watching, his eyes like deep warm pools, full of tenderness and understanding.

It wasn't long before he invaded my dreams as well--wild erotic dreams that would jolt me awake, my body sheened with sweat, my sticky cum pooling on my belly. I hadn't had a wet dream since I learned how to whack off, but now I was having them nearly every night. I beat off twice a day, but it didn't help. My fantasies were so wild that they always ended with me shooting all over myself. It got so bad that I started getting hard-ons during class, just from the knowledge that he was sitting six feet in front of me. Every time he'd catch my eye, his big hands folded on his desk, fingers intertwined, he'd flash me a little smile and my gut would start to tingle.

I turned to my tennis game, desperate to work this obsession out of my brain. After class, I'd go directly out to the courts and practice my serve and backhand till I had exhausted myself. It wasn't long before some of my students were asking me for instruction. I took on all comers, glad to do something that took my mind off the mad thoughts that filled my brain when I was at home, alone.

It was probably inevitable that Gordon would eventually ask me to help him as well. He was a natural for athletics and I had seen him out on the courts more than once. After class on Friday he hung back till everyone else was out of the room, then approached my desk. His usually steady gaze was absent as he stood there, looking down at the floor, waiting for me to acknowledge his presence.

"What is it, Gordon?" I irritably asked. I was nervous as a cat in the room alone with him and my feelings manifested themselves as impatience and ill-humor. It wasn't Gordon's fault that his teacher's sex fantasies revolved around him. "What can I do for you?" I continued, looking up and attempting a smile.

"Mr. Marley, I was wondering if you would ... uh ... maybe have time to give me a few ... uh, pointers on my tennis game?" His tone and posture were so far from the self-confidence he usually exuded in class that I looked at him curiously. He was still looking down, but I could see that his cheeks were flushed a dusky shade of red and he was nervously chewing on his lower lip.

'Til be glad to help you out, Gordon. Just give me about ten minutes to finish up here. I'll meet you out on the courts."

The smile he flashed as he hurried out of the room was so dazzling that it took me those ten minutes to get my blood pressure back to normal. When I reached the courts, Gordon was there already, practicing his serve. His tennis shorts hugged his hard ass, emphasizing the roundness of his buns. He had stripped out of his shirt and hung it on the fence like a red flag. I stood back for a few minutes, watching the muscles in his back shift and ripple under his tanned skin.

His body was perfectly proportioned, every muscle in harmony with its neighbor. Poised as he now was, slightly crouched, preparing to toss the ball into the air, he looked like an artist's model for an anatomy class. His thighs and calves were tensed, muscles bulging under his tan, the silky hairs on his legs emphasizing rather than hiding the definition. His belly curved in, taut and rippled, and his lats formed a sharp ridge from armpit to waist. His pees stood out full and tight, capped by large dark nipples and dusted with fine, charcoal-colored down.

When the ball finally dropped from his hand, Gordon sprang into motion, his grace taking my breath away and sending a dangerous tingle through my groin. He turned to pick up another ball and our eyes locked, the same soulful intensity in his gaze that had been haunting my nights for weeks. "Just warming up," he called out, loping over to the chain-link fence and leaning against it, his hands hooked into the mesh above his head.

My eyes roved from his belly, up over his chest, to the dark thatch of fur in his armpits. Looking at him was almost breath taking. "I was just watching your serve," I lied, hoping he'd believe me. "Your wrist is turning out on the follow-through."

"Yeah, I know," he said. "I keep working on it, but it's still the weakest part of my game. Maybe you can guide me through it a couple of times?"

"Sure," I muttered, not certain that I'd even remember how to serve at this point. I entered the court and watched him a few times, but my instructions weren't helping him. It finally became apparent that I'd have to stand behind him and physically guide him through a serve. Hell, I'd stood behind a lot of good-looking guys, showing them moves. That hadn't bothered me at all, but the thought of doing it with Gordon terrified me. The trick was not to let him know it.

I stood close behind him--close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body--and extended my arm until my fingers closed over his wrist. Then we raised our arms, the hairs on his forearm tickling me, his shoulder pressing into my armpit. "See what I mean?" I asked, as we slowly completed the arc of motion. "Don't let your wrist twist and you'll have much better control."

"Could we do it again," Gordon asked, his voice strangely tight.

"Sure." I mustered all my reserves of self-control and moved in close to him again. My chest brushed his shoulders and the feeling was electric. As we repeated the serve, I was conscious of everything about him--his hard arm, his sweat-damp hair brushing my chin, his ass pushing briefly against my crotch, even the smell of male sweat that filled my nostrils like a powerful drug. As soon as the follow-through was complete, I abruptly stepped back, digging my nails into my palms.

"Once more?" he asked, his eyes magnetic.

"I think you've got it, Gordon," I said gruffly, striding over to my side of the court. I wasn't willing to risk another repetition of those simple movements in my current frame of mind.

We played tennis for hours as though we were both possessed by a demon. After the first set, I was dripping wet. I threw my sodden shirt aside and went back for the second set, running and leaping like a madman, going after each ball like my life depended on it. A small crowd gathered to watch for a while. But they gradually dispersed as it began to get dark, leaving the two of us alone out on the field.

"I guess we better quit, Mr. Marley. It's too dark to see anymore."

"All I want now is a shower and a bed to fall into," I panted, walking over to the net, my chest heaving.

"Ditto for me," Gordon responded, grabbing his shirt and loping back toward the gym.

I followed behind him as he crossed the track and disappeared into the locker room. I was relieved that I'd make it through without doing anything stupid. Then I remembered the damned showers! There were no private stalls, just a communal room with about a dozen showerheads ranged around the tiled walls. It would be fine, I told myself; I'd just jump in, rinse off and get back into my clothes as soon as possible.

Gordon was already in the showers when I entered the room, standing under the water, his back to me. His bare ass glowed white, a sharp contrast to his tanned back and legs. The cheeks were high and firm-looking, a deep dimple in each perfectly sculpted mound of flesh. There was a small triangle of black fuzz at the base of his spine and a hint of dark hairs growing in his crack, but his ass was perfectly smooth. I turned on the shower opposite him and leaned back, letting the cool water rinse the sweat from my body.

When I looked up from my intensive study of the tiled floor, Gordon was facing me, his eyes roving up and down over my body, taking it all in. I tried to look away, but it was more then I could manage. The water was pouring down over him, making ever-changing patterns in the hairs on his sleek thighs, running in rivulets down his belly and streaming off the end of his fat, unclipped prick. He was swaying slightly, setting his fuzzy ball sack into motion. His rocks were big and heavy, the left hanging about an inch lower than the right. I licked my lips and tried to fight back the wave of lust that was threatening to overwhelm me.

When I looked back at his face, our eyes locked, fanning the flame in my gut to a raging blaze. I could feel the blood surging to my prick, but I was powerless to stop it. I just stood there, under the water jet, my hands at my sides, totally exposed to the young man across from me. His body was responding the same way, I noticed, his cock bouncing and twitching as it stretched out to full length and slowly rose up into the air. The head was starting to poke out of his foreskin, a bright pink dot surrounded by brown velvet. The big nuts that had been swinging so enticingly a few moments earlier had drawn up tight between his legs. His big nipples were tightening as well, stiffening into thick, meaty points.

We both seemed rooted to the spot, afraid to move. Our bodies however, strained toward each other, our stiff pricks bouncing excitedly in the air between us. Finally, Gordon made a tentative movement forward. I could see the uncertainly and fear in his eyes, but

he was ready to d are everything. He held out his hand to me and I grasped it, almost involuntarily, like a drowning man would reach out to find something solid in a storm-tossed sea. One single touch and I was lost.

My arms slipped around h im as our bellies slapped wetly together. He was so warm, the skin on his back like hot silk beneath my trembling fingers. Once we touched, we couldn't stop. Our hands were everywhere, stroking, squeezing, teasing each other's tingling flesh. Our cocks were crushed together between our bellies, the two fat shafts mashed side by side, his pubes tickling my belly.

My fingers caressed his neck, then tangled in his thick, black hair. I pulled back his head far enough to look into his handsome face. His eyes were even more powerful at this close range, glistening wetly as he returned my stare. Water from the shower hung on his lashes like diamonds--he was the most desirable person I had ever seen.

"I've never ..." he began, his voice hoarse.

"Neither have I," I smiled back at him, putting my finger gently against his lips.

Then I slowly pulled his face closer and closer till our lips met. When our tongues touched, his body gave a jerk and he whimpered softly as he began frantically humping my belly. I drove my tongue deeper into his mouth and he blew his cum in hot blasts between our bellies. The smell and the feel of his heat on my skin was like a knee in the balls. I held onto Gordon for support as I joined him, adding my own sticky offerings to his. We held each other tight till the last waves of our cumming had coursed through us.

"It was so fast," Gordon said ruefully, leaning back far enough to look at me, but not releasing me from his grasp.

"I think we were both pretty excited," I chuckled. "That has to be a record of some sort."

"I've been wanting you since the first day I saw you," he admitted, his honesty and lack of guile charming me. "Just the idea of kissing you did me in totally."

"I know the feeling," I agreed. "I can assure you it was mutual." I could hardly see the point of lying to him now, telling him it was an accident, something I hadn't really wanted to do. I couldn't fool myself any longer. Why try to fool him?

"You're still hard," he remarked, his fingers curling around my throbbing stiffer.

I got a grip on his handle and gave it a squeeze. 'Tm going to suck your dick," I said, surprising myself with the idea. I had become fascinated with the taste of my own jizz during the past few months, but this was the first time I'd ever wanted to taste another man's. I wanted to taste Gordon's juice, wanted it more than anything else I could imagine.

I dropped to my knees, my eyes level with his balls, the bag still tight but starting to relax. One jab with the tip of my tongue and they were scurrying up their cords again, their fuzzy pouch shrinking up rapidly. Gordon's dick was still curved against his belly, registering his heartbeat with its steady pulse. I licked from his balls to his hooded knob, my body trembling as I realized what I was doing. I liked the feel of his hard, male flesh pressing against my tongue, throbbing as I licked the swollen cum-tube.

Gordon groaned softly and braced his hands on my shoulders as I slipped my lips over the crown. His knob was big, getting bigger as I explored it with my tongue. The foreskin was a total turn-on, but peeling it back to expose the sticky, slick head was even better. I could still taste traces of his juice that the water hadn't washed away, nutty and pungent, tempting me to suck up another steaming load all for myself.

I don't know what I expected when I started to suck his cock, but it turned out to be the wildest, most sensual thing I'd ever experienced. The thought of having contact this intimate, actually sucking the life out of his fat balls, made my dick so hard it hurt. I lapped hungrily along the shaft. His honey started flowing almost immediately, slicking down my tongue, making it easier to slip him deeper and deeper into my throat till my forehead was smacking against his flat belly.

The harder I sucked, the more he groaned and whimpered, his hips beginning to make little jabbing motions, driving his dick deep into my throat. Gordon leaned over me, his head resting between my shoulder blades, his hands slipping down between my legs, scrambling for my cock. His fingers closed greedily around their prize and he started jacking my cock, creating a friction that set me on fire. I was so hot I was ready to blow after only about a dozen strokes.

"I'm cumming, Rob, I'm cumming," he cried, his voice almost a sob.

I mashed my tongue tight around the cylinder of pulsing flesh in my mouth, teasing his nerve trigger until his cock flexed and I felt the first drops of his spunk drizzle down my throat. At the exact same instant, I blew, hitting him in the balls with my first powerful blast. He met me shot for shot, filling my mouth with his rich, thick man-cream. I loved the taste, rolling his juices over my tongue, sucking his jizz between my teeth before letting it slide down my throat. I kept on sucking and licking till Gordon pulled me to my feet.

"That was outrageous," he whispered, his head on my chest. He kissed my nipples, then slowly started sinking to his knees. "My turn," he said, smiling up at me.

I leaned back against the wall of the shower, closing my eyes and letting the sensation of having my cock sucked blot everything else from my mind. It was clear that my equipment was in working order after all--I'd just been pointing it in the wrong direction.

I shuddered as Gordon rammed my prick deep into his throat. It looked like student teaching was beginning to take on a whole new dimension. I knew for a fact that I had a lot to learn.