Mr Stone, my history teacher, had kept me after class. It had been a boring class, even for him. The humidity left sweat on all us schoolboys’ skin, soaking out into our shirts. The room’s rickety old windows barely openable on the third floor. As my classmates filed out, I sat on the edge of the front desk, facing the large wooden desk Mr. Stone was now wiping down after a day’s use.
Final exams were soon and I was doing well, well on course for an A. I was puzzled as for any reason Mr. Stone would want to speak to me although I wasn’t proturbed.
As I gazed off into the distance nonchalantly, Mr. Stone began speaking.
“How’re things going for you Dylan?”
“Fine,” I replied briskly.
“Dylan, all might be fine but, couldn’t things be better?” He followed.
“How’d you mean Sir?”
“I mean… You could boost your grades to a surefire A while enjoying yourself.”
“Sorry?”
“I could always make things worse, like fail you on your project work”
“Sir!” I exclaimed.
“It’s your choice, Dylan. A few simple favours and you’re acing history.”
“I’ll do anything!” I said, willing uydukent escort to literally do anything to stop him from failing me.
“Dylan, you’re a slut, a basic bitchboy, you beg for real men like me.”
He said in short breaths as he crept in close to me, leaving us face to face. I was intimidated, no lie, but the sexual tension sullied any caution I held. I was ready to do whatever he required of me. I wanted him so badly. His bated breath hit my face as he stood across from me, staring me down.
“On your knees boy,” he said affirmatively.
As the bitch I was, I followed orders. On my knees, I gazed up at the man who’s hands my fate was held. He gave a look in his eye and I knew what my orders were, with eyes as deep a green as his- a look was all that was needed.
As I clumsily undid the strong silver buckle on his thick, black, leather belt, I felt my throat catch. I was waiting in nervous anticipation for his manrod down my adolescent throat. I then proceeded to eagerly pull down the zip on his grey pants, dragging them down to his knees. What remained was a standard zeytinburnu escort pair of white briefs, caging a beautiful bulge down the middle.
As I rubbed my pale face into the bulge in his crotch, I saw he was sending out a text on his phone. I glanced up at my master quizzicaly, something I regretted when a fearsome lash of his belt came pelting across my back. I gasped to gather the breath to scream in pain but he buried my further in his bulge with his strong hand.
I then yanked down his briefs and readied my mouth to suck. A lick to my lips and one clear swallow paved the way perfectly for his veiny seven inches of cut cock down my throat. I first took the manhood into my soft hands and teased the slit with tongue, before kissing down along the shaft gingerly, feeling his light brown forest of pubes grizzle against my smooth face.
I then took the plunge and sucked hard on the tip before engulfing the full body of the cock in one, feeling the precum on the tip wet my tonsils as I began to gag. I sought momentary relief from his cock only to be refused by his firm hand ramming şişli escort him further and further into my mouth. My eyes watered as they looked helplessly up at the man, who at that moment, owned me. I was his bitch.
I had been sucking, rather being forcefed, relentlessly for minutes when I at last felt his knees shake. He briskly pulled his rod out of me as his pale legs quivered. He grabbed my face by my neck and gave his cock one fierce jerk which triggered gush after gush of thick, white spunk out onto my face.
Once he released my face from his tight grip, I gasped for air, laying back on the desk as he was doing on his. I lifted my hand to move some of his fun away from my eye only to be brutally smacked across the chest.
“Fuck!” I yelped in a frenzy of pain.
“You will lay there with the cum on your face, the way I put it there,” he said in his deep, commanding voice.
“Yes,” I replied meekly, receiving a smack on the face.
“Yes sir,” I said as I realised my mistake.
As I lay there, still fully clothed. Mr. Stone was now taking off his shirt and tie. He was always dressed well and had been in the army before teaching. He was now in his early forties but looked older, he was balding and wore glasses. He had grown a grisly, full beard over the last year which only added to his manliness. He wasn’t big in his height or muscle but he had a certain authoritarian presence that just oozed masculinity.
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