By Rob Maynard

Chapter 8

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It was the moment he had been waiting for all his life.

Or, at any rate, the moment he had been waiting for for the past couple of years.

And, after that long wait, it had all happened so surprisingly quickly.

Oliver hardly remembered any more how he and Steve had got from The Queen's Head back to the apartment.

And by now it quite escaped his mind how, on first entering the place, he had been struck by the changes of recent days.

The BOYS investigators had certainly been thorough.

While they had made a half-hearted attempt to put Steve's possessions back in some sort of order after they'd searched his apartment, anyone with half an eye could still see that it was basically a mess.

Several items from Steve Petersen's wardrobe - an eclectic mix ranging from tight leather pants to designer label silk shirts that most schoolteachers could only have bought if they'd come into an unexpected inheritance - were strewn over the floor.

The art on his walls - notably some valuable fist edition prints from the twentieth century cult artist Tom of Finland - was all askew.

So were the books on Steve's shelves, as if the officers had thumbed through all the pages for incriminating letters or documents (just as, of course, they had done).

And his collection of interactive media was strewn all over the floor too.

(Perhaps the fact that Steve's tastes clearly ran in a somewhat specialised direction - including several titles like Twinks in chains take a piss, High school handcuff boys and Wanking Willy gets a whipping - might have given some boys a pause for thought.

But not Oliver.

For him, Steve Petersen could simply do no wrong. He was, quite simply, an 18 year old in love - and hence, by definition, quite unable to see the slightest fault in the object of his desire.)

But any thoughts that Oliver had had about the state of Steve's apartment had been banished as soon as the door was closed.

Because, as soon as they were alone together, Steve had, without a word, pulled Oliver to him and kissed him.

Deeply.

Urgently.

And, as Steve's tongue probed roughly between his lips, Oliver - with a combination of Roland's effective coaching and innate animal instinct - opened his mouth wide and thrust his own tongue forward and deeply into Steve's mouth.

As he did so, his hips were yanked forward and he felt Steve clawing roughly at his belt, loosening the buckle and then thrusting his hand deep inside Olly's pants… pulling… pulling… and then gripping tight - oh, so tight - around Oliver's stiff, eager cock.

And from that point on, with waves of pure electric pleasure coursing repeatedly through his young body, the young boy would have been hard put to tell you exactly what happened.

The interesting thing was that whenever he'd fantasised about this moment in the past, he'd assumed that he'd be doing things.

After all, Roland's expert tuition (BOYS robots' programmes had been devised by the universe's top homo-sexologists) had made him, just as it was supposed to do, an expert in the techniques of gay sex even before his first real-life experience.

But, now that that time had actually come - and much to his own surprise - Oliver found that he was behaving completely passively.

He was a more than willing toy in Steve's hands.

Manipulated…

Pulled about every way…

Positioned…

Explored…

Yes, thoroughly explored…

And he was just loving it.

It was more than an hour later, in fact, after Steve had given practical expression to virtually all the exercises that Oliver had spent the past couple of years mastering in theory, that the boy had his first chance to consider what had happened.

What was happening at the time was that he was jack-knifed faced down over the arm of a chair, with his ass pointing up in the air.

Steve was kneeling behind him and pulling the smooth cheeks as wide apart as they would stretch. At the same time he was nibbling the soft, downy trail of hair that ran back from Ollie's balls and running his rough tongue around the youngster's sweet, dark hole, occasionally wiggling its point into the by now more than welcoming entrance.

Ollie knew more than anything else - more than anything he'd ever known in his whole life - what he wanted now.

As his muscles relaxed, Steve's tongue probed even deeper inside him, leaving a warm slimy trail of wetness in its wake.

And then Steve slowly put his fingers into his mouth and licked them, before pushing them - at first tentatively and then more firmly - into and out of Ollie's ass.

At first he pushed just a single finger inside the boy, deeper with every stroke, and then a second.

And, this time, he pushed them not only deep but gently wiggled them about, too, caressing the smooth, silky walls of the boy's rectum, so that Ollie's asshole, by now completely aflame with desire, was simultaneously deepened and widened in preparation for the inevitable next stage.

But, as Ollie took the opportunity to gather his thoughts about him, he knew that it was time to make a more positive contribution.

Reaching behind himself to pull Steve's fingers gently out of his ass, Ollie sat up.

Steve had already loosened his own pants, revealing a tight pair of white underpants, with a small wet patch already apparent on the front of a large and throbbing bulge.

Reaching forwards with both hands, Ollie grabbed hold of the waistband and tugged Steve's underwear gently down.

He was surprised.

The first thing that struck him was just how hairy Steve was.

And was quite unprepared for the enormous dick - not just long but fat too - that jumped out at him, slapping back hard against Steve's stomach, as the pants inched down.

Its red tip was already glistening wet.

Even though his experience of real-life guys' dicks had been zero before today, Ollie instinctively knew, as he moved his head forward and opened his mouth, that this was definitely one in need of immediate, close and detailed attention.

© Rob Maynard / HMBoys.com 2004 - 2007

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