Oscar - 15. Part 15

The next five seconds were intense.

The sun had set. The air was still and silent. A late evening chill had forced the rest of the park-goers home and condensed our breath into slow, steady, steaming plumes. My heart thumped. My palms were sweaty.

In the purple of twilight, Tim Price and I were finally alone.

Touching distance.

Half of me loved it. Every nanosecond. Every shard of time chipping away. Every moment looking up at him. Over his swelling shorts, past his flat, strong abdomen; his wide, curved pecs; his powerful shoulders. Up past his rugged jaw and his thick, kissable lips to his eyes. His deep brown eyes.

My cock, full and thick and hard, stretched across my leg, pushing out the thin fabric coating my thigh. My mouth curled to one side in an embarrassed grin. My hands gripping the cold metal of the rusting, green bench to show off my biceps and triceps.

Miniscule compared to his.

But even though the man of my dreams was mere inches from my hands and mouth and body, the other half of me couldn’t stand it. For those five agonising seconds, I was no longer in control. I wasn’t calling the shots.

I’d successfully dangled the bait, but I couldn’t force him to bite. I’d taken the horse to water, but was he thirsty? Up until that point it had been all me and now it wasn’t. Regardless of what I said or did next, Mr. Price was in charge.

He had a decision to make. Would he stay? Or would he go?

Would he linger with the blushing boy in front of him? Abandon himself to primal urges. Let his body do the things he was dying every day to do. He didn’t remember me. Why would he leave?

But he could.

He could have muttered some apologetic remark, turned on his heels and kept running. Hightail away before memories of his humiliated, broken wife tainted his reality and destroyed his desires. It was possible.

Probable.

No matter how much of a ravenous cock-sucker Adam had made him out to be, a voice in my head wouldn’t let it go. Wouldn’t stop reminding me that this guy had gone crazy.

I wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t remembered me. Sport wasn’t exactly my forte. But back when he was just another sir, I remembered him. Every detail.

Mr. Price had never raised his voice. Never gotten angry. Never shouted or screamed without seriously good reason. Pricey had been the kind of teacher that had effortlessly commanded respect. The kind of sir that treated you like an equal. Spoke to you like an adult.

The one time he’d called me to his office was no different. Waiting to be told off for skipping class and longing to be sat on his lap. He was the kind of guy who only needed to widen his eyes and tilt his head to emphasise how unhappy he was. But he listened. Asked why. Gave a shit.

Then one morning, it had all changed. He’d been walking from the staff room, through the main quad, to the hall. Naturally I’d been watching his every step.

A group of year sevens had run past. Little, excited kids. One of them had caught Tim’s arm with their rucksack and knocked his coffee out of his hands.

As porcelain had shattered against concrete so had he. All of his pain and fear and guilt, all of his secret shame bubbling away as his marriage was falling apart and his career dangled on a shoestring, had erupted in an explosion of sadness and loss and anger.

I’d watched it all. Gobsmacked. Even for him it hadn’t been pretty. I’d even felt sorry for the kid.

A few days later, news had circulated that the kid’s parents had pushed for the harshest punishment. After he’d cleared out his things, Mr. Price was gone.

The widely accepted theory had been stress. An early mid-life crisis, naively believed by children who didn’t know any better. I’d been one of them. But while now I knew the real reason he’d broken down, I didn’t know if he was roadworthy.

There was always a chance he would eventually recognise me. That I would stop being a jogger from the park and start being a very real reminder of his past.

No matter what kind of response I’d rehearsed and had ready in my head for what happened next, I knew I was playing with fire. I knew any moment all my planning and scheming could go up in flames and the last two weeks could be for nothing.

Fortunately, it seemed I had greatly overestimated how traumatic his experience had been. Mr. Price, I quickly learned, had adapted to his new life with the kind of vigour and energy you’d expect from a sports teacher.

‘Well, well,’ he said looking left to right.

We were alone. He squatted in front of me again. Reaching out he wrapped his fingers around the long, thick bulge in my shorts. I flinched with pleasure. He squeezed harder and I gasped quietly.

‘You’re a big boy, aren’t you?’ he said.

Practically beaming from ear to ear, I locked my eyes on his. Opened my legs wider. Tensed my quads and glutes and pushed my crotch into his hand.

Sweet success.

His grip tightened and I grinded myself against him. A wave of pleasure pulsed through me as a brief gust of wind raced by. Warm, wet pre-cum seeped onto my leg. A quiet moan dripped from my lips.

I relaxed back onto the bench and he released his grip. Stood up: his own shorts bulging so obviously in front of my face I almost dribbled.

‘Is there anywhere we can go?’ I said.

‘And do what?’

Staring at his humungous bulge I said, ‘Whatever you want.’

He looked left to right again. A new dog walker had appeared on the edge of the park and a large German Shephard was bolting across the grass away from us. It barked loudly, echoing through the empty park like gunfire. I watched his gaze follow it. Then he looked over my head. To the forest.

‘Can you walk yet?’

Standing slowly, I stood. He was only three inches taller than me, but his broad, muscular body made him seem like a giant up close. Moving from foot to foot I fake winced a little. But not too much. I needed him to know I was malleable.

‘Just about.’

‘Follow me,’ he said.

Within a minute we had crossed the field, traversed the dried-out creek and were quietly creeping into dense, dark forest. Trees tall and ancient and short and young surrounded us. Oaks or ashes or elms, I wasn’t sure in the dim of the growing night.

They didn’t matter. What mattered was that, from the outside world, we were invisible.

Twigs snapped and cracked as I followed his darkening silhouette; leaves and branches bristling and whipping against my bare legs. Soft, spongey, leaf-covered soil cushioned our tread and filled our nostrils with sweet scents of unspoilt earth mingling with hot, salty, evaporating sweat.

He stopped and half turned in my direction. Reached out his hand and I took it. Pulling me closer he led me around him. Turned me so I faced him. Pushed me gently against a wide, mossy tree trunk. Its soft coating squishing against my back like a thin, cold mattress.

My eyes had adjusted to the dark, but colour was gone. A mix of defined greys and blacks, he let go of my hand. Stood tall. Then he pulled the carpet from under me.

‘I know who you are,’ he said.

Keeping a straight face as best I could, and never more thankful for the veil of night, I shrugged my shoulders.

‘Do you?’ I said casually.

Calmly. My palms suddenly sweatier than ever. My heart beating in my throat.

‘Yes, Oscar. You didn’t think I’d recognise one of my students?’

I opened my mouth to speak. To continue my ruse. Make up some fake name. Lie through my teeth.

Apart from our encounter in his office, him and I had never spoken. How could he really remember me out of all those boys? He must have taught hundreds.

But then I remembered where I was. Where he’d led me. He’d known all along and here we were.

Throwing my hands up I pushed myself gently off the tree. Ran my fingertips down his chest. The hairs on my neck stood on end. His muscles felt amazing.

‘You got me,’ I said, standing so close our breath warmed each other’s face. ‘But I’m not one of your students anymore.’

He laughed, deep but quiet. Pushed me back against the tree with one hand. Then he leaned forward and propped himself up with an outstretched arm.

‘Still an observant little so-and-so aren’t you?’ he said.

The sky above us black. The whites of his eyes slate grey.

I shrugged. Said, ‘I thought you said I was a big boy.’

‘You are,’ he said, reaching out with his other hand and holding onto me again.

Keeping his eyes fixed on mine, his arm moved slowly back and forth.

‘A very big boy,’ he said.

‘How come you played along?’ I said, resisting the urge to pull down my shorts and briefs so I could feel skin on skin.

Heat on heat.

‘It was cute. Pretending to hurt yourself so I would stop and talk to you. I thought I’d let you have some fun.’

‘Bullshit,’ I said, mostly sure he was bluffing.

He laughed again, his arm keeping its phenomenal rhythm.

Then he said, ‘Ok. At first, I didn’t recognise you. You were just a cute boy in need. But when you sat on the bench I had a flashback.’

I moaned quietly, electrified by his revelation.

‘In your office,’ I said.

He nodded. Said, ‘Your eyes. They were so hungry.’

‘They still are.’

‘Is that so?’

I laughed. Said, ‘I couldn’t be more certain.’

‘Good,’ he said.

Letting go of me, he pushed himself back to vertical. Cocked his head like he was looking me up and down. I made out what I thought was a grin.

‘How old are you now?’ he said.

‘Nineteen,’ I lied.

‘Good,’ he said again.

Then he bent down and took off his left trainer. Began to unthread the lace.

‘What are you doing?’ I said.

He didn’t answer. Just kept unthreading. Quickly but proficiently. Fabric twine whirred and scraped through the holes with each sharp pull.

Finished, he slipped the loose shoe back onto his foot, grabbed me by the arm and turned me around. Pulling my hands behind my back he tied my wrists together.

Tight. But not the tightest I’d ever had. I could wriggle out if I’d really wanted to. Then he flipped me back to face him.

This time he was smiling. I could see his teeth.

‘I’m going to finally give you the punishment you deserved for skipping my class,’ he said.

‘Fuck yes,’ I said.

Raising a single finger to his lips he shushed me. Then he placed his hand on his crotch, over his shorts, and gripped himself.

‘Not a word. Understand?’ he said.

I nodded. Fast. For the first time in my life I was more than happy to play any game he wanted.

‘On your knees,’ he said.

I did as I was told. The soil was cold but dry, giving under my bare knees. Twigs snapped. Grit and dirt stung at my bloody graze.

Placing a hand on the top of my head he ran this palm through my hair. Grabbed a tuft. Let go.

‘You’re going to take my load.’

I said nothing. Bit my tongue to stop myself asking how that could be a punishment. Checked that my hands were still restrained. They were.

‘But you don’t get a choice of where,’ he said. ‘You’re going to open your throat for me and take every inch until I empty my balls into your stomach. Do I make myself clear?’

As each word vibrated through my ears my mouth hung more and more. My mind began racing at the thought of him using me like his personal property. His load hitting the back of my throat and filling me from the inside.

I must have nodded. I don’t remember. I was living a dream.

‘Good. Open wider.’