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"Run with the swift."

Friday, 7 October 2011

A New Direction For One Direction 4: Zayn Malik - The Dark One

In this fourth chapter, the Doctor visits ITV Studios prior to a live show, in order to give Zayn a haircut and help exercise some of his frustration. This is a task bandmate Harry is 'happy' to help with.

I was most surprised to get an invitation to the show, given that I appeared to be making an enemy of Simon, one of the show's Executive Producers.
Yet, invited I was.
I got a call on Tuesday; some flunkie from ITV explained to me that I was invited in gratitude for my excellent work and admirable discretion concerning One Direction. Little did she know I had a lot of very good reasons to keep my activities discreet.
Whilst I do love jail boys, I didn't particularly want to join their ranks after being convicted of statutory rape. No, better to remain discreet.

Not that the boys knew this, of course. Since I'd started amassing photographic evidence of Harry's seemingly outrageous homosexuality, the threat of making the whole thing so horribly public gave me some much needed leverage. 

Leverage I intended to continue to exploit.

Saturday 13th November, 2010
I turned up for the live show a little early. Apparently, one of the acts had requested my presence to help them with their nerves before the show. That person was Harry Styles, and he had made the request, at my request. Whilst taking pictures of him getting fucked, it had made sense to put his number into my phone. 

I enjoyed having 24/7 contact with him...he knew better then to ignore my calls. I particularly enjoyed calling him at 6.10am, just after I got up for work, and instructed him to immediately go to the kitchen, get a cucumber from the fridge, and take a video of him sticking it up his tight-ish arse - and for it to be sent to my own phone within ten minutes, or I'd be calling a friend of mine at News International. 

And like the little teen fuckbag that he is, he did it. You couldn't really see his face on the video, so it wouldn't really work for blackmail; but it was certainly fun to watch.

But, I'm getting distracted. As I said, I turned up before the show was due to air, and was taken backstage to meet young Harry. When I arrived to meet him however, I was somewhat annoyed to find that he wasn't alone; he and Zayn were sitting together in a dressing room, chatting. 

The room was fairly plain; white walls, with a long mirror, counter with various hair products adorning it, and chairs placed before them, like at the barbers.

When I walked in, Harry sighed and said curtly, "what are you doing here?"

To which my response was to get out my guest pass for the show, replete with the request that Harry had asked me to come early, and say, "why don't you tell me, songbird?"

Zayn watched the exchange with amusement. I held out my hand and introduced myself to him; he grudgingly returned the handshake. He said after a minute of idle small-talk, "it's weird man; the other boys really swear by you. But Harry always seems...less keen."

"Yeah," I replied, looking at Harry, "that's because Harry lacks motivation. But I *think* he's starting to see that I can really help turn his life around; make him into a new person."

We all sat in silence for a minute, before I had an idea. "Zayn, why don't you let me help you out? I seem to remember Simon telling me-" by which I meant, I seem to remember reading on a One Direction fansite "-that you are quite nervous before shows. 

I can help with that, if you like...and I mean, if the rest of the boys are such big fans..."

"I don't think that's a good idea," Harry said.

"Now now, Harry, don't start telling the lad what to do. He can make up his own mind, I'm sure."

"Yeah, I fucking can, Harry," said a flustered Zayn.

"I just don't think you should do it, he...he can do anything to you when you're asleep."

"Oh, Harry," I said, chuckling. "Honestly, is there anything you can think of, that I've done, to take advantage of my position of authority, since this whole thing started with you walking into my office so many weeks ago?"

Harry's eyes narrowed as he stared at me for a moment. For my part, I was loving every minute. "No."

"Well then. I tell you what, Zayn," I said, as if thinking of this for the first time, "how about if Mr. Cynical here stays in the room whilst I help you?"

Harry's wide-eyed reaction went un-noticed as Zayn replied quickly, "yeah, that's a brilliant idea. Ok, let's do it."

Lets, I thought.

Retrieving my gizmo, I set it to a melodic pattern, and instructed Zayn to look at it. As he did so, his eyes began to lose focus. I checked to make sure the door was locked, before returning to the swivel chair I had placed before Zayn's own, more comfortable hair-salon chair. 

I began the induction, eying up the developed, big body he was hiding under his black shirt and jeans.

"Zayn, I want you to imagine that you are in a large city. It is a foreign city, which you have never been to before. You are in a busy market place; the hot sun is beating down, and people are walking past you in every direction. How do you feel."


"The people are unfamiliar to you. They don't appear approachable, and they certainly don't speak the same language as yourself. It occurs to you that you don't know anyone, at all, in the entire city, and you can't remember how you got here. How do you feel now?"

Harry sat there, watching me unhappily, his arms folded. Zayn responded, "N...nervous."

"Yes, Zayn. I imagine you do feel nervous. How will you ever get home?"

"I...I don't know."

"Luckily, Zayn, I'm here. And even though I'm just a voice in your head, I know how you can get home. I can lead you out of this city. Would you like that?"

"Yeah...yeah, I'd like that..."

"But for me to do that, Zayn, you must place your trust in me. After all, it's not really going to work if, in order for you to get home, I ask you to do something, and then you don't do it, now will it?"


"So Zayn, do you trust me?"

"Yeah...I guess so."

"Right. As you look around the market, you notice lots of different stalls, all selling many wonderful things. I want you to look at each stall, and at each item on them, and as you move from item to item, you will feel yourself falling deeper and deeper into this trance." 

"Do you understand, Zayn? With each item, you will step deeper into your own mind; and you will welcome this, together the warm, embracing envelopment of your conscious mind by your subconscious. Do you understand?"

As he sat there, a little grin appeared on his face. "Yeah."

"That's right, Zayn; you have nothing to worry about. You trust me completely, and I am here to help you. Together, we will help you. Together, we will leave the city."

As I finished my induction, I left Zayn slouched there, relaxed with his eyes closed, slipping further into his own enslavement. I turned to Harry. "Get your fucking trousers off."

"Jesus Christ," he replied, "the show starts in a fucking hour!"

"Then that means we've got an hour. I can tell you've already had your face powdered or whatever poofs like you have done, and your wearing the clothes you're going to be wearing on stage. So. How about, YOU take the trousers OFF, so then, you won't have to go on stage with jizz stains on them?"

"Man..." he was about to complain yet again but, realising that he had already stood and was undoing the clasp of his smart trousers, I think he thought better of it. 

He slipped off his shoes, and the trousers slid down his toned legs, pooling at his ankles. He clumsily stepped out of them, and sat back down, in a huff. He was now dressed in a cream coloured T-Shirt, black addidas socks, and lose purple boxer-shorts. He wasn't hard.

I would have to give Zayn five minutes or so for him to deepen his trance sufficiently, so I decided to keep myself occupied with Harry for the moment. 

"Come over here, Harry." 

He reluctantly stood, and slowly walked over until he was standing infront of me. I put my two hands on his flanks, and spun him round, and then pulled him down onto my knee.  The boys long legs were forced to splay open slightly, due to the close proximity of my knee to the floor.

Reaching round him, I put my right hand on his left pec, and pulled him back, until he was lying against my torso. As I gently rubbed his toned chest, fingering his cute little nipples to erection, I rested my chin on his left shoulder so I could look down his lanky frame, while my left hand delved into his boxers.

The hand alternating between nips detected an intake in breath as I did this, and his ass on my knee hardened momentarily. 'He really should be used to this sort of thing by now,' I thought. 

Carrying on regardless, I wrapped my hand around his soft cock, absent-mindedly squeezing and pulling on it like it were a dog's soft toy.

With my moist index finger tracing circles around the fat, mostly sheathed head, the boy rested his head on my right shoulder, his eyes closed - to lessen the embarrassment, or pretend I was a girl, I imagine, which just turned me on more. 

I flexed my cock against his ass; he shifted his position somewhat, in an effort to get away, but his movement made me harder.

My hand had now extricated his cock from his undies; I was wanking him, but too slowly for anything to come of it. I just wanted him horned up, not spunking all over the place. 

After five minutes of my hand silently dancing up and down his now erect pole, him with his eyes closed, me looking at Zayn, I stopped, which seemed to bring Harry out of his own trance.

"That's enough of that. Get off me, Harry." He dutifully stood up, cock standing proud out of his boxers, looking down at the floor.

"Zayn, how do you feel?"

"...'k," he said after a good 30 second pause.

"You can only hear my voice, Zayn. You are so deeply entranced, that you know the only way you can find your way out of the city - out of your own mind - is by listening to me, and doing exactly as I say. That's right, isn't it?"


"Yes, it is." I looked him over once more. Zayn had black hair, and an unnaturally square jaw for a seventeen year old. His dark, exotically coloured skin made him distinctive among his white group-mates. 

His loose charcoal coloured jeans weren't particularly revealing, but the black shirt he wore adorned his frame nicely. Reaching over, I began unbuttoning the shirt from the top, undoing the silver buttons one at a time.

Harry, stood alongside me, audibly sighed in disgust. I reached over with my other hand and flicked the head of his semi-erect prick. "AHH, bastard!" He shouted.

"Keep your thoughts regarding these events to yourself, young man. No-one fucking cares what you think, about anything. I'm just honest enough to tell you, that's all. So with that in mind, just shut your fucking mouth, ok? Now as a punishment, you're going to help me out."

He walked over, cupping his cock protectively. "Get down between his legs."

"I ain't sucking him off."

"Actually, you'll do whatever your told, you little shit. But in this instance, your right - you're not sucking him off. Now get down there." 

I put my hand on his shoulder and pushed him onto his knees. 

He didn't have much space, given the proximity of my own chair to Zayn's, but he's a nimble little fucker, and found his way down there.

"Take off his shoes."

He undid the laces on Zayn's black puma high-tops, clumsily removing them from the sleepy big boy, who instinctively flexed his toes at the freedom.

"Take off his socks."

He reached for the black socks, and slowly rolled them down and off. His feet were large and athletic, with the same husky complexion as the rest of him, and a shock of fine black hair gilding each toe. Glancing at the new hightops, I saw they were size 10s. 

"Right. Now you're going to make love to his feet, with your tongue."

Harry replied immediately, "oh fuck right off."

"Listen. Just get your tongue down there. It's basically the same as eating out a cunt."

He looked incredulous. "Exactly how is it the same?"

"Both involve lots of licking, if I remember correctly."

"And how the fuck would you know, fucking queer."

I pushed his head down as I responded, "because I did a lot of crazy experimenting when I was in my twenties. Now get down there, fuck head."

As I continued unbuttoning Zayn's shirt, Harry clumsily licked each of Zayn's chunky toes. "Pick up his feet; you can get better leverage then," I said helpfully.

He did what I said, licking between each of his mate's toes, his eyes closed as he did so.

I stood alongside the two lads, so I could pull the shirt out of Zayn's trousers, undoing the last button, and parting the two wings of the shirt.

As I took in the sights of his fantastic chest, I asked Harry, "what do Zayn's feet taste of, Harry?"

"If your that eager to know, get down here and lick 'em yourself," he replied angrily between licks.

"Just answer the fucking question."

"Salt, I guess."

"Ah. That's sweat."

He coughed and wretched at the idea. I smacked him on the back of the head after he'd recovered. "Get back to it, fucker. Suck his toes."

Is it possible to look reluctant when sucking another person's toes? I'm not sure, but it was bizarre to see Harry with his eyes closed, sucking on a big toe like it was his favourite toy, but with an angry frown on his forehead. 

I quickly took a couple of pics, believing such an expression really needs to be immortalised.

I returned my attention to Zayn. His pectorals were well defined, and the eight pack below them was delightful. I ran the fingers of my right hand over the ridges, revelling in their firmness. 

My hand glided up from his abdomen, up to the flat nipple perched atop his left pec. As the pad of my finger ran around the areola, I leant in and licked his equally flat companion.

When I started to gently grip it between my teeth, playfully almost, I felt them both begin to crinkle and firm up, as he inhaled a deep lungful of air. I stood back, still dressed in my M&S pastel blue dress shirt and stone-coloured chinos, wondering what I could do next. 

Looking around the room, I had a delicious idea. "Harry, leave his feet alone." Harry leant back on his heels, a string of saliva connecting his puffy lips with the middle toe of Zayn's right foot for a few seconds, until it broke. After a second to get his senses back, he stood up and stepped back. 

Both of Zayn's feet were slick with sweat and saliva, particularly around his long toes.

"Zayn, can you hear me?"


"Good. We're starting to make our way out of the foreign city now. Nearly out, but not quite. When I count to three, you will wake up, feeling normal. You will however remain in a light trance, which will dull your mind, making you docile, and trusting of me personally."

"You must continue to do what I say, or you will slip back into a deep trance, and return to the market place in the centre of the city. If this happens, I will be unable to help you anymore. Do you understand?"

"Ye...yeah," his voice trembled slightly; as expected, his dumb mind translated the scenario directly, causing a lot of fear within him.

"Good. One, two, THREE."

His eyes slowly opened, and he smiled at Harry, until he realised Harry wasn't wearing any trousers.

"What the fuck, dude?" He asked with a look of disgust on his face.

Before Harry could answer, I said, "Harry's a queer. That doesn't bother you, does it?"

"Well, no. I guess not. But why isn't he wearing any trousers?"

"Because he doesn't want to. Nothing's wrong with that, is it?"

"Um..." part of him clearly thought there was. "...well, not really, I guess. But why does he have his cock sticking out?"

"Oh." I glanced at Harry before returning to Zayn. "Yeah. Well, that's just a quirk of his, I guess. But again; that's hardly a problem, now is it, Zayn?"

He smouldering eyes fixed on my own for a second, wide-eyed. He seemed to be genuinely thinking about the situation
. "No."

That was the moment I was waiting for, and smiled in satisfaction  at his response. "Right. So now that's sorted," I spun Zayn's chair round till he faced the mirror. "It's time for your hair cut."

"Ok. My hair looks fine, though..."

"What? No no no, Zayn; I've not examined it yet, but given how hairy your feet are, combined with that manly metro-sexual attitude seventeen year olds like you have, I'm willing to bet your hair is considerably unkempt."


"So, Harry," I spoke over my shoulder, "if you'd be kind enough to take Zayn's trousers and underwear off, please."

"For fuck's sake..."

"Time is money, dear. And presuming you don't want pictures of you sucking off Zayn's little toe to find their way onto the internet, you'll just fucking do it."

He moved and once again found himself on his knees between Zayn's long outstretched legs. Undoing the clasp, he reached his hands under Zayn's arsecheeks, so he could pull the jeans down the boys hairy, fit legs. 

As Harry struggled, I reached down and ran my hands through the dark forest scattered across his inner thigh, feeling the finely chiselled musculature as I did so. Harry removed the jeans eventually.

"Now the boxers." He rolled his eyes, but didn't argue. Instead, he reached for the waistband of Zayn's grey Georgio Armani boxer-briefs, rolling them down Zayn's big frame. 

His dark seven inch sausage popped out, semi-hard, the cut head swiping across the back of Harry's left hand, who immediately recoiled as though he'd just been burned.

He stared at Zayn's member like a deer caught in the headlights, before returning to roll his boxers down and off his feet, at which point he scurried out from under the table, between the boy's outstretched thighs. 

Zayn watched all of this impassively, seemingly unconcerned. I moved before Zayn, picking up his boxers and pocketing them.

He cock rested, like a serpent, along his right thigh. I ran my fingers around the rim of his meaty glans, looking him in the eye as I did so. He was looking back at me, but didn't say anything. 

Running my finger over the dome now, I felt him begin to stiffen appreciably, especially when my nail diddled the point just beneath the fleshy head. 

I would on occasion run my finger down the flanks of his shaft, to grasp and yank his furry rounded ballsack, but I didn't wank him.

Once he was hard, I turned to the sink built into the table on my left, filling it with warm water, and getting a bic razor from a bag that was on the table. I plugged in the electric razor, and turned back to Zayn. 

Reaching behind his back, and pulling his legs as necessary, I made him slouch down deeper into the chair, until he was resting on the small of his back. 

Taking a rounded heel in each of my sweaty palms, I hoisted his legs up, placing his big feet on either side of me on the table, where they naturally slid up, flexing and gripping the edge of the table for support, like a hawk's talons.

He was now lying down on the chair, with his legs at right-angles to his body, and still wearing his black shirt, albeit opened. His entire crotch was made available for my perusal and debasement.

I retrieved a comb from the table, and knelt. I wondered where to begin, being faced with a lush and vibrant black forest of hair over his entire groin. 

Gripping his torpedo-shaped prick mid-shaft, I manoeuvred his cock out of the way, and spent a few quiet minutes running the comb through the lush black curls above the thick base of his eager cock.

After helping clear the tangles from his pubes, so all the hairs were erect and easy to snip, I put down the comb and reached for the scissors. 

I began snipping away at the docile boys groin, making his hairy mass more manageable. 

I focused on the area above his dick, which required me to keep one hand on his unruly knob, moving it safely out of the way of my scissors when necessary, and his taint, which was positively festooned with sweaty, matted black hair.

After I'd reduced the scale of the job before me with the scissors, I put them down and quickly sniffed the fingers that had just spent the past 10 minutes rooting around Zayn Malik's fragrent public hair. 

They smelt predominantly of shower gel; he'd obviously just showered; but I also smelt the heady scent of in-heat boy, causing my dick to harden even more. Returning myself to the present, I now reached for the electric razor. 

I ran the buzzing instrument around the curling mass directly above his dick, moving said dick this way and that as I did so.

My squeezing and moving only served to make him harder, however. When I was done, I let his dick snap back against his cut abs, and gently blew on the area I'd just cut. Getting in nice and close, I was struck by the spicy scent of his crotch, and observed his dick jerk with need as I blew the hairs away. 

I was somewhat annoyed to realise that the razor must of had some attachment on it, because whereas I envisioned him being smooth as a baby, he looked more hairy as a thirteen year old, with a short but highly noticeable buzz-cut around his prick. 

Harry, watching the whole time and rubbing his dick absent-mindedly, looked away as he smiled. I was glad he was getting into it, but couldn't have him laughing at me like that. "Dunno what your laughing at," I said, "your next."

Time to break out the bic.

"Harry, take off your boxers."

Harry, pissed off as ever, complied, handing me the burgundy shorts. I admired his chunky cock and balls once more, before taking the shorts and dunking them in the water. 

Harry shouted "fucker!" 

I ignored him, and wiped the damp rag around Zayn's short hairs, wrapping them around his balls and squeezing, before dunking them again and wiping down the boys taint, with a vigorous couple of swipes down his visible, black arse furrow. 

Throwing them back to Harry, who caught them but didn't seem to know what to do with them, I went to get a bottle of shaving foam on the other side of the table.

Squeezing some into my hand, I rubbed my palms together, before layering the stuff over his groin, and upper thighs for good measure. 

Removing the protective plastic tip from the bic, I moistened that too, and once again took hold of his erect, now slick and slippery, shaft. I tried to be methodical and professional, but couldn't help slowly wanking him as I swept the razor across the fuzzy hairs at the base of his groin, cleanly denuding him as I did so.

Firmly corkscrewing his cock, I moved the razor down to the base of his shaft, swiping down and over his laden ballsack, 'accidently' prodding and poking his walnut sized testes, with each slip of the razor removing his masculine ball-hair, and revealing the smooth crinkly brown skin beneath.

I continued further south, taking care not to nick him as I scraped away the tufts of fur between his firm legs. My other hand remained on his cock, although it was difficult to get traction on him; I think that was more annoying for him then for me however, with him thrusting into my hand in frustration whilst I worked him. 

This made me particularly anxious about nicking him, as his lower torso was fairly constantly moving into me.

I smiled inwardly when I saw that Harry was now standing in the corner of the room, watching me, and steadily wanking his cock. 

Leaving Zayn's cock alone for a minute so he could calm down, I finished the job, getting him to read down and spread his tight cheeks apart for me, so I could remove the crinkly hair from first the left side of his deep trench, and then the right.

Putting the razor down, I got a towel and delighted in rubbing him down; his fine thighs, his deep ass crack, and the main appendage itself, of course, fondling his balls and jacking his cock as I did so, enclosed in the rough fabric of the towel, for a good five minutes. 

I finally checked out how good a job I'd done by leaning down, pushing his legs closer to his chest, and licking up his deep crevice, over his tight little hole, and up to his balls, licking around them with the tip of my tongue, before taking one in my mouth to suck on for a few minutes. It tasted of menthol, and lad.

Letting him pop out of my mouth, I eyed Harry's disgusted look, and smiled at him reassuringly. 

Still wanking Zayn's cock, running the soft pad of my thumb over the slimy dome of his knob, I dipped my finger in the water for a moment, before shoving that finger up his ass, pushing him further back into the chair, and making his eyes open wide whilst letting out a pained groan.

"Zayn, do you fancy boys, or girls?"


I chuckled at his current predicament, as I often did with straight boys. "Fair enough. Who's the most attractive woman you can think of?"

As I asked, my inquiring finger wormed its way deeper up into his insides, causing him to wriggle in frustration, and moan intermittently. "Cheryl COLEEE" he said, as my finger poked his prostate, causing his flared knob to shoot out a little clear juice.

"Well, this is handy, Zayn. Because if you look behind you, you'll see Cheryl standing there, naked." Zayn looked over his shoulder at Harry, his eyes partly closed, but bright and alive with lust. Harry for his part visibly gulped, stopped masturbating himself, and took a few steps back.

Returning my gaze to Zayn, I slid my finger out of him, feeling his ass muscles unconsciously clamp down on my digit as I did so, clearly unhappy to part company with it. Zayn's dark eyes had more life in them, now that I had invigorated him with a quick finger fuck. 

I slid the sweaty finger he missed so much along his cushioned lips. 

Once, then twice. 

On the second pass, his lips slid open ever so slightly, allowing me to slide my finger into his mouth. Initially it just sat in his mouth, but he eventually started clumsily licking it with his powerful tongue, and before long, he was gently sucking it, me looking into his eyes as he did so.

After a minute, my finger retreated from his mouth with a pop, and I extracted myself from the boy's juiced-up cock and hairless crack, ducked under his left leg (which was still perched on the table), and adjusted my painful erection. 

"Your haircut's done, Zayn; get up, now." He did so, a little unsteadily, but was up all the same, standing to his full five feet nine inches, naked except for his shirt. I looked at Harry. He was moving away from me, towards the corner of the room.

"Cheryl, stop," I said, smiling. "You know you want Zayn to fuck you. That's why you're here. It's also why you're naked. What else could the reason be? Get on your knees. Right now."

"Just...listen, we can talk about this...all this...just stay the fuck away from me, ok?" I was continuing to advance on him; Zayn and his angry erection was behind me, and Harry had his back to the wall, both figuratively and literally.

I spoke calmly. "Something you should realise, Harry. Something you should realise, before you get the impulse to do something stupid. Firstly, this IS going to happen. I know this; you know this. We know this because, there is no way, absolutely no way, you are going to risk fucking up your entire career, by allowing those pictures to get out." 

"Secondly, you do this with Niall, and from what my camera phone has observed, you quite enjoy it. Why shouldn't you enjoy this?"

"Because you've made me do that! You've made it so I think I like it!" He thought for a second. "Fine, hypnotise me into liking this, then!"

"Harry, stop shouting. I'm not going to hypnotise you. You're going to get fucked, with your own mind in your head. It's the next logical step in our relationship." I was now before him.

Zayn, for his part, was clearly fed up of the discussion, as he came over and took matters into his own hands - naked except for his shirt, he used his superior upper-body strength to pull Harry down onto the floor by his hair.

"Fuck, Zayn, no!" shouted Harry. 

Now on the floor, he scrambled to get back up, but this did not help; as soon he found himself on his hands and knees, Zayn knelt behind him, wrapped one arm around the boy's neck and shoulder to get purchase on him, used his other hand to get a grip of his fat erect prick, and slammed into Harry very quickly and without any warning at all.

Harry would've screamed out in pain and anguish, were it not for Zayn's hand that moved to cover his mouth. Zayn slid out until just the head of his cock was plugging Harry, and then once again slammed into Harry, resulting in another scream from the desperately unconvinced teen. 

This occurred twice more, each time as brutal as the first, before Zayn started sawing into and out of Harry with a steady, strong rhythm. 

He was sprawled over Harry's developed back, moving just his hips as necessary, like an angry terrier, with his strong right arm now wrapped around Harry's neck and chest, effectively holding the teenager down as he was being fucked.

I know this because I was kneeling down, watching, with my right hand on Zayn's pert left bum cheek - just to steady him, you understand, although I'm not entirely sure if the regular massages and occasional slaps really helped in this regard. 

My left hand was wrapped around Harry's meaty, softening cock, eager to keep him blind to everything but the testosterone flowing from his fat bollocks into his small brain - testosterone I had used to my advantage previously, and intended to do so once again.

Sliding under the two like a mechanic at the body shop, I decided to get a better grip on Harry's one-eyed engine. I was struck by the stink of teenage groin and ass as I lay there, wallowing in it. 

I had become accustomed with Harry's scent, and got off on the fact that so many girls, and more than a few boys, would love to get as well acquainted with his stinky nuts as I was. 

Leaning up, I enveloped those nuts with my mouth basting the already moist skin with as much saliva as I could produce, with Harry pushing down on me as I did so. His firming-up cock was lying against my philtrum; above my lips, below my nose.

It was almost a sensory overload for me; my taste buds were exploding with the texture and manly flavour of his sweat-riddled boy-sack, whilst my nose took in great big lung fulls of the delightful scent emanating from the rubbery thick shaft, coated as it was with a thin film of flavoursome sweat that would stick to my nose whenever he flexed his prick. 

After sucking on his nuts like a baby with a pacifier for what must of been three or four minutes, his cock, now considerably stiffer, jumped away from my nose, and would every now and again spit out juice from the flared head, drizzling down my cheek as it cooled - presumably in reaction to Zayn slip-sliding against his prostate.

Extracting myself from the boy, I thought it was time to get my fill: I knew the production team must be looking for the two of them; the show had already started, and they were due to go on in 25 minutes or so. 

Standing, or rather, getting up, and stumbling over to Harry's face, I knelt down, and took a picture, capturing the look of ecstasy on Harry; his eyes closed in lust, his head cocked to one side as it wobbled forward in time to Zayn's rhythmic fucking, his lips parted slightly. 

I smiled, knowing that Harry was, I believe, beginning to get it.

After taking pictures, I stood back up, and unzipped the fly on my trousers; my cock leapt out, hitting Harry on his baby-smooth left cheek. He didn't notice however, too lost in his own reverie as he was. 

Taking my cock, I placed the head between Harry's parted lips, and slowly pushed forward. His lips opened slowly, with my knob gently slipping between the twin pillows of his lips. His teeth then also opened, like the pearly gates of heaven, allowing my cock to delve further into the superstar's hot little mouth.

He didn't suck, and he didn't create much of a vacuum, and his teeth did occasionally scrape, but all the same, I slid my hand into his recently manicured hair, and face fucked him for all he was worth - and he was worth a lot. I looked across at my comrade-in-fucking on the other side of Harry, who smiled at me lustily. 

Zayn spoke as if he were drunk; slowly, and with a slur. I think the induction had genuinely dampened his perceptions. I hoped I could repair the damage, before realising that in all likelyhood, nobody would notice either way. He held his free hand out to me, grinning. 

"We're fuckin Cheryl Cole, man!"

I gripped his clammy hand, and continued to look at him, smiling. "Yeah," I said. "Pretty sweet."

We continued like this; Zayn, both grinning and fucking like a maniac, me, fucking Harry's face with varying degrees of speed, and Harry, essentially comatose to all intents and purposes, naked except for his T-Shirt and black addidas socks, for a good ten minutes. 

I say comatose; Harry did eventually get into the spirit of things, slowly bucking against Zayn, and dejectedly swiping his tongue, more accustomed to exploring gently fragranced pussies then angry cocks, over the head of my organ. 

But Zayn, fucking Cheryl Cole as he was, could not control his excitement indefinitely, and his face crinkled up as he began to spew down Harry's cunt.

The look on Zayn's face set me off, as Harry gulped down the first two shots, and then - as is tradition - took the rest of my load on his cute little baby-faced, face. 

I don't know exactly what did it or when, but by the time I had finished, Harry was mid-way through firing his load over the carpet. I counted four strong shots, coating the floor around my legs in jizz. 

Zayn unceremoniously pulled out, wrapped his softening cock around the cotton T-Shirt that Harry was wearing, and wiped. 

He forced a last globule of spunk out of his pipe onto Harry's show clothes, before gently dabbing the head to remove the last of the moisture. As he did so, I once again chuckled at seeing the cleanly shaven pubic region of the boy.

I for my part wiped my cock in Harry's hair, giving it even more of a natural glow. 

I instructed Harry to clean up his jizz off the carpet, handing him his red boxers to do it with - which he did without saying a word, pushing the fabric down onto the carpet to remove as much of the stain as possible, just as his mum had taught him.

"Right, both of you, get dressed." They did so, Zayn slightly more mechanically then Harry, who was still a little bleary eyed from the fucking he'd just received. 

Once dressed in their dark trousers, I noticed the spunk stain on Harry's T-Shirt. Opening the wardrobe, I picked out a dark jacket, and instructed him to put it on.

I said to Zayn, "Zayn, when you hear the door bang closed, you will wake up from your induction. As far as you remember, you spent the evening chatting to Harry, and picked out a jacket for him to wear. You will remember having shaven your groin, with Harry's assistance-" 

Harry showed no visible reaction to this, just standing there looking into the middle distance.

"-but you think it'd be better not to mention that to anyone else, and neither the fact that you and him will keep the area around your cock and balls clean shaven, from now on. When I say the words, 'Betty Boothroyd Bludgeon's Boris', you will return to this state. Do you understand?"

He frowned for a minute. "Yeah..."

I turned to see Harry once again in a trance; I had just given Zayn the same trigger phrase I had built into Harry's subconscious several weeks ago, of course. I repeated to him what I had just said to Zayn, incase he felt obliged to press the nuclear button and claim that Zayn had raped him.

I was about to head for the door and leave, when something caught my attention, out the corner of my eye. Should I? Could I? 

Sure I could. 

Returning to Harry, now dressed in his trousers, trainers, T-Shirt and jacket - but still entranced, I reached for the clasp on his trousers, and lowered them. His lack of underwear made this task even easier than it otherwise would've been.

Moving myself around the boy, I knelt behind his abused ass. Rubbing his still tight-as-fuck left arse-cheek with my one hand, I reached for what I wanted from the table. "Harry, reach with your two hands behind your back, grip your arse cheeks, and pull them apart." 

He did so, presenting his puckered hole to my gaze. I pushed his back, so he leant forward slightly, and slowly slid the Philips Nose Hair Trimmer up his rectum, until just the 'head' was protruding from his lips. 

Returning him to upright, he groaned as the object found its position in him, and his dick thickened and flexed with renewed need.

I refastened his trousers, squeezing his lengthening shaft as I did so; when zipped up, it was easy to make out his fleshy cock and fat knob pressing against the material, eager to get out into the open. 

Watching Zayn absentmindedly scratch his crotch, I left the room, to watch what I hoped would be one hell of a show.

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1 comment:

  1. The phrase "...naked except for his T-Shirt and black addidas socks..." is MUSIC TO MY EARS! This was a great recounting of unbridled teen lust, especially the part where Zayn was hunched over Harry, humping him like a pit bull. You are soooo good at what you do (to horny lads :P)!