Unexpected London Vacation

London Teaching Assignment

A planned golf vacation turns into something unexpected

Everyone is over 18. © Copyright, Brunosden 2026. All rights reserved.

I entered the international passenger greeting area at Heathrow several minutes early. The gods of travel had been shining on me for once. The BA flight from Houston had left on time, and, thanks to tailwinds, had arrived nearly an hour early. Miraculously, there was even a gate! I had snagged an upgrade and slept reasonably well on the lie-flat seat. And thanks to the early arrival, I had visited the BA Arrivals Lounge and shaved. I felt almost human as I pushed the cart through the double doors. (I needed a cart although I was traveling light because I had one of those unwieldy polycarbonate golf club cases.) I'm headed for a week of golf in Scotland with Paul--after a few days of London theatre and a fill-up on South Asian food which is at its best in London--and my passion.

It's a belated celebration of partnership. I'm a lawyer and a new partner in an international law firm. Paul is in the same position in a firm in London. We are both 35 now. We met at Duke Law, fourteen years ago now, and were, more or less thrown together by the housing computer, because of our undergraduate athletic feats and size. We are both varsity athletes--he, rugby; me, football--but "scholar athletes"--that is, pretty good, not great, but with reasonably good academic achievements. Thus, Duke Law. He's a Brit obviously. I'm from Texas. We're both 6-6 and weigh in at 230 or so. You wouldn't want the middle seat between us.

Incidentally, the height and weight are where the comparison stops. He's a typical Brit--reddish blond hair, freckled complexion, thin lips, careful upper-class diction, Saville Row "purpose made" suits. Nice upper body, built in the gym. With a big round "bum"--thus, his lower center of gravity earned him a rugby tight-end prop position--the guy who bolsters the field position in the scrum.

I, on the other hand, am a Texan, probably with "Tejano"-blood, with black straight hair, dark, tanned, wide-shouldered, slim hipped, chisel-faced, thick-lipped and slim (or at least as "slim" as a 235 pound tight-end can be). I've never lost the Texas drawl, although I now know how to use it to win arguments.

We were in the same study group at Duke, and, in the third year, apartment mates. Best bros forever. Then we graduated and split.

After Duke, we had gone our separate ways. He is a barrister (litigator) in London; I'm in energy finance in Houston. We mostly lost touch for years. Maybe a few Christmas greetings. Neither of us married. The demands of big firm practice meant we weren't able to vacation together.

Several years ago, following the trend of mega-mergers of international business law firms, our firms merged. It is one of those increasingly common coincidences in an inter-connected world: we are technically partners now. We decided a few months ago to celebrate our new partnerships by reconnecting. He suggested the golf outing in Scotland, and I jumped at the opportunity to get out of Houston in August.

Maybe I should add one more little detail: we are both bi, with lots of dating experience, vers. Both of us prefer to top, but we did bottom for each other. We were each other's dating wingmen and regular fuck-buddies when we sruck out at Duke. I've been cruising in Montrose for years with quite a bit of hooking success. I presume he's been doing the same--since neither of us has married, and both of us are over-sexed. And, so far as I know, he is not currently attached. So the London stay and the golf outing are likely to be another kind of reunion for us as well. I'm looking forward to it. I know he booked a king at Gleneagles, not twins.

So here I am. I look around the dozens of sign-holding people, trying to spot Paul. The flight was early, but with the detour to the lounge, I'm arriving at just about the expected hour. Then, I see a smaller, young guy, dressed in a navy school blazer with a logo crest on the pocket, white shirt and rep tie, holding a sign, "Mr. Phillip Miller"--that's me.

I motion the young man to the exit. He goes to grab for the clubs, but he's pretty small. So I let him take the roll-aboard. "I was wondering where you were. The ARRIVALS board said you got in an hour ago. But, I guess luggage here can be pretty bad."

"Where's Paul? Is he with the car?"

"Sorry. I should have introduced myself. I'm Dec (for Declan), his ward. He called me this morning and asked me to meet you. He's been held up at an arbitration in Madrid. He hopes to be home tonight--or latest tomorrow morning. I'm to take you to your hotel. And help you with anything else you might need until his return to London."

"Ward? Are you even old enough to drive?"

"Really, his nephew. My Mum is--or was--his sister-in-law until she died, cancer about a year ago. And, yes, I have a license."

"He never has mentioned you."

"We are not a close family. My Da, Uncle Paul's brother, disappeared shortly after I was born. Mum raised me. But, Uncle Paul was often around. Then, when she died, Uncle Paul stepped up. He's the only one who did. So, here I am, living with him in London."

"How old are you?"

"Eighteen, four days ago, the day after Paul left for Madrid. We are going to celebrate when he returns. Just graduated from King's College Prep. Going to Cambridge next month. Spending the summer in London at Paul's flat."

Dec's accent was captivating--typical high-class British--that makes even a routine recital of facts sound like Alistair Cooke narrating a World War II documentary. And, fuck, Dec is cute. Maybe 5-8, wrestler's build, rounded smooth face--a boy's face, thick lips, perfect teeth, Paul's curly hair, maybe a little redder. Overlarge tortoise shell glasses. And fuck, Paul's big bum!

Get it together, Phil. He's a boy. Paul's nephew for chrissakes. He's off limits. You don't know shit about his sexual tastes. The gaydar is not pinging. It's only been a few days since the all-nighter with Steve--the twink I picked up at Rainbow Club. But, I was already chubbed. And Dec was staring at my trousers. It was outlined in my tight chinos. And obvious.

I can wait for Paul. It's only a few more hours.

Dec grabbed the roll-aboard and started off toward the Carpark. "It's not far; I'm in ShortTerm."

He had me wait on the first floor. While I waited, my cell pinged with a message, **Sorry to miss you. But, I wanted you to know that this is not an accident. I've planned this. Dec is trying to decide if he's bi or gay. A few bad experiences with coeds. I'm pretty sure he's a virgin, so go easy. I thought you could help him decide in the next day or so. Permission granted to proceed, sir. Thanks. See you tomorrow.** I wasn't sure what to think. Was Paul really asking me to initiate his nephew into sex? I looked up and watched him start up the stairs. Fuck, he is cute. Why not? And I haven't had a virgin in years.

Minutes later my stuff was loaded--not easily, it was a small car. I got in, and realized that I was on the driver's side.

"I think maybe I should drive. The traffic is heavy today and you're not accustomed to driving on the right side of the road."

I got out and laughed. That was one of the jokes that Paul pulled all the time--that the "right" side of the road is the "wrong" side and the "left is the right."

*****

During the drive, I had plenty of time to size up Dec. He is just a boy. But, it's obvious that he is beginning to build the muscles of a prep school wrestler. Thick neck. Slim waist. Upper arms threatening to burst through the blazer. And those thick spreading hips. He IS cute. Recently legal. Oh, shit. Thank you Paul.

Roughly an hour later, Dec pulled into the narrow lane opening to the courtyard in front of Duke's. It's a small, boutique hotel near Mayfair, not far from where a royal palace takes up an entire block, only a few blocks from Paul's flat. A bellman took the bags--although Dec told him to leave the clubs in the car, and I walked in to register.

"I'm free all day. Uncle Paul told me to be at your disposal until his return. Is there anything you'd like me to do for you right now? Anything you want to do or see this afternoon?"

I wonder if Paul alerted him to the "emergency" course he is enrolled in?

"Let me think about it. Why don't you come up? We can decide on plans later. Let them park the car for now."

So Dec handed the keys to the doorman, and followed me inside. I registered and we took the small, ancient lift to my fourth floor suite--which Paul had thoughtfully arranged. The bellman brought the bags right behind us. I tipped him, and asked him to send up some sandwiches (That was a mistake--the Brits do terrible sandwiches--all bread and butter, little filling.) And a bottle of Bollinger's Brut. I'm ready to party.

"Yes, sir."

"We need to toast this young man's birthday!"

He gave me that all-knowing eye that every bellman has perfected to a tee. He recognizes a trick when he sees one. He looked at Dec, then me, and smiled. I'm sure he's envious. "Of course, sir. And Happy Birthday to you, young sir."

I put some money on the table in the sitting room, "This is for the waiter when they bring the lunch and champagne. I'm going to clean up and shower. Make yourself at home."

I walked into the bedroom and opened the suitcase. He removed his jacket and tie and followed me to the door.

"Anything I can help with?"

Did he just ask me that? He was posing now. Dec is really a choice morsel. Paul is definitely setting me up. I wondered if the boy was really his nephew. But, maybe I really don't want to know. At any rate, I don't think that we're doing any museum hopping this afternoon.

"Make yourself comfortable. I won't be long." He didn't move. Then, I decided to see how far I could push him. I opened the suitcase, found my dop kit and placed it on the shelf near the bath. Then, I stripped and turned. He was still in the doorway.

He surprised me with his next remark. "Uncle Paul didn't exaggerate. You're a bloody hunk. With a bull's dick. And you're not even hard. That is fuckin' obscene!" (He had dropped the upper class accent, obviously.)

He was talking about my cock--which he was staring at open-mouthed and blushing. "It's got to be eight inches, and thick." Then, he repeated, "And not even a little bit hard. How big does it get?"

I didn't answer, but I did freeze before turning toward the shower. Let him get a good look. And look he did. Eyes wide. Tongue sweeping his opened bow-tie lips.

At that moment, I decided to take up Paul's assignment, but I knew teen boys were often pretty dirty "there." "Yes, assuming you really want to help, I'd like some help. Strip and join me." He paused for just a second, but the allure was just too much. He stripped in record time. Then, he stood in the doorway, waiting for my next command. God, he had a nice body: nearly hairless, slim with the nascent "bumps" of slab pecs with big nipples, and bulging upper arms. And the ass! Thick thighs held the big bubble high and wide. Made to be fucked.

He followed me into the bath which had a typical small tub-shower. I removed his glasses and set them on the sink. He blinked and looked back at me, clearly out of focus. But, the facial expression was precious--expectant, fearful, confident, all at once. Then, I set the temperature and stood back to allow him to enter. He brushed my dick when he did, and he jolted, his eyes shot open, and he instantly turned pink--even before he hit the hot water. I couldn't believe how hot he was--and what he was doing to me. I stepped in behind him. It was indeed very tight. There was no way we'd shower with touching. I grabbed the soap, pulled him into my chest--he only reached to my pec--and began to wash his back. I could feel his dick poking my abs. Then I flipped him around and did the front. I started with is nipples, and he jolted. Obviously very sensitive there! He was rigid by then, and he sported an unusually long, but thin, uncut cock, held high. The hood had rolled back, presenting a delightful plum-shaped and colored head. When I stroked it with the soap, he threw his bum back into me automatically and leaked. Fuck, he had Paul's big bum--a little tighter, carried a little higher, but big and soft--and ripe. My cock slid into place, and I thought Dec was going to cum right then and there. If he did, I wouldn't be far behind.

I pushed him to the wall and batted his legs apart. My expectation had been correct. He wasn't too clean there. So I worked him over with lots of liquid soap, even pushing one, then two, fingers deep inside to complete the cleaning. At first he resisted. He obviously wasn't accustomed to a finger there. Maybe he was embarrassed that he hadn't thought to clean there. He stiffened his legs and let his body otherwise go limp into me--save one very important hard rod. And his eyes were dripping with sexual need.

Then I dialed it back. I finished by carefully washing his curly locks as he closed his baby blues and almost hyperventilated.

Then I turned to the wall. "Your turn. Do me." He paused, looking surprised. I think he assumed I was going to take him right then and there. But, he quickly recovered. He soaped and did myback, careful to avoid my cleft, never coming near my rim. I turned and he gasped. I was hard now. And, as many have commented, it's a lethal weapon, cut and ready for battle. He stared. Then finally moved a soaped hand to it. He started to stroke, but drew back suddenly, as though it were a hot poker. Fuck, he was going to cum just touching me.

He IS a fuckin' virgin. Thank you again, Paul.

I pushed him away. "I'll finish up. Go ahead and dry off."

We dried off. I handed him the hotel robe and wrapped myself in a towel, which now had a solid bump in front.

When we got out of the bath, the room service had been delivered and set on a table in front of the sofa--lunch for two. Dec, dropped the robe on the sofa and sat on it. He looked up and smiled. "I guess we're staying in this afternoon?" It wasn't a question, but a conclusion. Smart boy. Anxious. And consenting, I concluded.

There wasn't a hair on him below his eyebrows. His skin was clean and trim. Light muscles. Concave gut with the beginnings of cut abs. But, he was sitting on his legs and it emphasized the spread of his butt. He was a fuckin' toiboi bottom from one of the online X-rated catalogues!

I decided to ask one more time. "Does Paul know we are doing this? And you are definitely 18?"

"Maybe. I think maybe he set us up. He knows I'm confused about my sexuality, and that I've just had a birthday. He is the one who suggested that I pick you up and entertain you until he returns to London. I know about the two of you. I can't arrive at Cambridge a virgin--or confused."

He touched one of my hairy nipples, spread his fingers and massaged a hard pec. "And you are very definitely a man."

Does it get any better? A cute, willing virgin! And it's not even my birthday. But thankfully, just after HIS most important one. Naked, sitting in front of me, virtually inviting me to take him. Paul is indeed my best wingman!

"Well, you are about to enroll in the Phil Miller Crash Course in Sexuality. Come here, boy. You can eat the sandwiches later. On your knees. I need a little relief before we begin the real lessons." I dropped the towel in front of the nearest armchair and sat, my legs manspread. I was chubbing, really almost hard. And Dec sensed what was expected.

His eyes lit up, and he moved quickly. He knelt in front of me, eyes down, waiting for my next command. All of his bravado was gone. I wondered who had taught him to sub? Or was it natural?

I reached out, lifted his head, stared into his face, removed his glasses, and pulled him into my crotch. My dick swiped his rosy cheek and left a swath of precum. His eyes rose to mine in wonder, and his nose widened at the musky smell. It was no longer visual; it was all feel and smell and taste. Then his hand swiped the cream from his cheek. He smelled it, tasted it, wet his fingers with spit; then reached out and lifted my shaft, weighing it. It was now hard; the hood had drawn back almost completely, and nearing my max of just over ten. He opened and took in the head which stretched his small bow-tie mouth.

I looked down at the boyish face struggling to take in my knob. I couldn't believe how cute it all was. He's going to take a lot of training to deep-throat, maybe never.

He is definitely an amateur, but he's very enthusiastic. The tongue swirled around, pushing hard on the underside. His lips clamped tightly as he sucked hard, hallowing his cheeks to deepen my penetration. Periodically, his eyes would rise to mine. They were intent and questioning. So I smiled approval and whispered. "Good boy, very good boy. But, watch the teeth."

He then proceeded to really surprise me. Both hands were now at work. Cradling and massaging my balls. Squeezing the base of the shaft. Pressing on the taint. A finger even strayed deeper and touched my hole. I slipped forward in the chair to improve his access. His mouth held firm as he followed, rising off his haunches, arching his back. His fingertip penetrated. Holy shit!

Then I reached over, massaged his ass cheeks and pulled them apart. One finger rimmed and began to pressure. If he really is a virgin, he's going to need a lot of work. I'm good at opening a guy. And, thank god, I packed a lot of lube--for our upcoming golfing outing. I know from experience. He's going to need at least four fingers. My fingers drifted to his deep cleft. His eyes darted up to mine again; his butt pushed back into my hand; and, he moaned into my cock, delivering a deep vibration. He was so hot. Definitely not completely hetero. I continued to play with his hole as he squirmed his ass under my palm resting on one cheek. He really wanted it.

At that second, I decided. I'm going to let him blow me first. All of this is way too much. I'll never get in deep enough for a satisfactory fuck unless I relieve my pressure first. Maybe he'd need it too. That would be the first lesson.

I pushed him off my dick. He looked up, silently, but his eyes were saying, "What did I do wrong?"

"We're going to take this to the bed. I think maybe we both need to blow off a little pressure with foreplay. On your back on the bed. Spread em."

He understood and moved quickly into position. I looked down at the bed. The mattress was too soft. This wasn't going to work. I'll crush him or suffocate him if I stretch out on top. I motioned him over, stretched out myself and then pulled him on top, face down on my dick. He straddled my face, maybe inviting me to pull him in with hands on his butt. That's when I got my first close-up look at his boy dick. It was really a work of art, rock hard; pink, dark pink; the hood had drawn back; he was leaking--and much to my surprise, although it was fairly thin, it was straight and fuckin' long! At least eight inches. My twink had something to boast about! And he was a fuckin' leaker!

I raised my head and gobbled his dick inside as he groaned and squirmed. I'm sure it was his first time. The head was awash in his boy precum. It was so sweet and creamy--like the boy himself. I squeezed his globes--hard, and he squealed around my cock and pushed his deeper into my throat. His ass cheeks were bigger than my hands, soft on the surface, smooth, but with a hint of the gym underneath. I knew instantly that these cheeks were going to be the gateway to paradise. I couldn't wait to sluice through them on the way to his tight chute. Soon. Yes, I was already addicted to his sweet cheeks. And his tight boy hole.

Let's not get ahead or ourselves.

I held him tightly inside my mouth, and he never released the vacuum on mine. He squirmed so much that I had to subdue him. He tried repeatedly to take me to his throat, but coughed and pulled off each time.

That's when I decided to pull my classic twink move. I scootched to the edge of the bed and stood, holding our chests together. Even upside down, he continued to suck avidly as he produced more and more precum. But Round One was about to be called. He tapped my butt, the universal warning that he was about to blast. And I did the same to him. But neither of us released. And seconds later we were both awash in cum. My face was covered with his boycum, and he was choking. (It's hard to swallow upside down!) So I fell back onto the bed and allowed him to finish his job. Minutes later his ruddy face lifted from my crotch. "Fuck! That is the best. Thank you, sir." Then, he buried his face back into my crotch and began to lick the shaft. I guess he's addicted to cum as well. And I'm in love with his boy-bum.

Ultimately we moved, both nude, into the sitting room. I poured, and we toasted to his birthday. His smile suggested that he had enjoyed the first chapter of the lesson book. Then he confirmed it, "That was pretty intense, Paul. I loved it." He drank and ate way more than half the sandwiches. Oh to be a boy again with such a voracious appetite! Then he pushed the cart away and sat on my lap. He threw his arms around my neck. By then he was hard again. "I'm ready for the next lesson. Fuck me." Oh, to be a boy again with such refractory powers!

I picked him up, cradling him easily, even pressing him up into me and kissing the tip of his dick. I placed him softly on the bed, my precious soon-to-be bottom. He knew exactly how to pose. He flipped quickly and was on his knees, head on his arms on the mattress, back arched, legs spread. I stood and stared at the bulls eye, a dark pink, hairless flower, buried in the soft fold of his cheeks. My cock came immediately to attention. But, fuck he looked so tight! This was going to take some work.

I grabbed the tube and went to work. It took some time. Even my fingers are thick! But, he not only accepted; he encouraged, pushing back frequently, moaning in pleasured acceptance, looking back at me with those incredible blue lust-filled eyes, framed in those sexy tortoise shell glasses. He wanted it--me--so badly it almost hurt.

But, I progressed slowly, adding fingers, scissoring, widening, deepening. He was so receptive, hot, soft--and responsive. He apparently knew what a prostate is--and let me know, as if I didn't recognize his nut, as I stroked it. He purred. Fucking purred! And launched his ass up into the air, like a disturbed cat humping its backside up. So sexily that my cock jumped and emitted a dollop of precum, more than once. I couldn't believe the pleasure that I was deriving from bringing him along so nicely. Finally, after what seemed like an hour, he begged. "Please, Paul, I want you to fuck me and cum inside me. Put him in. Don't let me do it alone."

But, not quite yet. He needed the full Miller-treatment. I leaned in, pulled his cheeks apart and my tongue went to work, sliding up and down his cleft from taint to tail, before centering in, curling and penetrating. This time it wasn't a groan or a moan. It was a muffled scream. God, he was so turned on. And the duvet beneath him was already damp with his leaking precum.

I backed off and tried a full four fingers, absolutely dripping in lube. He took them all. I held, swirled, pulled out and pushed back in. Twice. Until he finally, in desperation, shouted (losting his high class Brit accent), "Damn it. Fuck me. Or I'm going to go there all by myself."

I knelt behind him and lightly rested my muscular, now sweaty, chest onto his back. I moved my lubed cock into place. I began to pressure, while teasing his nipples and whispering, "Breathe baby. Breathe and push me out. It'll help." Then, the head popped through the constriction and I froze, knowing the pain he must be feeling. He quieted and froze as well. Seconds went by--as I continued to worry his tits. Then, I felt the tiny bit of movement. He was pushing back into me to get more depth. I steadied. He wanted more. Then, I applied more pressure and achieved another inch or so. He moaned again, but it didn't seem to be a moan of pain. So I started to rock, achieving even more depth, and reaching the magic spot. When I did, he began to whistle, a high-pitched keen which deepened. "Oh fuck. That hurts."

So I froze again and waited, knowing that the pain would pass and relinquish its place in his consciousness--as the pleasure waves from his prostate began to overtake the pain of the stretch. Soon, there was an almost imperceptible movement from him. He pushed back into me before he whispered, "Deeper, Paul."

We continued for some minutes, rocking, him taking me deeper, me feeling the tight pressure of his young cunt, until at last my balls bounced off his sweet butt cheeks. "I'm in, Babe. You've taken it all. It only gets better now."

I felt the relaxation of his tension, and we he turned his face to me this time, there was a smile. Even his glasses were fogged with the effort. That is my signal. I started to move, at first using his hip dimples to hold him tightly to me. But, as my thrusts became more intense, I reached around and grabbed his cock to hold him steady. He was rigid, and his precum had soaked the shaft. I stroked to spread the fluid. And then I began to pound, using strong quads to aim and go deep. He responded like the little athlete that he was: he pushed back into me, squeezed his glutes to hold me inside, and teased me with the characteristic words of youth-in-initiation, "Please, sir. May I have another!"

I was getting close, but so was he. His balls, alive with his youthful spunk, resting in my palm, pulled up. His gut muscles tensed. And his cunt joined the act by alternately squeezing and releasing my pulsing cock. By then, I had, of course, released his cheeks, and so my thrusts were now long and intense.

"I'm cumming," he groaned. So I tightened my hold on his cock and stroked hard and faster. I pounded deep and held, until we both fell to the mattress. He was pinned. The wrestler in him gave up. Then, I felt it. My cock expanded and my cum shot up the shaft and launched into his gut. Hot. And Big. Depositing my second load of the day. He took it all, squeezing me deeply inside with everything he had, as he too shot into my fist by then holding his cockhead.

Then, like a light switch had been hit, we stilled in the early afternoon silence of the suite. Both of us were empty--at least for the moment. The aroma of musk and testosterone filled the bedroom air. Dec was no longer a virgin. He had taken his first man. Me. I was on top of him. In charge. Holding him down. And Cocooning him tightly. He knew it. I owned him at that second. I even think I heard the surrendering whisper, "Uncle."

Finally, I rolled off, and lay on my side facing him. He scurried over and nestled into my spoon. It was a typical boy's reaction: he wanted confirmation that it had been as good for me as for him. I nipped his ear. Then I whispered, "You are some hell of a fuck, boy." Once again, I could feel, if not see, his self-satisfied smile. He is now a man. He knows what it's like to take a man inside--a very big man. Only time will tell whether it's something he'll want again. But, somehow I'm self-confident enough of myself that I'm pretty sure he's going to be asking for more. Soon. His ass wiggling into my gut already is proof of that.

******

We must have dozed for a few hours. The sun had moved and the room was in late afternoon shadow. But, I could tell he was awake, teasing me by squeezing his glutes around my cock--which of course was again rigid with his attention.

"Shall we head out for an early dinner?"

He turned to face me and whispered, "I'm up for room service again if you are. I think we've got a few more lessons before tomorrow comes."

"Are you sore?"

"Yes, sir. But, it's a good sore. I'm ready for more."

I thought for only a second. "Do you think you can do me?"

"Are you kidding? Of course. I didn't think that was an option. Paul tells me you are a top."

"Not always. Mostly. But, it is your birthday. And I wouldn't be a very good teacher if I didn't complete the syllabus before the semester is over." I pulled him into my chest, and we kissed. And as we did, my hands reached down and caressed his boyish globes. They were so sexy! A finger touched his rim--and he started. He was sore, more than he was willing to admit. "Let's proceed to the next chapter, Stud."

I released him and rolled back. Then, I lifted my legs, veed them and pulled them up and out. His eyes went wide as he stared into my hairy cleft. "Start with lubed fingers. Then use your tongue. Open me up."

Dec knelt into the vee and, after sticking several fingers in the lube pot, began to play with my rim. His index finger paused over what he must have seen as an impossible opening. "Go ahead. Use some pressure." He did and penetrated to the first knuckle. I'm tight, but I have had some experience. I smiled at him in approval. "Deeper, Stud. Find the nut." He did--and did. "Now give it some love."

He stroked, but too soft at first. "We're men, Dec. Harder. Add another finger if you need to."

I felt the entry of his second finger, and seconds later, he was stroking, harder this time, sending waves of electric pleasure through my body. I moaned, probably for the first time, and he knew that I was enjoying his work. He continued for a few minutes, and I felt the revival of my erection beginning. I reached over, grabbed a pillow and stuffed it under my gut. Now my ass was poised, ready for his next step.

"Now, pull my cheeks apart and use your tongue." He was definitely getting into this as I felt strong hands separating. His tongue touched and rimmed. Tentatively at first. I moaned again, the universal signal that he was doing it right. Then I felt the tip pushing. I lifted my butt into him, and surprised at my move, he curled and entered. This brought his cute bow-tie lips into contact. Instinctively, he latched on and sucked as his tongue deepened. Is there any better feeling in the world that being eaten by a virgin?

Yes, apparently. He pulled away, and almost immediately, I felt the semi-soft cockhead pushing at my hole. It was liberally lubed. I breathed out, "Welcome home, stud. Don't be afraid. Give it a push." He held his cock stiff with a fist and began to apply the pressure. He popped in, and I felt the momentary pain of being entered. It had been some time.

He held in place. I could feel the throbbing of his dick at the entrance. He was just a boy. He was going to blast. Soon. "Go ahead, stud. Push harder. I can take it." He did and slipped in most of the way. Fuck, it felt so good to have a young, virgin cock inside. I squeezed out a welcome and pushed back into him. He quickly bottomed and held.

"Do it, stud. Pound me."

He withdrew and thrust in hard again. "Yesss." So he did it again. And again. And soon he was thrusting and bottoming every few seconds. All long drives. Fast and furious. The typical pace and force of a young stud. Each stroke produced a shock up my spine. But, his speed was so great that it became an almost constant stimulus.

Fuck, he was going to bring me off without touching my dick. Nobody had done that in a long time. I concentrated on what he was doing--and the young beauty that was doing it. I conjured up his long thin dick using my ass for his pleasure--his first! And the globes of his bubble butt bouncing above me.

I arched my back to catch the next few strokes on my nut. He understood instinctively, and used both hands--one to grab my balls; the other to fist my shaft. All while relentlessly pounding that only a young athlete can manage.

Finally, he grunted, "It's cummin. Fuckin' cummin." He paused for just a second and added, "Sir." And with one last pound, he pushed me to the mattress and began to shoot, blast after blast of his fertile boycum. Seeding me. Filling me. For the third time that night. I felt really good. It had been a long time.

And as he did, I spasmed hard, squeezing his dick tightly inside me, and shot. Several times into the pillow beneath my gut.

Then he collapsed on top, both of us spent.

I was silent for several minutes, holding me tightly under him as his cock began to soften and ultimately slipped out. That was his signal. He fell to the side, leaving a leg possessively over mine. An arm reached out. He pulled my face toward him. And he bent in and took my lips to his.

He already had the cocky self-confidence of a budding top.

"Thank you, Phil. That was unbelievable."

"For me too, stud. I'd give you a really high grade for your performance in this course."

We napped again, ordered room service, and enjoyed two more "lab sessions"one each as top--for the course during the night. Ultimately, I couldn't resist spooning my "pupil" for the rest of our time in bed.

When we awoke the next morning, there was a message that Paul was in London and on his way, reminding me that he had booked a train to Scotland for that afternoon. A few suggestive emojis were appended.

Dec pulled on his cute glasses and looked at the message. Then he added, "Uncle Paul has invited me to caddie--but only if you want."

I thought about it for only about three seconds. "Absolutely, Dec. I can't imagine anyone that I'd rather have taking care of my balls..... and my club."

"But, you're going to have to compete with Paul."

"I think maybe I can convince him that I need post-graduate work before Cambridge, Phil." Then, he snuggled down under the duvet, exposing his cute boyish ass cheeks, and pushed me onto my back. Then I felt his bowtie lips on my shaft. My hand drifted to hold his cheeks as I settled in for a nice morning suck.

This is going to be some hell of a golf outing.

BD