Aaron and Amir

Edgewick guided my lovely rival, still-sniffling, to the opposite corner. I listened for extra swats but didn't hear any, which I suppose was fair since he was freshly caned, whereas the burn in my bottom had had a chance to dissipate somewhat--while I got to watch a highly enjoyable show.

The time in the corner passed slowly, but my cock stubbornly refused to go down. Sad to say, I was unable to put the time to its intended use, to reflect on my bad behavior, as I was too busy reflecting on Khalili's caning. I kept picturing his firm cheeks rebounding from the impact of the cane, the stripe coloring bright red, the heaving of his smooth olive-skinned shoulders. Even the sniffling and snorting. My mind was reeling. My ass was stinging. I longed to rub it, but I longed to get my hands on my cock more. Getting my hands on Khalili seemed like too much to ask.

Edgewick went about his business while I suffered and fidgeted and fantasized and Khalili tried to stop sniffling. I heard him shuffling paper, but I'll wager he glanced up from time to time for a satisfying eyeful of the two pert teenage bottoms he'd just subjected to his sternest ministrations.

Around the ten-minute mark the door opened and we heard the secretary talking softly to Edgewick. A boy spoke, a sophomore or junior whose voice I recognized but whose face I couldn't call up in my mind. Then the secretary again. Edgewick muttered gruff assent.

The secretary and the boy must have raised their eyebrows at our red-lined rear-ends parked in the two furthest corners cooling off. Kids were only caned for fighting or other serious or violent offenses, and they were rarely placed in the corner afterwards unless Edgewick intended to suspend them from classes for a few days as well. Your suspension began right after your punishment, so it didn't matter if you missed class to do some time up against the plaster.

The door closed again and Edgewick shuffled more papers. The back of my neck felt warm from knowing the secretary and the younger boy had seen my rear in its reddened and compromised state.

Finally, after about fifteen or twenty minutes (a long time to stand with your nose against the plaster and your cock begging for a stroke, but not half an hour–that was just Edgy being dramatic), I felt his hand on my neck again.

"Come on, Eisen," he said, somewhat more gently, "One last order of business."

Back over to the desk. Nothing cuts a boy down to size like being made to walk around hobbled by his bunched pants and embarrassed by his hard cock.

One hand on the back of my neck, he bent me once again over the shiny mahogany surface. My butt went up in the air this time with only minimal nudging, and he lifted my shirt tail. My tender erection, again crushed against the desk, caused me to moan. I heard him go back and rouse Khalili from his corner-time stupor. The kid had stopped the sniffling by now, but he had to be wondering what was up. Whatever it was, it wouldn't be good for either of our asses.

I heard him start to shuffle haltingly across the floor. Then Edgewick's voice, sharp: "Khalili, get it together and get moving. Or I could drag you by the ear if you need it."

Oh, please do, I thought, even though I knew I wouldn't be able to watch it. I could listen–-maybe he'd cry again..

No such luck. And seconds later Amir Khalili's body was pressed down heavily next to mine. We were very close. I could hear his humid anxious breath, his apprehensive heartbeat. Our bare hips almost touched.

"Boys, what I'm going to do now is strictly a warning, something to remember should either of you ever consider an encore performance. I want you to get it side by side because I know and you know that your purposeful annoyance of one another is exactly what led to this, and will probably be what leads to the same in the future if you don't learn to keep your arguments civilized."

With my face against the desk I could only see Edgwick's shadow as he opened a drawer and extracted something. Not the drawer with the canes--but we were still bent over a desk with our asses bare, so I wasn't feeling hopeful.

I could smell Khalili's sweat, his aftershave, soap, and hair-gel, mixing together in a pleasant and deliriously erotic cocktail. I wanted to rape him right there over the desk.

Something hard, smooth, and flat connected firmly with my already well-corrected upturned rump. As if Edgewick had read my dirty thoughts and decided to put a stop to them. Whatever it was he'd smacked me with, it certainly woke up the burn of the cane marks–which hadn't been sleeping particularly well in the first place. I doubted I'd be able to forget them anytime soon, Edgy really knew how to make sure of that.

"This," Edgewick said, treating Khalili's butt to the same and provoking an anguished howl, "is a copy of the student code of conduct and rule book. I believe you were each issued an updated edition at the start of the year."

He began to smack our bare butts rhythmically with it. First mine, then Khalili's. There was my battered ass jumping, then another loud WHACK and there was Khalili howling and squirming. Edgewick shushed him sternly and gave him–to my delight–two smacks in a row.

"Since the contents of this useful little book seem to have slipped your minds,"-- SMACK--" I thought it might do you more good simply to apply it"–SMACK–"directly to your backsides and see how that works out. I imagine"–SMACK–"that after the caning you got you are finding these rules very"–SMACK–"hard to ignore."

I'd heard of kids being spanked with textbooks on occasion back in the day (pants up, in front of the whole class), but, really, this was adding insult to injury. Or rather, injury to injury.

SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK, back and forth. The swats with the book did their two jobs very well. As Edgewick had pointed out, and as I cannot iterate enough, they really put some fresh sting into those cane-weals, causing me to wriggle and making Khalili wheeze, as though he were trying to keep from crying again. They also warmed up the spots on our buns which had been left unaffected by the thin cane-strokes, and made both of us solidly red and hot back there.

Khalili's smell, his closeness, his little hurt gasps, the rhythmic slaps sending blood to my butt and pelvic area, even the painful friction against the desk–he had to stop soon, or he was going to have a big mess and one (at least one?) very embarrassed boy on his hands. As my ass squirmed I brushed the side of my rival's prone, fit torso in his thin school dress shirt, felt his naked hip against mine, dry and hot and smooth–I tried to keep still, but it was no use, Khalili was wiggling around too, and, oh god his leg was against mine, I could feel his leg hair and the soft skin over the hard slender muscle–don't let me cum, don't let me cum--

Finally, it was over, and none too soon. We lay across the desk breathing like we'd just finished a track meet. Edgy, taking no heed of our distracted condition, had some more admonishing things to say about the rules of our unimpeachable institution, and a few choice, chiding remarks about what wicked little heathens we'd been. Then he ordered us up off the desk, and our pants up over our raw beaten backsides.

We avoided each other's eyes as we stood and pulled our pants up–me for the second time–over our chastised back-cheeks, wincing almost in unison. My stiffy was still in ready mode from the heat in my bottom and the proximity of Khalili's body–even if I couldn't look at him. The air seemed full of the aroma of our healthy sweat.

After we'd gotten ourselves situated, Edgewick handed us our suspension sentence. Three days, and we were to go home for the rest of today. We could rest assured our parents would be informed of our deplorable behavior, and its consequences.

"Before you leave, you will clean yourselves up. The auxiliary showers should be empty at this time of day. You should find the back door unlocked."

It was hard to walk. I was shaky, and each step brought agony to my butt as the cloth brushed against the caned and spanked flesh. I didn't want to start rubbing it til we were at least out of Edgewick's sight. He watched us from his office door as we left the anteroom, a strangely satisfied expression on his face.

*

As we headed to the auxiliary gym showers, my hands still shook and my legs were like jelly. I appreciated the cool autumn air on my face. It had gotten entirely too hot in that office.

The stripes on my rear-end burned fiercely. Khalili was stumbling ahead of me and paused to rub his butt. I collided with him accidentally- on-purpose. He caught me and gave me a funny look as he helped me steady myself, as I'd done with him by the wall.

"That was awful," he said, clapping both hands back over his behind and rubbing rather vigorously through his pants. Almost as if to rub the sting in rather than rub it out.

"Fuckin-A. I can hardly walk. As you can see."

We started to move toward the aux building again, him with his hands still plastered all over his cute sore butt. I marveled that he hadn't said a single harsh thing to me, hadn't blamed me for our predicament--as I guess he had a right to.

Neither of us acknowledged our stiffies either, though it was abundantly clear they were still there, mine poking at my belt-buckle under my boxers, his trapped in his tighty-whities. As we walked they were visible even through our pants. I licked my lips as we reached the gate and let him go through first, following his ass and rubbing hands to the back door of the aux building. It sounded deserted, just as Edgewick had promised.

The main gym building was newer. The locker room there had individual shower stalls. The aux shower, however, was an outdated communal affair, a row of five heads in a shallow tiled area about eight feet by twelve. It was mostly used for when several sports teams had practice in the same evening, stuff like that.

Khalili and I came through the door together, both of us losing our balance this time. Couple of clumsy, naughty boys. We wound up clutching each other to stay upright. He had my arm and shoulder, I had his neck and a fistful of his shirt. Things were beginning to get ridiculous. The Two Stooges. We stood, still holding one another.

Again his face was only a few inches from mine. This time I didn't have to sneak looks at his nose out of the corner of my eye. Again I made the by-now redundant observation: He was handsome, really handsome. A young Arabian prince. Soft pouty well-formed lips (I knew they were soft, some things you just know), that proud beak of a nose, those big dark thick-lidded eyes. Even the eye I'd blackened was beautiful. The sweaty curls of black hair falling in his face didn't help matters much. He was absolutely ravishing.

He was looking at me too, in the strangest way. I would have given a lot more than a penny for his thoughts.

We pushed the lock in and made our way to the shower bank, still more or less clutching each other for support.

Without a word, we began to strip, unbuttoning our shirts, standing very close. And then it happened. Khalili, my enemy, reached for the button on my fly just as I went for the button on his. Our hands bumped and we both laughed nervously--but not too nervously, since we'd been going for the same thing.

For a second we were still, then I decided "What the hell?" and took charge. I pulled Amir Khalili toward me by the waistband of his pants and eased his fly open. I tugged his pants and underwear down off his slim hips. His excited cock jumped out at me. Neatly cut, as I'd seen in the office, just like mine. Medium-sized with a good patch of black hair over the base, around his balls, it was a pretty cock, smooth and dark and threaded with small delicate veins.

He took his cue from me, tugging at my waistband, opening my pants and shimmying my boxers down around my thighs. Our eyes met. He was smiling, a little uncertain, teeth clenched as if concentrating. Exactly the way I felt.

Then, just like in Edgy's lair, we were both standing with our pants at our ankles and our stinging-red asses glaring under the fluorescent lights, only now we were gingerly feeling up one another's dribbling hard-ons. I stroked his shaft to the prominent head, rubbing it against my palm, feeling pre-cum from his slit. The head of his penis felt like velvet, or rose petals. The whole thing was a darkish tan, with a purple tinge now that it was full of blood. Mine was a kind of blush-red.

We moved apart to kick our pants off, though we were reluctant to let go of each other, perhaps afraid we wouldn't have the nerve to touch again. We eased our shoes off. As if by silent agreement, we helped each other with the socks. First he did me, then I did him. I admired Amir's long, bony, beautiful feet, lifting the right one and giving one toe a gentle experimental lick after pulling off a bit of dark sock-lint. He gasped in delighted surprise, and smiled as I came up.

Our shirts came off. I took Amir by the shoulders and crushed him to me, kissed him hard. I could taste blood. He kissed me right back, pressed his beautiful lean golden-brown body into my pale one. We made a gorgeous contrast. Our hands slid around on each other's chests. So smooth and firm. Lean, ridged flesh. I watched his hands on me, knowing he had to like what he felt. We were the hottest debate-team nerds this school had ever seen. I kissed him more gently, moving from soft busted mouth to hot neck to silken earlobe.

"Can I see your stripes?" I whispered.

Wordlessly, he turned and arched his back so that his ass stuck out. I ran my hands over the two pert mounds of bronzy flesh, pinked-up from the spanking and criss-crossed with mouth-watering maroon-purple cane-weals. The flesh was so warm. My touch made him squirm with a mixture of pleasure and discomfort.

"Nice," I murmured. I ran a finger down his crack, hoping to graze his tight sweat-damp hole. He clenched his ass and drew in a fast anxious breath. I was ready to plunge right on ahead, so to speak, but the look he gave me over his perfect bronzy shoulder told me I'd better postpone The Search for Amir Khalili's Asshole until later, if I didn't want to get hit in the mouth again–or maybe spanked. So I turned him back around and kissed him furiously, our hard cocks rubbing together. Neither of us, to tell the truth, was very experienced at it. Our teeth clacked, then our tongues got in each other's way, our noses bumped--but we relished the new feeling, probing with our awkward eager tongues, pausing to playfully nibble each other's injured lips, intoxicated by the dull pain and delicate pleasure.

He reached down and started jerking my boner, his touch cool and delicious but excruciatingly slow, real torture. Clearly this was a boy who loved to jerk off and knew how to prolong the experience. I moaned and began fisting his lovely cock, working that hard-soft velvet flesh between my thumb and fingers, pausing only briefly to massage the head the way I knew I liked. I wasn't as slow as he was, and my grip was firmer. I wanted to see him shoot. He took the hint and started to move a little faster on me. I wanted us to spurt all over each other. We went for a few minutes, trying to find a perfect rhythm, testing each other, establishing our positions. We soon attained a machinelike rhythm of stroking, where our movements were natural and almost presciently right. Each seemed to anticipate the next, action and reaction, point and counterpoint.

I noticed his large coffee-colored nipples, perked up with arousal, dark and luscious and just begging to be pinched. With my other hand, I reached up and kneaded them between my fingers. He *loved* that, his nips grew harder under my hands, his wet mouth with the split lip opened sensually, his hot moist breath coming in excited gasps. Encouraged, I pinched the sensitive nipple, twisted it a little. This provoked a sharp delighted intake of breath, and for a split second his hand stopped moving on me.

"Keep going," I demanded, wrenching his nipple between my thumb and forefinger. He groaned weakly. I felt trickles of pre-cum gliding over my other hand. Kissing my mouth ravenously, he resumed masturbating me with a vengeance, his hand a blur. Our free hands glided over each other's bodies. It wouldn't take long after all the stimulation, visual and physical, which we had experienced in the last hour. Our breathing was fast and sultry, panting, our minds clouded with rapture so that we were barely aware of where we were. There was nothing but the taste of his mouth--coffee, mint, blood, something more remote, like cinnamon or cardomom–and his dark eyes with the thick lids closed in ecstasy, and the feel of him hard wet leaking, and his slipping sliding pleasuring hand. He seemed to be pulling cum out of me as I exploded, what felt like ropes and ropes of hot jism. I opened my eyes to see it hit his belly, chest, and thighs, dribbling pearly and translucent into his pubic hair. He motioned me to keep going on him, and twenty seconds later I was rewarded with the twitching under my hand and long energetic spurts of his cum. He caught me mostly on my legs and crotch, grazing my hip. I looked down and started to rub it into my pubic hair, over my balls and my newly sensitive cock. He watched me with a half smile and then did the same with my cum on his sleek dark body, only he made more of a show of it, like he was rubbing in a fine brand of soap.

"Dirty boy," I laughed. "You deserved that caning."

This produced a lopsided smile from Amir. "So did you, my friend. You're no bastion of purity either." He rested a hand on my shoulder.

I touched my slimy cum-covered belly. "No, I'm not, am I?"

He looked so good when he smiled, with those white teeth and those thick bronzy lips, and the dimples. I guess I'd seen him angry too often; I'd never noticed. Sure, he looked hot when he was riled, but his smile was almost angelic. The warm shading of his olive skin fascinated me, I could've just stared forever.

I grabbed him around the waist and we kissed again. Then we hugged for a long time. As post-orgasmic fatigue swept over us, we found ourselves leaning together against the cool tile wall so we wouldn't crumple to the shower floor, exhausted from the afternoon's exertions. I felt his lips on my neck, gentle and soft.

"Let's skip the shower," he said.

"But we're covered in–"

"Exactly."

"You want to just–?"

"Yeah."

We shut up and started kissing again. I was obsessed with sucking on his cut lip–it made him moan adorably. Mine felt more swollen than before, extra sensitive. More from all the kissing than from his fist glancing my mouth. He hadn't scored a direct hit like I had. After all, I'd caught him by surprise. Mid-sentence, as a matter of fact. The look on his handsome face as the blood started dripping had been priceless.

We collected our rumpled clothes from the floor and dressed in companionable silence. Now the clothes chafed both our asses and our sensitive drained cocks, so there was a lot of wincing involved--but eventually we got our bodies decently covered. Or maybe it wasn't so decent at all, since we'd put on our sweaty clothes over each other's splattered drying cum.

When we were dressed, he grabbed me and hugged me again. Our mouths met in another long kiss, this one lazy and languid. It was weird to be kissing with our clothes on. Tender, chaste, but incredibly sensual. We looked at each other for a long moment after pulling apart.

He touched my fat lip very gently.

"I'm sorry," he said, his lashes lowered over his beautiful dark eyes. The blackened one was getting puffier, very purple on the outside. I wanted to lick it.

"Why, Khalili?" I asked, tracing his clean jawline with my finger, "I'm not."