Head Boy - Sex Stories

Head Boy

... it, eh?" I said. "Then work for it..."

He was game, Symon. Always game. And he was kinda in heat. He quickly discovered that - as I suspected - he couldn't rock back on me positioned like he was. But somehow he managed to raise his chest and get himself propped on his forehead. From there, using his neck as the pivot point, falling onto his face, raising up again, he could spear himself on me a fraction more, create a tiny bit of movement. But not enough...

He collapsed down again, exhausted, and spat; "Ihate that you make me so..."

"No, you don't..."

He panted for another couple of moments. "I hate...that I like it..."

"No. You don't."

My plan - such as it was - had been to make him mad, then once he was good and mad, fuck him happy again. But...plans change.

Stepping back out of him, I lifted his upper body and helped him to his feet. "C'mon," I breathed, as I ushered him down the hall to the bathroom.

Was it risky, potentially exposing us like that, he semi-clothed and apparently incapacitated but clearly turned on, me wholly naked save for a hair tie, a condom, and a bone carving at my neck - also very obviously turned on? Yes...but I was in a risk-taking mood.

We arrived in front of the big mirror over the basins, and I kicked the door shut behind us with my heel. Looking at him via his reflection rather than directly, tugging at the knotted cotton, I murmured;

"I'm gonna untie you now. And I'm gonna take care of this," pressing the pad of ...

... my thumb against his pucker, "and I'm gonna take care of this," reaching around to squeeze his dick. "And while I do," I continued, as the knot on his shirt gave, "you're gonna put your hands up here on the mirror and watch yourselfhating the whole thing..."

We made a giant mess. Or Symon did, anyway. On the mirror, the tap, the embossed splashback - the basin, the door of the cupboard underneath...even the floor...

He turned, a dazed expression on his face, splotchily flushed about the neck and chest. Fucked.Really fucked.

I grimaced apologetically. "Sorry about the shirt."

"S'okay," he muttered.

He fumbled with the cuff buttons, trying to work them free, but his hands were shaking. Watching, I felt weirdly almost...protective of him. I unbuttoned them instead, slipped it off his shoulders, down over his wrists.

"I'll wipe it up," I told him. "You want another shower, maybe?"

"Maybe. Yeah," he nodded droopily, as he opened the glass door to the cubicle, turned on the spray and stepped in.

The clean-up was extensive, to say the least, and while I didn't exactlyforget about Symon - given it was his cum I was working to remove all trace of - I wasn't focussed on him either. But when I finally finished and stood up and turned, he was watching me from inside his little glazed cell. Most of his body was hidden from view by the vapour that'd condensed inside, but his head was clear of the cloud and he was making blowfish faces at me, sealing his lips to the ...