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The Friday Study Group  

By Chris Carr

Copyright © 05/02/2016



(Dear readers... This story introduces characters and elements out of sequence making it hard to accurately present a preview. What follows then is just excerpts. Join today to get the full story!) 




His eyes crossing, Dwayne sighed. Got-damn, Maurice had gotten good at this shit. Peering up at him from the other side of his dick, the boy slurped happily, pulling the hard column easily into his mouth. Dwayne hissed, his pelvis pushing involuntarily upwards.

All of his hard inches lost in the boy’s warm cavern he stared at him amazed. Maurice’s cheeks puffed out, Dwayne’s hot hose swelling in his mouth. He swirled his tongue around the long shaft, sliding his mouth down then up. He knew Dwayne liked that and it made him hot to watch him react. Dwayne sighed, his hips popping again.

An excited look on his face, he placed his hand at the back of Maurice’s head. Propping up on an elbow, he pushed at the back of Maurice’s head, plunging more of his turgid pipe deeper inside his working mouth. Maurice gagged at first, his eyes watering then he pried his mouth open wider and suddenly Dwayne felt his throat muscles, snapped tightly around his dick...






Dwayne hissed then let out a huge gasp, frozen like a spastic shock victim. Cum rushed up his impossibly hard joystick, blasting against the back of Maurice’s throat like a water cannon. Tossing his head from side to side, he squelched a scream, his hips whipping uncontrollably upwards.

Damn, he’d waited for this all week. Gasping great gulps of air, he felt his dick cannonading inside Maurice’s velvety mouth. His dick felt hard enough to snap in two, the head spurting warm rounds of pent up desire.

Then it was over and there was no more to eject. He grunted, smothering more groans as his powerful orgasm ebbed until finally, mobility returned to his strained muscles. Maurice was still nursing his withering width with his talented mouth, which felt damn good, but the biggest thrill was behind them.

Collapsing on the bed, he stared up at the ceiling. Foam basketballs, hung on strings, dangled above him but he didn’t see them because Maurice was still working his wilting dick. Finally, the boy pulled off and Dwayne immediately sensed the cool room air on his engorged wand. It bobbled in midair a fine coating of spit glistening about its length.

He heard Maurice get up, then the bathroom door opened. He stared at the ceiling, trying to remember how long the foam basketballs had been hanging up there until he felt the cool towel on his deflating tool. Swabbing it clean, Maurice bent to dab at the spot he’d made on the bed.

"Got-damn, M’rice," Dwayne snapped, propping up on his elbows, "why you don’t put a towel down you gon’ do that shit? Be freakin’ me out when moms washes this shit and it’s got big assed rings and spots in ‘em." He shook his head, then lay back, staring at the little basketballs once more.

"What time is it?"

Dwayne glanced at his watch. "Quarter to nine." Quietly he lay, listening to the sounds of Maurice gathering up his things. A familiar rustling filled his ears when the boy pulled on his backpack, then he heard him walk to the door.

"Next week?"

Dwayne closed his eyes, then nodded his head yes. He didn’t even bother to put his semi-erect dick inside his pants when Maurice opened the door.




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The routine, more or less:

Maurice always drops his backpack on the floor, just right of the door.
Dwayne checks his email, pretending to ignore Maurice until he hears him go into the bathroom.
Sounds of water usher from behind the closed door, Maurice performing some kind of ritual washing or something, then Dwayne gets up and turns on the TV.
He usually lays across his bed although they’re have been the few occasions he never moved from his desk.
Maurice returns, looks at the TV, then at him on the bed.
Why’s he always have to ask?
Minutes pass, Dwayne’s libido skyrocketing until he relents and usually reaches for Maurice’s hand.
Maurice climbs between his legs.



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..."You think…" Dwayne paused, mostly for effect but because his heart is threatening to leap from his chest. Maurice stops too, his fingers still holding the zipper he’s just opened. This is different, he thinks, watching the way Dwayne is lost for words.

"You think… What would you think if Bracey came by?"

Like he’d expected, Maurice’s eyes widened. So his hunch was right?

"What for?" Maurice demurred.

"I see you. Seen the way you look at him."

"But… your moms?"

"How come Bracey can’t be studying, just like you and me?" Sarcastic emphasis on ‘studying’. Maurice hunched his shoulders, uncertain.

"Yo, you know you want to." Dwayne sits up, looking earnestly into Maurice’s eyes. Blinking at him a couple, Maurice dropped his head. With a grudgingly hunch of his shoulders, he reached inside Dwayne’s pants for the prize.





In his senior year at Drexel High, he’s not exactly popular but, at the least… known.
Plays B football because he doesn’t quite meet the weight requirement for Varsity.
5’10", 178 lbs, there are dimples in his cheeks when he smiles.
More or less your typical jock but with a little more sensitivity. You know, the type that would actually look in the direction of his lady when she’s "venting".
Hair braided into flowing pigtails that fall gloriously about his clueless face.






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...He washed his hands extra long that day. Bracey sat anxiously on the bed, casting Dwayne a ‘what’s he doing?’ look. Dwayne hunched his shoulders then they both feigned disinterest when Maurice finally returned.

"Yo, so wassup?" Dwayne nervously quipped. Maurice stood plastered against the wall for an indeterminable space of time. He looked in their direction when Dwayne inquired, looking down when he saw Bracey eagerly regarding him too. Hunch of his shoulders.

"Come over here, then," Dwayne said, looking anxiously at Bracey.

Stilted legs again, his heart slamming against his ribcage. Could he just have Bracey to himself? That would’ve blasted all inhibitions out the water. (He was deceiving himself) But two of them? He perched nervously on the side of the bed closest to Bracey. Dwayne slinked around the bed, sweeping up next to him, then he felt that insistent hand on the back of his head again.

It pushed at him, edging him closer and closer to Bracey’s groin. Maurice stared at him as Dwayne pushed then all he could see was the tent pole....






Bracey, the newest member to the Friday study group, walked home with Dwayne while Maurice met them, some time after school, at the house. This was an amicable agreement that worked out all around, until Dwayne let him in on where they were going.

The air was suddenly stifling and Maurice felt lightheaded. He clung to the wall like a helpless victim in a horror movie. He wasn’t staring at the floor this time. Instead, his eyes became glassy, leaving Dwayne and Bracey to wonder if he’d blanked out. Then, for the first time, he shook his head no.

"Listen to what we found first," Dwayne countered, joining him. Although Maurice was shaking his head no again, Dwayne barreled ahead.

"See, look."

He jammed a bunch of papers in Maurice’s face. Maurice read the title on the top page, his eyes growing large. Just the first few lines of the printout were enough to make him blush. He looked at Dwayne, his mouth slowly dropping open, then at Bracey, who had that same, ‘do-it!’ grin that Dwayne was sporting.

"Your moms…" He muttered, incredulous, then looking at the clock added, "it’s almost 5:00." Dwayne stepped to the door and locked it. As if that would solve it!



But when Bracey got up and approached him, he felt the walls crumbling. Got da-yum, that nigga could’ve sold him ice at the North Pole. Them sexy braids that made you wonder, was he like that? Those sweet, ruby red lips, the strong, slender nose. The dimples.









...On his stomach, he felt the dampness between them, soaking his clothes. His shirt pulled up, his pants were just above his knees. Bracey had pulled them down, aware that if he went too far, Maurice would be unable to spread his legs.

Grunts, hisses, smothered moans, that shit was deep in him now. He could hear Bracey huffing in his ear, smell his beer tainted breath, it’s warmth tickling his ear. "Damn baby, you feel goood tonight." Bedsprings creaked, the sagging bed bowing beneath their weight. And that almighty dick, thrusting, spreading, searching. Yeah, right there, right there. It would soon find him, transforming him into a blathering, writhing pile of liquid.

Bracey rode him like a champ, that all-encompassing length of his pummeling Maurice’s well-oiled hole. With each downward thrust, he knocked at that door, insisting he be let in. The headboard started it’s rhythmic pounding, threatening to proclaim their treachery. But Bracey knew just how hard to hit it. He’d learned a lot since that near disastrous first time. Couldn’t make so much noise. Had to keep it down…


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