Friend of the Family Wank

by Emily

   Making yourself comfy in someone else's bedroom is always a bit weird,

but I didn't want the headache -- wipers endlessly on driving through grey

November drizzle, concentrating too hard on the motorway -- to spoil the

evening, so we all agreed it was best if I had a bit of lie down for an

hour or so.

   I drew the curtains, took some aspirin, lay down on top of the covers,

undid the top of my jeans, slipped my hand down, and slowly lost myself in

my favourite fantasy of the moment: Jack bending his little boyish botty

over my head and huffing and puffing till he shits over my face; big soft

light brown Mr Whippy swirls of creamy pooh, filling my mouth and covering

my nose and eyes in stinky mess.  Sometimes nasty is too nasty, but

sometimes nasty is just nice.  I didn't last long, and as my orgasm

subsided, I drifted off into a light head-healing sleep.

   Mathew stood above me, all nervous, diffident, excuse me please Miss,

mug of tea in his hand.  I waved the tea towards the bedside table.

   "Are you feeling any better?" Mathew was a girlish boy, still with an

unbroken voice.  13 at a guess.  Pencil thin figure, with barely controlled

curly brown hair, soft full lips, and bright hazel eyes.  What a little

angle.

   "A little"

   He handed me the tea.  "Your hands are cold ... here, come and rub my

temples".

   He didn't know quite what I meant, so I took his hands and placed his

finger tips on the sides of my temples, and showed him how to gently

message my aching brow in delicate little circles.

   Massage is a funny thing.  You can rub yourself in the same place, in

the same way, but it's just not the same if someone else does it.

   I sighed back into the pillow as his cool fingertips pressed soothingly

into the fuzzy pain inside my head.  I tingled as he washed my face in his

warm breadth, leaning his face above mine as he focused with childish

intensity on his task.

   I cooed and whispered how very nice it was, all the time softly pleading

that he do it gently and more slowly.  Boys are so easily assume trying

hard equals doing it hard, but then, as something else was becoming hard, I

could forgive him.

   The tent pole pushing up the centre of Mathews trousers pointed at me

with juvenile keenness.  I let him stop massaging me, and patted the bed

for him to sit beside me.  He did, and as he did so, he did that guy thing

of looking me up and down along my prone body.

   Something caught his attention, and his eyes lasered in on my groin.  Oh

dear.  I'd left the top of my jeans undone, and Mathew was gazing at the

crimson frilly mesh of the top of my panties peeping out of the open Vee of

my jeans.

   I lay my hand on the top of his thigh, and gave it a friendly squeeze.

"Thank you, that was lovely ... do you give a lot of massages?"

   "No" he popped, blushing.

   "You should, you have lovely hands, show me them" He held out his hands.

I inspected them and then took one hand in mine, and give it a little

squeeze, before resting it casually on the top of my chest, so that the

back of his hand was lying on my bosom.

   We talked for a few minutes, my hand on his thigh, his hand in mine

resting on my breast.

   Mathew had a relaxed and easy charm with adults.  His dad's a hotel

manager, and Mathew had hung round people in social environments all his

brief life, and it showed.

   I moved my hand so it was just touching the side of his erection with

the side of my thumb -- nearly but not quite accidental, and asked if he

had a girlfriend.  He said no, so I asked about his sexiest teacher.

   He went all shy.

   I coaxed him, telling him teachers have sexiest pupils, and perhaps he

was her sexist pupil.  The thought, of course, hadn't occurred to him. 

Kids think teachers live in cupboards and only come out to teacher,

whereas, it only feels like that sometimes.

   He talked with a bright face about Miss Bateman.  I asked him what was

sexy about her.  He was all coy, unable to quite explain what was it that

made her the linchpin of so many of his fantasies.  So I asked him to

describe her.  Very long blonde hair, pretty blue eyes, nice smile.

   I asked him about he boobs, what sort of tits did she have.  He blushed

and turned his head away, but I caught his eye.  "Well?"

   "Well ...  sort of like yours"

   "What do you mean?" The poor love, he was squirming now.

   "er ... well, kinda small but ... er ... well she's got very ..." he

hesitated over whether he should use a dirty word in front of a grown up.

   "Yes..."

   "well she's got very tall nips like you" he said in a rush.  I laughed.

Like this you mean.  I pulled the front of my tee-shirt to my neck to show

my little flat boobies with there large dark areola and tall nipples.

   "Ohhhhh WOW!" the startled boy cried.

   I glowed ... my tits don't often get a WOW.

   I placed my hand back on this thigh, but this time the palm of my hand

covered the pointy tent in the poor lad's trousers.  I pressed it flat. 

Instinctively he pushed against my hand.

   I'd like to say I knew exactly what I was doing at this point.  It

wouldn't be true, but I'd like to say it.

   With me, it's not just getting carried away, it's the addictive thrill

of doing something naughty, something wicked.  The door was half open.  I

felt sure I could hear if anybody came up the stairs.  I could play with

fire and get away with it.  What a total dirty rush.

   I hadn't met Mathew or his parents before, they were friends of Lindsey.

But when you teach you get good at judging people, and I judged Mathew was

up for it, and not just his cock.  A lad like Mathew, well he revels in

being the man, is flattered by being taken as an equal, and would never say

no to a bit of backroom hanky-panky.  Not a bad lad, just one who wants to

be on the inside.

   I cupped the back of Mathew's head with my hand, and lead him down to my

breast.  I stretched up into his pretty mouth as he sucked at my left

tittie and then bobbed over to the right one.  I gripped his cock through

his trousers, and gave it a slow but firm rub.

   The boy slavered over my tits, my hand on his head guiding him to divide

his attention between both hot nipples.  My whispers imploring him to be

gentle even as he was overwhelmed with excitement and lust and novelty and

surprise and everything!  I would be lost to his clumsy passion if I didn't

take control.

   With the slightest change of timbre, a school teacher told him to stand

up.  Years of obedience training paid off, and he stood on shaky confused

legs.

   I decided to dispense with foils and duels and to get to the point.  We

had are oasis of privacy, but who knew for how long.

   I unbuckled at his belt and tugged his trousers down to his knees.  His

tiny sky blue little undies - the kind only mummies buy - came too, and a

perfectly formed cock sprung with bouncy enthusiasm.

   Mathew was no Jack when it came to being well hung.  It stood, and I do

mean stood, nearly vertically, four inches high, thin, veined, with an open

fat purple head, a fringe of wispy pubic hair, and a pair balls so low

hanging they almost looked like a pair of novelty items suck on as an

afterthought.  (Though quite a few of my girlfriends think that's true of

all men's genitals.)

   I glanced up at Mathew and it was obvious that he had no idea was

happening so fast to him.  How very delicious.

   I ducked down - me sitting on the edge of the bed, my tee shirt fallen

back to cover myself again, him standing in front of me, trousers down, in

his parents bedroom.

   I took his cock in my mouth and started to give it a good firm no

nonsense blowjob.  This wasn't a time for a subtle beautiful experience. 

This was time for a quick nasty bit of sex in the gloom of a wet November

afternoon.

   Mathew groaned loudly with feel of my mouth on his cock.  I snatched my

mouth away and give him a stern "SScccchh!" before returning to the job.

   There is something so splendid about controlling a man through his cock;

times ten when controlling a boy brimming with wonder at what's happening

to him.

   Of course, the trouble with boys is ... they're just so much shorter. 

So to spare my neck, I sit up and continue to give the dazed but happy

youth a handjob, lifting up my tee-shirt again to give him something to aim

at.

   I pump his cock till my hand is nearly a blur and my wrist is aching,

and I'm just about to switch hands when he shoots his load all over my tits

and tummy.  Big white lumps of spunk slide down my front as Mathew tries to

muffle his down shouts of pleasure.  I quickly lick my hand clean and wipe

the cooling spunk off my boobs and out of my belly button off with tissues,

before all of my clothes get stained, then walk briskly to the enjoining

bathroom.

   Someone is coming up the stairs.  In heart stopping panic I check

Mathew, but he's already had the sense to pull his trousers up.  Lindsey

appears at the door.  "They were just wondering if everything is OK up

here" Every syllable drips with double entendre and sarcasm.

   "Yes Yes" I shoo her away, cross she'd made my body dump half a ton of

adrenalin round my heart with no obvious way of using it.

   "We'll see you both soon then" and leaves with a wink.

   Suddenly I feel pretty grotty and sordid.

   Mathew just looks at me as I dab tissues at the spunk stains on the

carpet.  And then notice a streak of spunk must of gone over my shoulder

and rained on one of the pillows.

   "Who sleeps hear?"

   "Mummy"

   "Well I bet she'll be thinking of you tonight" as I tried to remove the

worst of the stains.  I sit down, still a bit flustered.

   "You'd better go down, Mathew.  I'll be along in a minute." He skips

off, genuinely pleased he can go back to being a boy again.  I sit and sip

at the half cold tea - yuck - and wonder whether being so stupid is worth

the risk.

   And then I go downstairs, and I see Lindsey's eyes are twinkling at me,

and it dawns on me that she set the whole thing up, and I can't help my

face breaking out into a big cheesy grin, and I can't look at her, because

if I do, I'll just giggle.  Oh yeah, it's worth it.