Father Johnson wiped the sweat from his brow as he sipped a cold glass of water. The heat was almost unbearable, but it couldn't compare to the fiery passion that consumed him yesterday during Brandon's visit. The image of the fit swim jock's toned body and beads of sweat glistening on his skin was etched into his memory.
As Father Johnson sat in his office, he couldn't help but relive the events of yesterday. The image of Brandon, bound to the bed with cuffs as he sucked him off not once, but 4 times, filled his mind. The sensation of the boy's thick cock in his mouth and the taste of his salty-sweet cum on his tongue got him licking his lips for more.
As Brandon lay panting on the bed, spent from the intense session with Father Johnson, the priest carefully removed the cuffs from his wrists and ankles. The relief was immediate, and Brandon's limbs felt heavier as he stretched them out, savoring the freedom of movement. Father Johnson, still trying to catch his own breath, couldn't help but admire the young swimmer's well-defined body. Brandon's skin glistened with sweat, and his chest rose and fell rapidly as he struggled to regain his composure.
"Well done Brandon," Father Johnson said finally, trying to sound calm and collected despite the intense lust still coursing through his veins. "You are cleansed for now. But you have to come see me on a regular basis so I can pray over you".
Breaking out of his perverted thoughts, Father Johnson picked up the phone and dialed a number he knew by heart. It rang a few times before a familiar voice answered. "Father Johnson! What a pleasant surprise."
"Ah, Coach Thompson," Father Johnson's voice carried a subtle edge, hinting at depths unspoken. "I was just reflecting on the swim team, especially after Brandon visited me at the church yesterday. His dedication to his sport is quite admirable."
Coach Thompson's response crackled through the line, curiosity piqued. "Oh? You met Brandon? What brought him to your doorstep, Father?"
"He sought ...spiritual guidance," Father Johnson replied smoothly, his mind flickering back to the image of Brandon's muscular form bound on his bed. Father Johnson shuddered at the thought but composed himself and carried on. "We had a... profound discussion about his path and purpose. It seems your training methods have not only honed his physical prowess but also stirred some deeper reflections."
There was a pause, then Coach Thompson chuckled, a sound that seemed to slither through the phone. "Well, I'm glad to hear it. Brandon is quite the specimen, isn't he? So strong, so obedient. It's almost as if he's under a spell sometimes, don't you think?"
Father Johnson's grip tightened on the receiver, his interest piqued by the coach's choice of words. "Indeed, Coach. A spell of sorts."
Coach Thompson's voice oozed with a suggestive tone as he asked, "So, Father Johnson, how can I help you with Brandon?"
Father Johnson's grin widened, his mind racing with images of Brandon's muscular form and hot cock. "Well, Mr Thompson," he replied, his voice steady yet laced with a hidden excitement, "I believe there's more we can do to guide Brandon on his path. His potential is... immense."
"Indeed it is," Coach Thompson agreed, his chuckle low and knowing. "And what did you have in mind, Father? More spiritual guidance, or perhaps something... more hands-on?"
Father Johnson leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with a mix of lust and calculation. "Perhaps a combination of both. I find that physical training and spiritual enlightenment often go hand in hand. Don't you agree?"
"Absolutely, Father," Coach Thompson responded, his voice smooth as silk. "I look forward to collaborating with you. Brandon is quite the project, isn't he?"
"Indeed he is," Father Johnson said, his mind already spinning with plans. "Indeed he is."
As Brandon walked towards the school's administrative building, the morning sun casting a warm glow over his well-defined muscles, he felt tired and drained. Father Johnson told Brandon he was finally cleansed and that he was born to provide for these lecherous old men. In return, Brandon will have the power and control needed to be a champion. He found himself contemplating Father Johnson and Coach Thompson's message about having power and control over lecherous old men. Was this really what he wanted? To be reduced to a mere object of desire, used by those who claimed to have his best interests at heart?
Determined to explore this new dynamic, Brandon decided to confront Mr. Bunhead, the rotund history professor notorious for his wandering hands during class discussions. Today, instead of avoiding the man's touch, Brandon planned to meet it head-on, testing the boundaries of this so-called power and control.
The scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the hallways as students hurried past, their voices blending into a cacophony of chatter. Brandon knocked on Mr Bunhead's office door, his heart racing with anticipation.
Brandon did not wait for a response and pushed open the door to Mr. Bunhead's office, the hinges creaking slightly under the pressure. The room was messy, with stacks of papers and books scattered haphazardly across the desk and floor.
Mr. Bunhead was hunched over a stack of papers, his rotund belly straining against the buttons of his shirt. Startled by the sudden intrusion, Mr Bunhead looked up from his paperwork, his piggy face sweaty and grimy.
"Ah, Brandon! What brings you here?" Mr. Bunhead asked, his voice a mix of surprise and unrestrained lust as he eyed the swimmer's muscular body.
Brandon stepped closer, his confidence bolstered by the recent revelations from Father Johnson and Coach Thompson. "I wanted to discuss my sports history essay grade, sir," he began, his voice steady despite the churning emotions beneath the surface.
Mr. Bunhead leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving Brandon's body. "Of course, of course. But first, tell me, how are things going with your swimming? I hear you're quite the star on the team."
Brandon shifted slightly, feeling the weight of Mr. Bunhead's gaze. "Things are... challenging, but good. Coach Thompson has been pushing me hard."
A piggy smile spread across Mr. Bunhead's face. "Pushing you hard, eh? Well, it certainly shows. You're looking more... developed than ever."
The innuendo was clear, and Brandon felt a mix of discomfort and a strange thrill at the blatant admiration. "Thank you, sir. err...About my grade—"
"Yes, yes, your grade," Mr. Bunhead interrupted, his voice eager as he leaned forward, the chair creaking under his weight. "I'm sure we can find a way to boost your essay score. What do you think, Brandon?"
Brandon, feeling a surge of boldness, met Mr. Bunhead's gaze directly. "I was hoping you could give me some specific feedback, sir. Maybe even go over it together? I really want to understand where I can improve."
Mr. Bunhead's eyes lit up at the suggestion, his desperation plastered across his face. "YES! yes, of course. That sounds like an excellent idea. We can have a private...err.. session right here....if ...if you have the time." Mr Bunhead was trembling at the prospect of spending such intimate time with the muscled jock stud that he was almost palpitating out of control.
Without missing a beat, Brandon nodded, his confidence growing. "That sounds perfect, sir. I really appreciate your willingness to help."
Mr. Bunhead stood up so abruptly the room reverberated a little, waddling around his desk to lock the office door. The click of the lock echoed in the small room, sealing their arrangement.
"Just ensuring we have some privacy for our discussion," Mr. Bunhead explained, his voice quivering as he turned back to face Brandon, his eyes darting nervously around the room.
Brandon's gaze was steady, his mind racing with the implications of this locked-door session. "I see," he replied, his tone neutral yet probing. He wondered if this was just the beginning of mastering the power and control Father Johnson and Coach Thompson had spoken of.
Mr. Bunhead eagerly grabbed Brandon's paper and waddled over to the small sofa in the corner of his office where Brandon was seating. He plopped down heavily, making sure to position himself uncomfortably close to Brandon. The heat from his sweaty body radiated against Brandon's skin, causing an involuntary shiver.
"Let's take a look at this together, shall we?" Mr. Bunhead said, his voice dripping with anticipation as he spread the paper between them. His arm brushed against Brandon's, the contact lingering longer than necessary.
Brandon, feeling the sticky warmth of Mr. Bunhead's skin against his own, steeled himself. "I really appreciate your help, sir. I want to make sure I understand everything," he replied.
Mr. Bunhead leaned in closer, his breath deep, hot and heavy on Brandon's neck and collarbone. "Of course, Brandon. We'll go through every detail. I'm here to support you... in every way possible." His eyes flicked up to meet Brandon's, a clear message in their beady depths.
Brandon nodded, maintaining eye contact. "Thank you, sir. "
As Mr. Bunhead continued to explain the essay points to Brandon, his touch became increasingly invasive, his fingers lingering on Brandon's arm or shoulder more than necessary. The room felt suffocating, thick with the heat of their bodies and the tension that hung in the air.
"You know, it's quite warm in here, isn't it?" Mr. Bunhead remarked, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. His eyes darted to Brandon's tank top, which was clinging slightly to his chest due to perspiration. "Do you feel hot too, Brandon?" he asked, his voice quivering with a mix of desire and nervousness.
Brandon, feeling the damp fabric against his skin, nodded slightly. "Yeah, it is pretty warm," he agreed, uncomfortable not just with the temperature but also with Mr. Bunhead's proximity and the weight of his gaze.
Mr. Bunhead licked his lips, his eyes fixed on the outline of Brandon's muscles visible through his tanktop. "Being sweaty makes it harder to learn," he suggested, his voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe you should take off your tank top... if you're comfortable with that, of course."
The suggestion hung in the air between them, charged with unspoken implications. He knew what Mr. Bunhead wanted, and part of him recoiled at the thought of giving in to such blatant manipulation. Yet, another part of him, fueled by the words of Father Johnson and Coach Thompson, wondered if this was another test of his control and power.
After a moment's pause, Brandon reached for the hem of his tank top, his movements deliberate. Slowly, he pulled the fabric over his head, revealing his sculpted torso, glistening with sweat. He tossed the shirt aside, his eyes never leaving Mr. Bunhead's face.
Mr. Bunhead's eyes gleamed with an unspoken desire as he watched Brandon remove his tank top, the young swimmer's chest heaving slightly with each breath. "It's important to stay comfortable," he said, his voice a mix of false authority and eagerness. "Let me help you with that sweat."
Without waiting for a response, Mr. Bunhead reached out, his hands trembling slightly as they made contact with Brandon's damp skin. He wiped slowly across Brandon's torso, his touch lingering on the ridges of muscle. Each stroke seemed calculated, savoring the feel of Brandon's firm body under his palms. "There, that should make it easier to focus," Mr. Bunhead murmured, his voice husky as he reluctantly withdrew his hands. "Now, let's get back to your essay."
As they resumed their discussion, Mr. Bunhead's hands became increasingly bold, straying from the paper to rest on Brandon's forearm, then slowly sliding up to his bicep, squeezing it gently as if testing its firmness. Each touch lingered longer than necessary, sending a jolt of mixed feelings through the young athlete.
"Your body, Brandon, it's like a well-crafted essay itself—strong, defined, and full of potential." His fingers traced the outline of Brandon's quadriceps, lingering on the muscle's contour. "Every part of you tells a story."
"However, look at this here, Brandon," Mr. Bunhead's voice practically shaking as he pointed at a paragraph, his other hand now tracing circles on Brandon's shoulder, "your analysis is quite strong, but it lacks... depth." His fingers dipped lower, brushing against the curve of Brandon's pectoral muscles, causing Brandon to tense involuntarily.
Brandon, moaned just a little but still maintaining his composure, nodded, focusing on the words being spoken but acutely aware of the physical contact. "Depth in what sense, sir?"
Mr. Bunhead's voice quivered, betraying his nervous excitement as he leaned closer to Brandon, his breath hot and erratic against the young man's neck. "In the sense that you need to explore your subjects more intimately, understand them thoroughly, like this..." His hand, trembling slightly, slid down further, fingertips hesitantly grazing over Brandon's nipple, causing it to pebble under the unexpected touch. A shiver ran through Brandon, a mix of surprise and something deeper, less definable.
As Mr. Bunhead continued to review the essay, his fingers remained on Brandon's nipple, occasionally tweaking it as if emphasizing a point. "See here, Brandon," he said, pointing at a sentence with his free hand, "your argument could be stronger if you delve deeper into the historical context. Just like how I'm exploring... this." His fingers twisted the nipple slightly, causing Brandon to inhale sharply.
Brandon, caught between discomfort and intrigue, nodded slowly. "I see what you mean, sir. More depth is needed," he agreed, his voice losing its steadiness from the tingling sensation spreading from his chest.
Mr. Bunhead's eyes gleamed with a blend of scholarly intensity and an underlying, more fervent longing. "Indeed, depth is crucial in both writing and understanding," he murmured, his voice slightly unsteady as he leaned in closer. "For instance, tactile exploration can greatly enhance comprehension. Consider how the subtle use of touch—perhaps even the gentle press of lips—can reveal nuances otherwise missed."
His words hung in the air, charged with suggestion as his gaze dropped momentarily to Brandon's chest, then back up to meet his eyes. The implication was clear, yet subtly delivered, leaving little room for interpretation and reaction.
Mr Bunhead's hands trembled slightly as he spoke, and he licked his lips nervously, his gaze locked onto Brandon's chest.
Without waiting for any acknowledgment from Brandon, Mr. Bunhead inched forward, his breath quickening against Brandon's skin. "Let's examine this part of your essay more closely," he whispered, his voice barely steady as his lips hovered just above the sensitive skin around Brandon's nipple. "It's crucial to taste and feel the subtleties, don't you think?"
His words were rushed, filled with a desperate need for approval, as if seeking validation for his bold approach.
Brandon's breath hitched, a wave of conflicting emotions surging through him. The touch was invasive yet oddly stimulating, pushing him further into uncharted territory.
"I suppose so, sir," Brandon managed to say, his voice a mix of confusion and arousal.
Encouraged by Brandon's response, Mr. Bunhead's actions became bolder. He circled the nipple with his tongue, each pass slower and more deliberate than the last. "Just as in history, every detail matters," he explained, his voice muffled against Brandon's skin. "One must savor each moment, each sensation, to truly grasp its significance."
Mr. Bunhead's mouth closed over the hardened nipple, sucking gently, pulling at the sensitive flesh as if extracting knowledge itself. Mr. Bunhead's hands trembled slightly, betraying his nervous excitement, but his mouth remained determinedly on its task, mapping out the contours of Brandon's chest with his lips and tongue.
Brandon's breath quickened, each gasp a clear indication of the growing pleasure as Mr. Bunhead's tongue flicked and circled his nipples with increasing intensity. The history professor, his voice thick with a mix of scholarly fervor and lust, interspersed his oral explorations with insights on the essay. "Here," he whispered against the damp skin, his breath hot and heavy, "you must delve deeper into these historical connections, just as I am delving into the depths of your reactions."
Mr. Bunhead's lips pulled at one nipple, gently tugging before releasing it with a soft pop, then switching to the other with a series of rapid, teasing sucks. "Every detail, every nuance is crucial," he explained, his fingers lightly pinching the aroused flesh between words, gauging Brandon's response. "Just like in your essay, precision and attention to detail can transform understanding."
Brandon's reaction was palpable; his eyes rolled back as soft moans escaped his lips, and his chest involuntarily protruded, granting Mr. Bunhead easier access to the sensitive flesh. The young swimmer's body betrayed his growing arousal, muscles tensing and relaxing rhythmically under the professor's ministrations.
Mr. Bunhead's eyes gleamed with a feverish light, his scholarly facade slipping further away with each passing moment. His hands, slick with sweat, moved with increasing boldness, tracing the contours of Brandon's torso and inching closer to the waistband of his shorts. The reality of finally having his hands on the swim jock he had long admired sent waves of ecstasy through him, his every touch fueled by months of suppressed desire.
Mr. Bunhead's breath was ragged, his eyes locked on Brandon's torso as he continued his metaphor. "Just as in history, every era has its pivotal moments," he panted, his fingers inching towards the waistband of Brandon's shorts. "And right now, we're approaching one such moment."
With a swift, decisive motion, he tugged down Brandon's shorts, revealing the young swimmer's throbbing, hard, veiny cock.
The sight nearly caused Mr. Bunhead to choke, his heart racing at the sudden unveiling of his deepest desires. "Oh, Brandon," he gasped, his voice a mix of awe and uncontrollable lust. "It's... it's like uncovering a historical artifact of immense significance!"
Brandon, his voice wavering slightly with a mix of boldness and uncertainty, looked down at Mr. Bunhead and murmured, "Worship me."
The command was delivered with a tentative edge, as if testing the waters of his newfound authority, yet it resonated deeply within the charged atmosphere of the room.
Mr. Bunhead, his eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and unbridled desire, responded immediately to the command. His hands trembled as they reached out, his fingers tracing reverently over the contours of Brandon's muscular thighs, inching closer to the erect member that stood proudly before him. "Yes, Brandon," he whispered, his voice thick with a desperate need to please. "I will worship you, just as history worships its heroes."
Mr. Bunhead's eyes widened with a mix of awe and desperation as he leaned forward, his piggy mouth opening wide to engulf Brandon's throbbing cock. His lips wrapped tightly around the shaft, sucking with an intensity that suggested it was indeed the last thing he would ever consume. Mr Bunhead was deep throating with all his might, choking on Brandon's tool.
Simultaneously, his pudgy, sweaty hands roamed freely over Brandon's muscular body, exploring every curve and contour with a feverish urgency. Each touch was deliberate, each squeeze calculated to elicit a response from the young athlete whose command had set this scene into motion.
Brandon, caught in a whirlwind of sensations, almost instinctively put his hands behind Mr. Bunhead's balding head, guiding him deeper into the act. Mr. Bunhead, sensing the urgency, redoubled his efforts, his lips and tongue working feverishly to please the muscled jock.
Each movement was precise, each suckle calculated to bring Brandon closer to the edge. The room filled with the sound of slurping and the occasional muffled groan from Brandon, who was now teetering on the brink of ecstasy.
His body tensed, muscles flexing under Mr. Bunhead's adoring gaze, as he prepared to unleash the pent-up energy coursing through him. Just as Brandon felt his orgasm approaching, a primal urge to yell out his release surged within him.
Sensing the impending climax, Mr. Bunhead quickly used one of his pudgy hands to cover Brandon's mouth, muffling the sound for fear of being discovered. The sudden pressure against his lips only heightened the intensity of the moment, adding an element of forbidden thrill to the already charged atmosphere.
Brandon grunted in delirious ecstasy as he shot his hot sperm into Mr Bunhead's throat, muffled because of Mr Bunhead's grubby hand covering his mouth. Brandon's muffled cries subsided and were drowned out by the rhythmic sounds of Mr. Bunhead's desperate final slurps and suckles, ensuring that Brandon is fully satisfied and pleasured.
The room was thick with the scent of sweat and desire, Brandon tensed, "Sir, I think I understand the concept now," he said, trying to maintain control of the situation.
Mr. Bunhead withdrew his hands, looking elated. His eyes sparkled with a mix of relief and adoration. "Thank you," Mr. Bunhead whispered, his voice barely audible. "Thank you for letting me do that.""Oh, Brandon, you have no idea how long I've waited for this moment," he confessed, his voice trembling slightly with emotion.
Brandon, still catching his breath, looked at Mr. Bunhead curiously. "And what does that mean for my grade, sir?" he asked, his tone cautious yet hopeful.
Mr. Bunhead leaned back, his hands smoothing down his shirt as if to compose himself. "It means, Brandon, that you will receive nothing less than an A for your essay. Consider it a reward for your... thorough understanding of the material," he said, his voice thick with meaning. "A job well done, indeed."
Brandon nodded slowly, processing the implications of Mr. Bunhead's words. "Thank you, sir. I appreciate your guidance," he replied, his voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside him.
As Brandon adjusted his shorts, Mr. Bunhead's eyes were wide with a mix of awe and desperation. "Brandon," Mr. Bunhead began, his voice shaky as he wiped a stray droplet from his lips, "I... I hope you found our session... enlightening." His hands trembled slightly, betraying his nervous excitement.
Brandon nodded, his expression unreadable. "It was certainly... informative, sir."
Mr. Bunhead licked his lips, his eyes darting around the room before settling back on Brandon. "If you ever need further assistance with your assignments, or anything else... I would be more than willing to help. In fact, I insist on it. Consider me at your service for any future... academic needs."
The desperation in Mr. Bunhead's voice was palpable, his desire to continue this new dynamic clear.
He leaned forward, his hands clasped together as if in prayer, waiting for Brandon's response.
Brandon considered his words carefully, the power dynamic shifting subtly between them. "I'll keep that in mind, sir. Thank you for offering your assistance."
Mr. Bunhead visibly relaxed, a smile spreading across his face. "Of course, Brandon. Anytime. Just let me know when you need me."
With a final nod, Brandon collected his essay and shirt, preparing to leave. As he opened the door, he turned back to Mr. Bunhead. "I'll see you in class, sir."
"Yes, yes, of course," Mr. Bunhead stammered, his eyes never leaving Brandon as he exited the office, the door clicking shut behind him.
Next Chapter: As you know, when stories get into the later chapters, readership and interest gets thinner… let me know if you enjoyed, disliked or just read this. 😃
Thank you for reading, liking and rating! I love your comments, feedback and chats. Kindly consider supporting me on my Patreon 😘
