School Body

by P.A. Brown

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This is a short piece featuring Alexander Spider and Jason Zachary from my novel, Geography of Murder.

Student Body

I slipped into the lecture hall, taking a seat in the back row. I don't think he saw me. He was too busy explaining the image he had just put up on the screen in front of the class. He had donned his uniform for his presentation on death investigation, to remind everyone of who he was. I stared at the winking metal cuffs tucked into his back pocket and the sidearm flush against his lean hips and felt a stir of excitement.

I was amused by the ripple of disgust that flashed through the roomful of eager young students. Not that I didn't feel a twinge myself. The image I had walked in on was a corpse in an advanced state of decay.

My stomach turned and I almost groaned along with a few others. A lot of them were visibly fighting to keep their lunches down. A few more looked positively green. I swear if one person threw up I was going to lose it. That was when he looked up and saw me.

Nothing crossed his face. There was a moment of tension then he smoothly moved on to the next slide. He finished his lecture with an admonition that there was an essay due on Monday, which drew a slew of groans. Finally he dismissed the class. I was half way to my feet when his voice boomed out, freezing everyone in their tracks.

"Mr. Zachary. My office."

Wide eyes looked around to see who was being summoned. Once everyone realized it wasn't them being called they hurried to make their exit before he could change his mind, leaving me alone in the suddenly cavernous lecture hall. I stood looking down at him. But instead of giving me the illusion of superiority I felt overwhelmed by him. He threw his papers into a cowhide briefcase, clicked it shut and ascended the stairs to my level. Without a word he passed me, leaving me to follow in his wake. His boots thudded on the tile floors and I couldn't help it, I watched the swing of his hips under the weight of his jacket and his gun. I was all too aware of his scent, something dark and masculine that set my nerves singing and my cock thickening in my suddenly too tight jeans.

His office was at the end of the corridor, behind a series of ominously closed doors. It was late in the day and I knew most of the other professors would be gone for the weekend. We were alone in the building. His footsteps echoed. The only other sound was our breathing, mine growing raspy, his still level and almost silent.

He didn't speak as he unlocked the door, letting us both in and locking up behind us. The air smelled of furniture polish and the scent of age that only old buildings have. The only window was the one in the door and it was frosted glass, letting little light in. The floors underfoot creaked as he led me across the narrow room toward a large wooden desk that took up most of the space. Even in the dim light I had no trouble seeing the glitter of his gray eyes behind his glasses. I opened my mouth to speak and he silenced me with a look.

I felt goose bumps crowd my arms. "Maybe I was wrong. I shouldn't have come--"

"Shut up." He pushed me back against the massive oak desk. "It's too late to change your mind." He spun me around and shoved me down, over the desk, leaning down to whisper in my ears, "But you knew that when you showed up today, didn't you? Now, it's too late to change your mind." He whispered in my ear, "You knew this was going to happen."

Before I could protest, he wrenched my arms behind my back and snicked his handcuffs on my wrists. He shoved my jeans down my legs, exposing my shivering thighs to the cool air of the office. My jock barely covered my swelling cock. "Sir!" I squeaked in my throat when his hand slid between my ass cheeks and probed the puckered flesh behind my balls. Oh God, what was he doing to me?

His mouth pressed against the skin below my ear. "We both know what you are, don't we?" His tongue stroked my ear, sending shivering ripples of desire down my spine to lodge in the base of my cock. Then he bit me. Hard.

I grunted behind my gag, thrusting my hips forward, scraping my swollen flesh against the smooth surface of the desk, wanting more than the touch of wood. I closed my eyes and let the sensations swamp me. His touch was sure and all too knowing.

He bit me again and the pain was a jolt of raw lust. He shoved two fingers into my ass, his thumb probing the soft skin behind my balls.

I wanted to beg him to stop. I wanted to beg him to bury himself inside me. I wanted--

I whimpered when I heard the whisper of his zipper and the rough play of his fingers went deeper, stroking my prostate. A light burst behind my closed eyes. I tried to straighten and turn around. I wanted to see his face. I wanted his cock down my throat or up my ass; I couldn't decide which I needed more. He jerked on the metal pinning my hands behind my back. A burst of pain shot through my shoulders and I cried out, a muffled groan that he responded to with a whispered imprecation demanding my silence, "Hush, boy. Stop fighting. This is going to happen."

His fingers traced a pattern down my trembling skin, slipping under my jock and shoving it aside. He cradled my swollen cock in one hand, his thumb slowly circling the head, spreading the wetness of my precum, tugging at my balls before wrapping his fingers around my prick and stroking me. I fucked his fist, feeling my balls crawl up as my orgasm approached. But before I could let go, he pulled his hand away and stepped back, leaving me shaking with need. I humped the air, silently begging him to come back.

Then he wrenched the shirt off my shoulders, further binding my arms. It took him about two seconds to drag my jeans off, turning them inside out as he hauled them over my Nikes, forcing my legs apart with his knee.

He grabbed my hips in both hands and planted his mouth over my collar bone. I could feel my pulse under his lips. Then I could feel his thick cock between my ass cheeks. He nudged at my hole and I moaned my need, thrusting back against him, silently pleading with him to take me.

"I've got you," he growled and slammed his cock up my ass. I arched across the desk. He bit my shoulder and plowed into me with long, smooth strokes that drove deep into my gut. His hand wrapped around my cock again, this time his strokes were hard and unforgiving. His other hand swept over my chest, pinching me, his cock pulse deep inside me. His fingers left bruises on my hips as he emptied himself into me with a guttural, drawn out groan. His breath gusted hot and tortured on my damp skin.

We stayed like that for several minutes. Then he reluctantly peeled away from me and undid the cuff's. Freed from the metal restrains, I turned around and welcomed his embrace.

"Hmmm," I murmured against the light fabric of his shirt. "We should do this more often, Detective Spider."

His laughter was a low rumbled I felt through my lips. "As long as it doesn't interfere with your classes or mine, Jason Zachary."

"Of course not. So, home?"

"Not until you cover up." He cupped his big hand around my still tender balls. "No one gets to see this but me."

I laughed and reached for my pants. "Yes, sir!"

Link to Geography of Murder