A Tutor-In-Training

Revered Reader: Education is an endearing theme favored in my stories. Ripe it is with an infinitude of in-and-out-possible circumstances. Caveat: The following literary effort treats the idea sympathetically.

For the first occurrence of a spatula as part of a story see "A Tutors Day"

- Helpful input from J.R. has influenced this completion of this story -

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Mr. Abel Barr had no peer as his community’s premiere personal tutor. First established in his career about five years earlier, he succeeded with Ganymede Memorial Middle and High School boys so sensationally that he was cited at PTA meetings, initially by two leading mothers, Mariposa Michael and Genevieve Englund.

Mrs. Michael had these words of praise, “Edison’s grades rose a level in just over a month.”

“My son Tommy’s test scores steadily increased from C- to B+ in six weeks. We often celebrate his rises with cake, this time chocolate.”

No one could explain quite how ‘Barr’s In-Home Tutoring Service’ improved male students’ performance in the classroom. “It’s a mystery,” the mothers said to fellow PTA members.

Their referrals brought to Mr. Barr a constituency of families with boys. Neediest lads received in-home visits Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays; others less problematic welcomed the tutor on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Upon occasion, Saturdays might be wrought into play.

His was a demanding job, physically exhausting.

To make up for his lack of energy at home late afternoons with this son, Lucas, Mr. Barr dedicated Saturday mornings solely to the cheerful boy. Half-days of bounteous bonding.

Four years wove forward from those half-days to Lucas’ seventeenth birthday.

Soon after, the two sat for a talk. “Son, you know that your mother and I brought you into the world when I was older than usual – forty-eight. Supporting our family was such a priority that now – at the age for retirement – I must slow down.”

“Aw, Dad…”

“Let me finish, Lucas. Hard work as an independent contractor for so many families has provided well for us. But time has come for me train my successor.”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“It’s you, Lucas. You’re of imposing height, presence and energy and, thanks to my nurturing, have the equipment fully formed, so I’ll show you the ropes. You must take over the practice. I haven’t the stamina to keep up the lucrative pace.”

“Really?”

“Listen, Edison Michaels is eighteen, about to go to community college here, but doesn’t want to give up being tutored, his grades are so good. I can handle him. His dad will compensate me extra if I do. Tommy Englund, who’s seventeen and graduating this Spring, he, too, wants to stay with me but is willing to try you out. I’ve been promoting you to him for several weeks in anticipation.

“Gee, Dad, you’re the best. Are they short so, like, I can loom over them the way you used to over me?”

“I’ll show you.”

* * *

They knocked at the Englunds’ front door and were greeted by Mr. Englund who was leaving for his office.

“The house smells wonderful because my wife’s baking one of her chocolate cakes, so I knew you were coming, Mr. Barr. Who’s this?” he pointed to my boy.

“My successor, fruit of my loins, Lucas, my son.”

“Hope he’s got what it takes. Tommy’s always rambunctious. Needs frequent settling so his studies will be good. Well, good day.”

* * *

After introducing the boys, Mr. Barr looked sternly at Tommy’s diminutive boy body as it wriggled with hope. He turned to Lucas, “hold his arms above his head and watch.”

Quickly naked, his seven inches a-roar with life, Abel Barr straddled his tutee and asked, as he always did in the educational setting of the boy’s bedroom, “You need stimulus to learn?”

“Yes,” he pulled against Lucas’ grasp.

Nipple work had Tommy in speechless turmoil. Abel delivered a smart pat to each facial cheek, “That’s better. Now lie calmly and I’ll show you what I’ve brought.”

Lucas’ pants were opened, drawn down, and his father-perfect seven inches revealed.

“My son will impart your lesson for the day. First, though, show him where to place your lesson.”

Seventeen-year-old eyes opened wide at the sight of the bottom being turned his way. A cake spatula protruded from between hairless, pink rounds.

“It’s always our opener,” Lucas’ father joked, tossing the kitchen utensil aside. “Means he’s lubed and ready.”

Remaining clothes off, Lucas mounted Tommy’s beautifully displayed tight tail but wanted what had not been his so far that morning – his daddy’s dick. “Dad, please, fuck me so I can fuck him. Remember, this is my first time on top. Too much to think about but, if I’m in the middle of, like, a sandwich it’ll…”

Thus Abel Barr powered his suddenly imaginative son into Tommy – packing, reaming, sending a retiring professional’s energy through two teen rumps into the rebounding bed. Whipping and jolting for the only time as a threesome, the roaring action ended with father embedded in son and son embedded in tutee.

* * *

Genevieve Englund was ecstatic. Her cake, still warm from the oven, had cooled enough to be consumed with cups of cold milk. The Barrs and her Tommy proved gluttonously ravenous.

“My dear client, it has been a joy to work for you and your son. Lucas, young as he is, is qualified  - I assure you – to  replace me henceforth. If, as I suspect, he may need prompting until he has gained full confidence in the tutorial process, may I suggest that you stand by to receive Tommy’s spatula so that you can insert it in Lucas and, as he may need, pump the handle in and out?”

“Oh, would you, Mrs. Englund?” asked Lucas, face widened by a chocolate crumb-covered smile.

After a swallow of milk, Tommy looked to his new tutor, “When will you return? I have to learn this cake’s recipe for my Home Economics class. Be great if you drill it into me, okay?”

Abel Barr answered, “Day after tomorrow. He has other tutees to visit – and we’re already going to be late for his next. Your mother and I will coordinate by ’phone.”

Silently, he received the roll of bills in payment for the tutoring service and was about to place it in his pocket when he felt it was more plump than usual.

“A little something from my husband and me – for your retirement.”

* * *

“Was Mrs. Englund’s big towel sufficient to wipe you clean or will you need a shower here?” Abel Barr inquired as he rang the Litsey’s doorbell.

Before any answer, Alfonso Litsey’s young-Augustus-Caesar noggin nodded through the door’s small glass window. “Ma!” he yelled, “they’re here!”

She whooped, “Well, let ’em in!”

Completely starkers, he opened the door, “Ma’s doing laundry. Let’s go to my room. She’s hard of hearing but won’t admit it.” Without more comment, little Alfonso took tall Lucas’ hand.

“That’s my son, Lucas. Treat him right, Alf. He’s taking over from me.”

“Yeah, we know. Say, Lucas, you good in the educational sack? You look like you could be. Chip off the ol’ block? I really like to learn.”

“Son, little Alf there tries to intimidate the way he comes on strong. The way to put him in his place to learn his manners will be clear about now. Get your penis out.”

Alf’s bed creaked from sudden weight – its occupant’s and Abel Barr’s.

Lucas, in new take-charge mode, posed the question, “Anything you want to learn?”

“How to take it hard and fast,” he answered, “so I’ll have manners.”

“I’ll immobilize his hands, son. Use spit. Go to it.”

With his dad’s wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am force in mind, Lucas dolloped the boy’s tush with a wad from his mouth, rubbed same about, tightened his own ass with resolve, clutched his tumescence, aimed, and began to batter Alf’s undefended buttery bottom. Seven inches at uncontrolled top speed ratcheted bodily temperature from temperate to torrid.

“Ma!” he hollered.

“What?” she shrieked.

“Come see me getting it!”

 Mrs. Litsey arrived just as Lucas bottomed out with a bung-bang of bodacious brutality.

“Wonderful! Just what he needed. What do I owe you?”

Her question netted the elder Barr’s, “Just what we bargained. Nothing more.”

“Alf darling, are you happy with the service?”

“Ma…” Yet crammed with cock, the boy’s lungs had to bellow back and forth a few times before he could finish, “…it was more than I’d heard about.”

From her apron pocket, Mrs. Litsey took a roll of hundreds, peeled off the agreed three, and wished to know when the Barrs could return. Noting the elder’s hesitation, she withdrew another. Gave it a wave. Asked again, “When?”

“Day after tomorrow. How about if I call you to set the time?”

* * *

“How’s Mrs. Englund’s towel holding up? Saturated yet? We have the Tolkiensons to visit.”

“Can we get a burger and a coke? I’m bushed right now. Need to boost my energy level if I’m gonna rise to your former level.”

“Sure, son. You did little Alf in record time, so we won’t be late. How ’bout a fast-food drive-by and you have fries with your order?”

While gobbling his meal, Lucas asked about the Tolkiensons.

“Nice customers. Their kid, Frodo, looks amazingly like actor Elijah Wood must’ve a couple of years before he made that movie. My dick, he lives for my dick – and he will for yours if you screw him lovingly and longingly. Murmur my sweet nothings in his ear. I’m sure you remember those. You heard them many times while I was helping you grow up.”

Driving to the appointment, the dad said, “I forgot to tell you that Frodo will want you from the front.”

“You know I haven’t done that. Oh gosh.”

“When he smiles up at you, you’ll melt. Smile back and let your eyes beam happiness – and make your moves with stealth.”

* * *

Wide-eyed and naked, Frodo Tolkienson stood about five-feet-six, weighed no more than ninety pounds, had five inches of skinny boycock, and a butt succulent as a buffet of fresh fruit. He had a tendency to jiggle from his knees up. Anxious to be passed from father to son, he told Lucas, “I like romance.”

Getting with the program, Lucas softly gathered the boy’s curls in one hand, turned his face toward his, and bussed lips as if kissing a baby while, with his other, he reached back to cup a buttock. “I’ll take you the way Dad used to – when he made love to me.”

Admiration marked Abel’s face. The encounter was underway as if scripted for an erotic film, then shifted focus to porn status when Frodo’s legs were pushed back. Lucas held them high, leaned, placed his lips on the boy’s perky hardon and began to suck.

The shiver that passed through the boy’s body encouraged his lover. Lucas slurped delicate balls, salivating down into the gluteal valley. Particularly careful, he slipped steadily forward to bury his length in the Elijah-Woods-lookalike’s treasure spot.

Eyes locked together with hardly a blink. Lucas employed his dad’s ten-fold mantra: Initiate – Lubricate – Stimulate – Penetrate – Navigate – Fornicate – Elevate – Culminate – Terminate – Separate. To each, Frodo sighed with gratitude.

“If we married, think of the honeymoon we could have,” the starry-visaged boy said to Lucas, who was dressing.

“He’s not available. His career is to carry on my legacy. The envelope, please.”

Frodo sighed and delivered.

* * *

Weariness conquered Lucas’ necessarily responsive parts only after his next appointment, which “dear old dad” had set up.

“Walt Whitworth fancies himself a poet.” Removing from a pocket, Abel Barr unfolded a single sheet of paper. “Listen to this which he wrote in anticipation of December.”

Visitors

'Twas the night before Xmas, when all through the house
Many characters were stirring, to the music of Strauss;
The condoms were hung by the chimney with care,
Soon to be joined by fresh lube tubes just there;

The tricks were nestled all snug in our beds,
While visions of butt-fucks danced in their heads;
And skinny Ting in his ropes, and I with my strap,
Had just ended our bondage bout for a long winter’s nap,

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
All sprang from their beds to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to the crowd below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a Postal Service lorry, and Postman Brown, that dear,
With his sizeable driver, so rigid and slick,
I knew in a moment it must be the night’s biggest dick.

More rapid than climaxes his gay demons they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, Cosmo! now, Ed’son! now, Lucas and Bryde!
On, Dixie! on, Howard! on, Donny and Clyde!

“It never got beyond that,” declaimer Barr said.

 “Clever appropriation! So many names. Whose stories had Walt been reading?”

“Some guy named F.E. Cooper who posts on GayDemon.com.” Lucas ignored the reference, “How many times have you fucked this Walt?”

“No more than a dozen…well, maybe thirteen or fourteen. Don’t remember, my rapture was so intense.”

A brick mansion rose from a lawn resembling green velvet.

“Is that where he lives? Impressive, Dad.”

“Yes with two wealthy guys who pity him but are devoted to their relationship. They are visiting friends in a town called Alexia just now, so we’ll not be interrupted.”

* * *

The unlocked portico doors opened into a wide, round reception room with a grand stair. Descending it was a lissome lad wearing a winged hat and, around his slender hips, a swag of gold cloth. A caduceus graced his right shoulder.

“Hermes today?”

“I am,” he preened.

“So, your godliness wants seven inches of hungry cock feasting fast-fuck fashion from my heir here?” he slapped Lucas’ shoulder good naturedly.

“I want lightning in my ass.”

“Think like an Olympian, son.”

 Motivated, Lucas struck with Zeus-like, thunderbolt force, picking up the pretend deity, flopping him over a shoulder, swatting his butt until it glowed, tossing him face-down on the wall-to-wall, shedding his own clothes, stroking himself back to readiness, pausing to use the caduceus’ lower part as a preparatory dildo, and zooming into the thus-opened hole with a cry of “Lightning strikes!”

The caduceus clanked to the floor.

Electrified, Walt shook like a ragdoll as his core was struck by the flying cockhead on a seven-inch shaft driven with controlled abandon at top velocity. Think, light speed of thunderbolts. Separate cries became a single scream at the ecstasy. He peaked as Lucas did, then his lights went out.

Walt’s gold drape served to wipe young Barr’s ass-juiced cock.

“Dad, what abouthe payment?”

“Our money’s in that cabinet drawer. Dress yourself. I’ll get it. Walt, whatever character he might decide to assume next time, will love it if you pound him senseless again. You’ll inspire a flow of new poetic effusion, dare I say.”

* * *

En route to the workday’s final engagement, Lucas learned that Kent Oberdyer was bisexual and that he had starred in films as divergent as ‘Cunt Carnage’ and ‘Frenulum Frolics.’

[Yes, there were plenty of moneyed customers – males and females – in a kind of worldwide coven who paid premiums for illicit videos of teen boys screwing grown women.]

“I feel for him, having to top all the time. Professionally, he must. But he craves a good dicking, so I’ve seen him irregularly for months now. The guy’s built beautifully and, thanks to me, contoured inside for our size cocks.”

“What do you mean, ‘built beautifully?’”

“Think of the model for Michelangelo’s David at twenty.”

Lucas’s eyes fluttered.

“You’re younger, I know, but he will be struck by the service you’ll provide.”

The eyes squeezed shut, then opened. He asked, “Bod and butt, I mean, like the model’s?”

“Indeed. You’ll see. Only, his front parts are not so modest.”

* * *

“Holy shit!” the young man said upon being shown the way to the Oberdyer family cellar, appointed with a custom made, walnut fuck stool padded in tooled Moroccan-red leather.

“No shit. I’m perfectly clean where it counts. I don’t need to be fastened down but it adds to the ambience.”

“The straps, son, for wrists and ankles. They’re Velcro. Watch me.”

Once secured to the furnishing, Kent’s enormous cock and balls could be handled appraisingly by Lucas’s father. “Aren’t these sights?”

“Oh sorry, I wasn’t looking at them. His ass, it’s phenomenal.”

“Come and fondle these because, when you’re riding his ass, you won’t know how the one part lengthens like sugar cane and the other draws up like a big handbag.”

Fondles accomplished, Lucas was sweating. “No one’s made me this hot all day. My cock’s smothering.”

“Take it out and immerse it in the whirlpool of Kent’s biblically heroic, Michelangelesque magnificence.”

“Your Dad has such a way with words,” said famous Kent Oberdyer with a squirm while Lucas discarded his clothes. “I wish my script writers would let me speak so eloquently. Not. My lines are usually in the vein of “Wrap your legs around me, honey, so I can plow that wet pussy and nibble on your fab tits.”

“Jesusmarymotherofgod!” exploded Lucas upon losing what he thought was his last load of the day. But it wasn’t. The whirlpool Abel had spoken of sucked the boy’s erection with               vacuum strength. No detumescing post-screw! Rather, the star’s ass drew from deep in Lucas’ young balls a second ejaculation so intense it panged.

Abel lifted his successor’s weakened body and freed Kent to pony up the pay.

The two, vendor and vendee, acknowledged each other. Abel spoke, “He’ll get used to my schedule. I hope you weren’t disappointed.”

“On the contrary. I loved letting loose my power on someone so unexpecting of it. My next few times with him will be just about as great.”

* * *

After a well-earned supper with health supplements for dessert, Abel put Lucas early to bed.

Ten hours later, he delivered a shake and the words, “Come along, sleepyhead. Time for breakfast. I’ve a strawberry shake to wake you. There’ll be scrambled eggs and crispy bacon. Strong coffee, too.”

“Huh? What? Dad, are you kidding?”

“It’s off to work we go,” Abel cheerfully made an effort to hit the notes of the Disney song.”

* * *

Fortified by food and a pill said to contain “a vasodilator and the modern equivalent of Spanish Fly,” the novice’s delivery system revived better than might be expected.

“Scott Wicker, a diminutive Wyoming native with some Crow or Pawnee blood in him, only started scraping with his mom’s Gillette around a year ago,” it was explained as they drove. “I’ve been feeding him bodily knowledge a while longer. Great parental concern there because he must be ready to enroll in a special school this Fall. He’s a conventionally handsome, sweaty adolescent with high cheekbones and a generous mouth.”

“A-n-d?”

“Don’t you want to discover for yourself?”

“I think you’d better tell me.”

“Scott dotes on high-impact depth charges.” The elder Barr spoke in such a fake-serious tone that he and Lucas had to laugh.

Lucas did not laugh from the moment his hydraulics contacted wee Scott’s undersized hole and barged through.

“Your seven-inch totem pole – or should I call that thing a submarine? – go with it!” the boy ordered. And fell silent, pores eventually opening to coat his body.

It proved to be a full-fathom-five fuck. Think, if such occurs to you, of Ahab harpooning Moby – a possible switch of metaphor – without watery death. Interviewed days later, Lucas said, “Climax was a sea-changing, Torpex-powerful detonation. A miracle that I survived.”

“How did your erection come through the experience?” he was asked.

“It retained steely hardness,” Lucas blushed, “during Dad’s drive to the next call we had to make and through its riot of sexual action.”

 “Consequences for the client?”

“Scott? Incredible. His ass clamped shut sending sweat drops without direction.”

* * *

Without impediments in traffic, the Barrs arrived early at the condominium where Sullivan “Gilly” Penzance lived with his aged paternal grandfather. A burly attendant opened the heavy glass door and took keys to park the car, saying, “Check with the front desk, sir.”

“Hi, Mr. Barr. Visiting the Penzances as before?”

“Yes. This is my son, Lucas.”

A leer at Lucas brought forth from the admiring receptionist, “Mmm, a double whammy – they’ll love it.”

“Son, in the elevator, punch twenty-two.”

Gilly was there, arms open. “Come, make my day.”

“My Lucas is with me to assume backdoor duty in the family name.”

“Gramps was worrying about me. When you told him about retiring, he practically cried. Come with me to the bedroom we share so he can see if it’s true that I’ll not have to settle for anything less than your proven seven inches.”

A codger waved from his bed, put in both upper and lower dentures, wet them thoroughly, and said, “Let me see for myself, young man.”

Not wanting to disappoint, Lucas boldly shed shirt, shoes, and pants, offered his limpness to the waving hand, found its touches and strokes arousing and, when asked, assured the old man that he was prepared to knock at Gilly’s backdoor. “Dad’s said to tell you that, as his amanuensis, I’m prepared to force my way in if the door’s not unlocked when I knock.”

Abel confirmed, “My Lucas is here to provide as many backdoor love thrills as I have, Mr. Penzance.”

“Looks good but is he physically fit?”

“My sturdy apprentice on his way to journeyman status. If he passes this meeting with an A+ from you and Gilly, he’ll regularly earn your money.”

“And I’ll be happy,” the boy said, sizing up with eager fingers what his Gramps released and handing a fairly flat blue-and-white tube to Lucas. With a blink he said, “Don’t use too much.”

* * *

“We’ll get some ice cream after you meet J** S****** [NB: Name not for circulation]. J.S. is a highly capable bottom.”

“I’m okay. Your ‘highly capable’ is plumping me up, Dad. So, what do you mean?”

“It’s fairly close, so no time for history. If I may borrow a term from the golfing world, his is a hole-in-one, a hole meant to have something appropriate in it. Because his family are Brits, he uses the word ‘rogering’ and always feels deficient if not given ‘a good rogering.’ To make sure his tailpipe’s in condition, he pre-lubes himself with alum-laced lubricant he makes in his school ‘laBOratory.’ Puts something in the concoction for a wholesome aroma.”

Lucas snickered. “Anything else for me to know while you’re parking?”

“J.S. affects an ovine manner. By that I mean he pretends sheepishness, sticking his butt out and remaining on all fours until… Wait a second.”

“You’ve paralleled perfectly. Go on, tell.”

“I’ll back up, I mean, tell you something I forgot. His being British, I assumed a spanking was to come first, then the ‘good rogering.’ Well, no. His shy innocence could never mean a misdemeanor for which a spanking might be due. Not at all. He likes to be gotten into with immediate assertiveness. You see him, you’ll know. Loosen your imagination when loosening your pants.”

Lucas listened. After introductions, he looked on as J.S. took position and held still.

“A farm animal we have here, don’t we Dad?” Awaiting no answer, “Livestock with not much fleece. A dumb creature. I’ll treat it the way a farm boy would.”

Abel beamed at his son’s screw of J.S. In his imagination, Lucas wore a straw hat and had a blade of grass in his mouth. His pelvis flew fast and furious, its ins and outs pounding his “sheep,” which did not move but which made sounds not unlike bleating.

“Best in the barnyard,” Lucas declared, rear-ending with youthful zest. “I’d love to rope him sometime.”                                                                        

The threat stampeded J.S.’s anus into neural hysteria. It boomed back to set off the Barr seven which burned into him like a branding iron, then quenched away the hurt. Squirt upon accumulating squirt.

Regarding where his cock had been, Lucas palmed pretend-ovine balls. “I could tie these, too.”

* * *

“Ready for ice cream? Lunch?”

“Instead of lunch, can we go to that joint that features huge, Hot-Fudge Bonanza Splits?

“Certainly. I can have one of their cheeseburgers and an order of crispy fires. Makes me hungry thinking about them.”

The Barrs occupied a red-plastic upholstered booth in order not to be overheard.

“J.S. took to you, son. That was excellent handling. Count on him and his loyalty.”

“But Dad, he never said anything, so I never heard his British accent.”

“You’re right. I guess your farm talk steered him into silence. Next time, find a way to use ‘bum’ in place of ‘butt,’ ‘arse’ in place of ‘ass.’ Research more lingo. Find a few idioms only Brits use. Tell him he sports a ‘cheeky’ bum. Call him ‘old chap.’ Better yet, ask him to hum or whistle ‘Rule Britannia’ while slowly fucking him and telling him, “Think of that photo you must have seen of Prince William’s large, soft cock pissing in the bushes when he was in the military and those of a totally naked Prince Harry cavorting in Las Vegas. Remember, a game of strip billiards?”

[A glimpse of the future for J**S******: He would hum, from first note to last, a multitude of times, ‘Rule Britannia’ in grand response to royal thoughts as if at sea.]

After using a paper napkin, Lucas glugged a glass of water. His dad did the same. And off they went to call upon Perry Nieham, said to be ticklish.

* * *

Impish in appearance, intellectually bright, and ripe of age, Perry epitomized rationality at school. He exhibited cerebral leadership in most situations. Any flaw in reason, whether by classmates, faculty, or administration, was exposed and corrected. Politely, of course.

Unerringly personable, as Abel Barr well knew, and well provided for by understanding parents, the chap anxiously hoped that young Lucas Barr, perhaps a couple of years his senior, had the wherewithal to take over his supple, mid-teens body and to drill it with his facsimile of Mr. Barr’s relentless seven inches. Thus, Perry stretched out and parted his legs with ankles and expectations up.

Lucas sidled over, thinking hard, when something about the room’s lighting brought his eyes to the white-skin areas just beneath Perry’s ribs. He inserted himself, pushed full-length and, with elbow support, commenced the dance of intercourse.

Ravel’s ‘Bolero’ – with its sinuous melody and mesmeric rhythmic ostinato – might have been playing as background music so steadily did the fuck’s quiet dynamic slowly, inevitably increase over fifteen minutes to a blare. At the instant something needed to happen, Lucas’s elbows shifted so his hands moved where he could tickle both ribs and sides. Perry twitched wildly: “Stop!” – “I can’t stand it!”

Stopping was not in the game plan.

Every shudder, every giggle, every protest registered somewhere on the rigid shaft of Lucas’s pummeling inches. Merciless with determination, Mr. Barr’s seventeen-year-old continued to tickle the gyrating, gasping, hysterical fifteen-year-old while driving deep with intent to climax.

Would his cock be damaged by Perry’s ripping panic?

A moment’s pause – like occurs at the almost-end of ‘Bolero’ – tricked Perry into belief that he could catch his breath. A terminal goose of the boy’s sides together with fervid slams into his bottom spiraled the part of his mind that rationalized events and made decisions. It went off-line; the other part took charge.

It propelled Perry and his scream into obliterating orgasm with Lucas.

Stillness followed.

Had they killed each other? Abel studied both motionless forms.

“Ahah,” he noticed with relief shallow breathing by the one and, a second later, the other.

Perry cracked an eye Abel’s way and wheezed, “He’s better than you. Now tug him off so I can pay for this.”

* * *

“Son, are you too sapped to make a proper showing for our last appointment?”

His dad lightly smacked Lucas’s face to bring him to. “Wha?...” was the result.

“Our..last..appointment – today. Or are you too weak for this man’s job? Need me to step back in?”

Sitting up, Lucas shook his head to clear the haze of its fog. “Calories… Need more calories.”

“Would it boost you to know their names are Kenwood and Geoffrey Clarendon? Platinum blond twins.”

Haze gone, fog lifting, Lucas swallowed, “Twins – identical?”

“Want a quick-to-get fruit smoothie?”

“Dad, you’re passing such clientele to me? You’re the greatest! May I thank you with a blowjob?”

Ignoring the offer, the greatest dad said, “Ken and Geoff will want your seven…” – he sought the right words to impress – “… anteriorly and posteriorly. Let’s get you those calories. And remember always to be fit to practice good cocksmanship.”

* * *

[Abel’s previous description fell short. Think of Dante Gabriel Rosetti’s 1847 self-portrait with its alluring face framed by elegant locks. Their bodies, not mentioned to, appeared as younger versions of the languorous nude types favored by Edward Burne-Jones.]

* * *

Ken and Geoff descended on Lucas They had him in the buff within seconds. First, one’s splendid mouth, then the other’s nuzzled tip to pubes, tongues playing catch as catch can along young Barr inches. And sucking. Oh, how those matched mouths could suck.

Abandon on his son’s face alarmed Abel. Caused parental concern: If he gives it up now, he’ll disappoint them when their rampant asses seek to share the succor of Barr-practice cock.

“All right, boys, you’ve tasted enough! He’ll feed your anal appetites as a high-price caterer should – in my tradition.”

Bony hips had to be pushed away. “You,” undaunted Lucas ordered, “on your belly over the side of the bed, legs wide enough so I can get to where my father worked for you.”

Geoff’s enthusiasm was reflected in Ken’s taking Lucas’s order to get atop his brother so his hole was precisely above Geoff’s, cock tucked out of sight.

“How’s that, Dad?”

“Phenomenal. A thought I never had. The unitary position suggests fruition of a new sort. Bully!”

Before anything else happened, Geoff already enjoyed the total body contact of being pinned under his brother’s weight. His was the first ass to gather the head of Lucas’s dampened penis and to accept its sweeping entry. So decisive was it, his neck hair bristled.

Perhaps a minute passed before there was motion – extrication!

Said penis shifted locations, swept into sighing Ken, claimed the new, similarly well-upholstered territory, churned it, was extracted, thrust with a degree of ferocity inside Geoff, fucking him for a longer while, then propelled with focused force of equal duration into Ken. Geoff’s turn to sigh at the loss, even temporarily.

To Ken, this Barr’s pistoning packed more power than his father had recently, proof that a changing of the guard showed acumen on the man’s part.

Each segment of the appointment’s time – a minute for each, then two apiece, three, four, five started with biologically-significant insertion and ended with psychologically-significant withdrawal.

The twins were delirious with anticipation of Lucas’s solo visit to come.

* * *

Lucas headed for the shower, his dad to the answering machine. Mrs. Englund had called to say that she would be baking for Lucas’s first free-form session with Tommy a yellow cake to be clad in buttercream frosting.

“It can serve as a stand-in for KY and tastes much better. Incidentally, my spatula’s handy. ”

Her last words teased his ego. “Should you not want to risk boredom in retirement, mightn’t you wish consider the delights of tutoring a few select younger boys…sons of neighbors?”

* * *