School Blues - Sex Stories

School Blues

... more urgently. But I’d moved forward too far. I was pinned against the desk and there was little room to manoeuvre. I tried moving my hand under his to stop him touching me, but as I lifted my hand to do this, he got a firmer grasp of my crotch. Suddenly I couldn’t stop the blood rushing there. I was instantly and terrifyingly completely erect inside my pants. He couldn’t fail to notice. “You’ve got an erection,” he said, matter-of-factly. But there was a touch of pride, even gloating, in his voice. “Get off,” I repeated, trying to pull his hand off, a finger at a time and pull my crotch away from his hand, which only had the effect of backing further into his groin. In any case, he’d found the shape of my erection and had begun to move his hand slowly upwards along it. “Stop,” I said. My hand on his now, still trying to pull his hand away. But his downward stroke had already started and almost instantly, it felt different. Good different. Hormones zapped through me. This felt - oh my god - amazing. Something I’d never felt before. My hand weakened on his, and I still asked him to stop. But now instead of pulling it, it began to rest on top of his pale hand, moving up and down with it as he began to masturbate me. Then my hand dropped to my side, resistance ended in seconds. Almost automatically I felt myself leaning backwards, into his body. My head back to almost rest on his shoulders. My knees moved apart underneath the desk. He carried on stroking rhythmically. “See, ...

... you’re gay,” he said. That pride again. His hand was moving faster up and down my trousers, his grip firmer, fingers now all the way around it. My knees were now wide apart. I looked down at his hand on me. The shaft of my penis sitting proud underneath my school trousers. I mean really visible. He was masturbating me hard through the material, stroking my erection, his hand a little piston. “You’ve got such a big erection,” he repeated, almost as a commentary. Now it felt unbelievably sexy. He was fumbling for the zip as he masturbated me, looking for a way in. Then noises in the corridor. An outer door squeaking open and a second later the door to the study room was flung open, cracking against the doorstop and rebounding violently. A friend of mine breezed in. The way the desks were arranged he could only see our upper bodies, but I lurched forward at my desk, conscious that my face was flushed. Ashley’s hand dropped away, though he froze where he was in my chair. “What are you two queers doing?” friend asked absently as he threw a book over to his own workplace area. It crashed onto his desk with a thud. “Ashley’s just being fucking irritating,” I said. “Get off Ashley.” I was still conscious of my red face. “I was only trying to see his homework,” Ashley said. He spoke much more calmly than me. Friend didn’t read anything into us. He was already on his way back out of the room. “Just tell him to fuck off,” was his parting advice as the door pinged back and forwards again. I ...