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The Tenant
Part 20

by Graham

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Copyright on this story text belongs at all times to the original author only, whether stated explicitly in the text or not. The original date of posting to the MMSA was: 25 Dec 2017

Monday morning Steve awakened very early. He was lusting, desiring another, hot, passionate, erotic adventure with his sexy, uptight, little boy before they had to get ready, have breakfast, and leave for the high school, and the last day of school, devoted to final exams.

Lifting a weary, drowsy Mark Wickham up out of the bed by his waist, Steve walked the young man whose hands were still confined behind him into the bathroom to empty his bladder. Steve stood beside him, peeing into the toilet with him.

When they had finished, Steve flushed the toilet and hastily frogmarched the broken, subdued and submissive youth back to the bed they shared. Steve was already rapaciously aroused and erect, but was surprised at finding Mark’s member also thickening and growing fast.

Steve laid stretched out supine on the bed and lifted the light, lithe, younger man up in the air, bringing him down to sit on the coach’s front thighs. Leaning Mark backward also lifted the boy’s skinny, narrow butt, adjusting its angle until it was ready for the coach to spear with his own long, hard, sizeable rod.

Mark gasped and cried out, not in pain or fear this time, but more with excited anticipation. In very short time, the coach’s monster phallus had entered, driven forward, and was buried to the hilt, fully filling the younger man’s anal channel. The thought flashed past the teacher’s mind, the needed, missing part had been returned.

Steve pulled Mark up and forward, who eagerly took the whole shaft embedded in him, letting go and riding like a stick puppet! A ride it was!

It was more like being impaled on the back of a wild stallion that gored him up inside, while tossing and throwing him in every possible motion and direction, all of which ignited the climactic fires within the young teacher.

Mark screamed and cried out, not distress, or protest, but in the subjugating force of sexual stimulation that lit every erotic fire of passion and unleashed undulating floods of inner orgasms throughout his body.

Having his hard bone taken into his coach-masseuse’s mouth, while being drilled as hard and deeply as possible, snapped the line for both the thin, younger man and the bigger, stronger, aggressive one. Together, they both were screeching with uncontainable lust, desire, and delight.

For both young men, the first-thing-in-the-morning fuck was too much, too great, to undergo without melting under the intense, hot, rutting-like sex. They both were pulled down by the undertow of passions, catapulted into thinly oxygenated atmosphere where the only thing their minds could focus on was the rapturous ecstasy of climax.

When they slid down the cresting, orgasmic waves, they had expended every last, lustful movement and action, and every drop of semen reserved within them. After hungering kisses and Steve’s big, strong hands clasping and grasping the younger man’s boyish, skinny globes, they clung together for a few minutes more, holding on desperately as if afraid to let go.

Steve pulled Mark along with him to the bathroom, where they showered together, Steve shampooing and shaving his unresisting, accepting victim, as well as himself.

The day before, Sunday, they had washed and ironed the clothes Mark had worn to classes on Friday. So they were clean and ready for him to dress in again for Monday’s finals.

After the shower, drying and deodorant, Steve dressed Mark in his same, blue trunk briefs, his dress pants, and the same, clean socks on his skinny feet. After that, he temporarily bound Mark’s ankles, before releasing the arms and wrists that had been bound behind the younger man since Saturday afternoon.

Dressing Mark in his t-shirt, the same, clean dress shirt, and tie, the coach pulled Mark’s arms back behind him, and restrained them together again with tape.

Awww, Steve, can’t I be free? Can’t you let me loose finally? he asked entreatingly. Aaaaa-ow-ow-ow-oooo-kaaaaay! Aaaa-ooo-aaa-ow-ow-aaaa-kaaaay! Mark cried out as Steve’s strong, broad hand swatted the skinny, young teacher’s skinny behind.

This close to returning to school together, the coach was unwilling to make a foolish move of trusting Mark’s arms and hands to be free. Buttoning the shirt buttons, he tied the tie, tucked in the shirttail and zipped up the squirming, young teacher’s pants, buckling the belt around them.

Come on, little man. We’re going to get some breakfast to start the day and hold us for a while.

He sat Mark down at the table. The quite youthful looking teacher’s face flinched and grimaced at the force of his bottom weighing down against seat of the chair.

While brewing coffee, Steve cooked eggs, potatoes, and bacon and brought them to the table for breakfast. Sitting next to each other, he fed Mark, as well as himself, stopping to wipe his own and Mark’s mouths, and to give the young teacher sips of coffee.

Periodically, the coach would pause, then affix his mouth to the younger, thinner, smaller teacher’s mouth, while they exchanged plunging tongues with each other. Mark’s eyes looked wide and shocked, but he did not resist or try to pull his head away.

At last they were ready to head out. The 30-minute drive would get them to the high school about 10 minutes before 8 a.m. When they drove into the lot, Mark’s eyes widened as he saw his car parked far back and away, almost out of sight of the classroom building.

Steve parked away from Mark’s car, but also in a more distant location. Shutting off the engine, he turned to his young partner, took the slim, narrow face in his hands, and planted another, long, passionate kiss on the young teacher’s mouth.

Mark’s face evidenced his surprise and domination by another, forceful kiss, though not without reciprocating. Whose boy you are, young man?

He paused, staring into Mark’s face. Flustered and intimidated, the young teacher answered, Yuh-yours.

Right you are, little man. Remember it. Have a great day. I’ll pick you up tonight. We can pick up some of your things to bring to my place, our place, okay? Mark nodded in agreement.

Steve got out, helped Mark out of the car, and finally, at last, cut the restraints on, freeing, Mark’s arms and hands. To Mark it was the wonderful feeling of freedom he had felt on Saturday morning, but lost again when Steve caught him trying to escape.

Before he released the young teacher to walk across the large lot to the high school building, the assistant coach pulled him into an enormous, encompassing, gorilla hug.

Steve’s big broad hands grasped and scooped around the skinny teacher’s bony, narrow butt, holding onto it, while lifting the lean, lithe young man’s feet off the ground.

Releasing him, Steve instantly groped and grasped hold of the obvious boner bulging in the front of the young teacher’s pants, squeezing it over and over while Mark gasped in reaction.

Are you going to be a good, little boy today? the big, young coach asked, followed by, Whose little boy are you?

Yuh-esss! Ah, ah, yuh-ours, ah, Stuh-eve! Mark responded rotely, with a suppressed edge of exasperation. The coach spun him around and swatted the seat of the dress pants, dispatching Mark on his way.

Remember where you find real relief and release for that, little man; and where you get spanked if you don’t, he muttered tersely.

Nodding, Mark breathed in like a submissive child, turned to smile a wan smile back at his coach-friend, and slowly, hesitantly, almost unsteadily walk toward the high school classroom building.

By the time he got to the building, Steve White was out of sight, in the gym. Opening up his classroom, Mark felt an perplexing mixture of feelings: welcome, relief, duty, and a sense of personal independence and self-command, autonomy.

He was glad he had left everything prepared and ready for Monday’s exams. From the first to the fifth and final class’s exams, Mark was prepared, in charge, and reliably acquitted himself in presenting and supervising the exams.

The only exception was each time his sore rump and thighs reminded him of the near countless spankings he’d gotten over the weekend. Additionally, the new feeling at and in his hole reminded him of how frequently, deeply, and fully it had been banged and filled over the same time period, leaving him feeling like an essential, integral, fitting part was missing.

In the instantaneous, fearful, but fleeting, questions in his mind over whether any of his students could detect any of that, Mark flushed a slight, pinkish red while starting to perspire. To his shamefaced discomfort, he felt the recurrent, burgeoning bulge of a boner in the front of his pants.

He decided he would move his car at lunchtime, closer to the school, so he could get away, right away, and head back to his apartment at Mr. Strauss’ house. Digging into his pockets, he realized Steve had taken his keys and still had them.

Mark remembered he had a spare set of keys in the desk drawer in his classroom. Retrieving them, he hiked the long walk to his car, and drove it out of the lot, to park it on a residential street near the high school, away from plain view.

After eating the lunch Steve had packed him, Mark sat somewhat uncomfortably in his classroom, waiting for the 1 p.m. examinees to arrive. By 4:30, the last of the exams were finished, and Mark had packed up everything that was his, tidied up the classroom, locked the door, and walked out of the building to where he left his car.

He did not know why he felt anxious, jittery even, and continuously hard through his finalizing and closing up the classroom, leaving the building and walking to his car, and all the while driving to his apartment at Mr. Strauss’ house.

The house was empty when he arrived before 5 p.m. Mr. Strauss was nowhere to be found. Entering the house, Mark walked down to his apartment door, unlocked it and entered, deliberately locking it behind himself.

Setting down the materials he had brought from the high school classroom, he dropped down and backwards into the big recliner, exhausted, allowing himself to let go, relax, and feel the tranquility of freedom.

Quickly undressing from the same dress pants, shirt, tie, and shoes he had worn last Friday, and again that Monday, he peeled off his t-shirt and trunk briefs (which were also the same ones he’d worn the previous Friday).

His young manhood bounded upward, stiff and hard, eager and overly excited. Lying back supine on his bed, he longed to repose and relieve himself with a leisurely wank, but his nervousness overtook him and too quickly he brought himself to climax.

Shortly following his orgasm, he drifted off to a recuperative snooze. When he awoke, he lay there in his bed, passive and still, remembering and thinking about what all had happened to him over the past few months, and the past weekend.

Filled with mounting anxiety, he wondered what it all meant, about how his life had changed, and was changing, and what it meant. Why had so much of it felt good, very good and pleasurable, to him? If it truly did, why was he best with riddling feelings of dreaded detest and distaste over what had happened?

That Monday evening, in his apartment, he felt good, relieved to be out in the world at large again, yet to be in the safety and security of his own apartment. He ignored his cell phone that carried calls and texts from assistant coach, Steve White.

Later, he heard the faint sound of the door bell at Mr. Strauss’ house. A few minutes later, he heard Mr. Strauss calling to him through his apartment door.

Mark! Mark! Steve White is here. He wants to see you, talk with you.

Noooo, please, Mr. Strauss. Tell him I’m in bed, sick. Don’t let him in here. Please, send him away. Please, Mr. Strauss. I just need to be left alone. Please, Mr. Strauss.

Martin Strauss was confounded. That was a strange reaction from Mark to one of the two, younger guys the young tenant knew, the one with whom he’d been spending a lot of time over the past few months.

Are you sure, Mark? he asked.

Yes, yes, sir, please. I don’t feel too great,... need to be alone. Just tell him I’m resting, need rest. Tell him I’ll call him tomorrow, okay?

Okay, Mark, Mr. Strauss agreed. The young tenant’s strained voice thanked his landlord.

After that, everything was quiet. The young teacher holed up in his apartment, lying low, lying around, resting and recuperating until darkness fell, at which time he got up and ready and put himself to bed, crawling in on his stomach and chest.

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