NCADv4n1_Neale Sourna's North Coast Academies' Diary _Tad: The Switch-hitter, His Twink, and His Teacher _ A Lust Novella (M/M/M)

By Neale Sourna

Biracial, bisexual Tad, a graduating senior, has an active, relentless lust for his black English professor lover. Fellow student, Quen "the queen," a fair blond twink, is saving his boy toy virginity to be Tad's lover; and humiliation is required. Young Top Tad puts a plan in action, to pull a Switch; sandwiching himself between his twink's Bot

• Language: English
• Publisher: PIE: Perception Is Everything
• Release date: Aug 8, 2017
• ISBN: 9781938903298

Neale Sourna

Neale Sourna (www.Neale-Sourna.com) is an award-winning author / publisher - screenwriter - game story narrative writer based in Cleveland, Ohio, USA, who "backed" into novel writing with self-prescribed short story exercises to work out ideas for TV scripts and feature screenplays. Neale's first published work was "Hesitation" for PLAYGIRL, May 2002. NS also edits and designs (ebook and book covers plus interior layouts) of the character-driven stories published through PIE: Perception Is Everything (www.PIE-Percept.com). Neale is a member of the Writer's Guild of America - West (WGA-w)'s Video Game Caucus.

Book preview

Tad: The Switch-hitter, His Twink, and His Teacher

Chapter 1

Our professor, Dr. Hupper, who’s thirty-seven next month, had his dark brown fist around my dusky pink-tan cock and balls, and I couldn’t even pretend to think clearly anymore. His classroom was locked, the shade drawn down, forestalling any prying eyes, like those of the after-hours cleaning guy, who’d already emptied the trash bins in here.

I’d been studying, at that time, and Dr. Hupper’d been showing me a detail within the text, when cleaning guy had come and gone.

We were studying together, now, too.

Dr. Hupper was explaining advance something, about rhythmic something patterns, in something verse, versus prose in Shake-something-speare.

Maybe.

I no longer cared, and he probably wasn’t thinking or caring about ye olde Billy Shakespeare either, with my hand doing a mutual jerk on his thick, black cock, long and hot in my palm.

Dr. Hupper is a favorite of just about every kid at the NC Academies, despite teaching English English, I mean, British English Lit. He’s a favorite because he makes it interesting and fun; but not because he gives everyone a great jerk off.

I know kids who love him and they’ve never had a class with him, just seen him or talked to him in the halls or just around the private compound and grounds of the Academies‘.

He sort of looks like that lovable, attractive Rubber Band Man from the old office supply commercials, the same guy on that defunct—too bad— silly, but amusing TV show My Name is Earl—yeah, Crabman; but cleaned up.

Dr. Hupper’s nice on the eyes, slim, dark-skinned, minus the huge ‘bro ‘fro, like Crabman’s and like our Dad had back in his 1970s’ photos with his massive, thick afro hairstyle.

Okay, so, FYI, to set our stage and back story of this passionate play, our Dad’s the biggest wheel on our school’s board.

He’s chair of the Oversight and Appropriations Committee, which I don’t think most school boards have, but ours does and has had for most of its hundred plus years; so, because he holds the purse strings, the power reins, and has his big, black hand up a few choice asses, he’s just about God here, with a big G.

Yeah, that’s probably sacrilegious, so just get over it.

His day job is running a lucrative corporation, that he’s CEO, President, and Owner of; therefore, he has a lot of power, too, which you don’t fucking care about; however, they’re the main corporate contributor to this independent, complex of private schools—little kiddies, middle school, high school, and liberal arts college—that we call North Coast Academies.

So, that’s Dad.

Our Mom’s gorgeous or so our friends say, and she is; redhead—which she isn’t really, but is presently, thanks to Lady Clairol or some such shit. She’s white, very white, Irish fair-skinned white and is powerful in her own right.

She’s President of the PAEB [Parents Education Advisory Board] and my Dad’s wife, there’s not a guy in school—student or faculty, except the non-straights—who doesn’t want to do her.

Yes, that kind of "do her."

And more than a few have, because Mom is the reigning MILF and HO [yes, ho for whore] at NCA.

I’m not making that up or slandering her, and I’m certainly not perverted or crying about it.

Parents do whatever they fucking do, before we get here, after we get here, and after we move out and go the fuck wherever.

So, get over that, too.

I don’t take issue with it, in the fact of her cupiscence. (How’s that for an appropriate and SAT quality test word?) It’s all good and a handy thing of power for me and my twin, Tibby.

Oh, I’m Tad, for Thaddeus Cross, and he’s Tybalt Cross (Tyb/Tibby) and we look absolutely nothing alike.

He’s Vin Diesel-light and I’m told that I’m Supernatural TV star Jensen Ackles’ look-alike or maybe that kid Tommy from Third Rock from the Sun, depending on the angle and how drunk someone is.

Tyb’s football big, has dark brown hair, cropped to a shadow, dark brown eyes, and medium tan skin, with his big, dark voice and the hostile ‘tude to go with it.

I’m the reasonable-looking one, the intellectual, the hazel brown eyed, tan-haired, tan-skinned, well, I have a general golden look, Laila calls it and I’m the normal, if sarcastic, smart-assed voiced twin.

Oh, yeah. Some say, just because they don’t like to say no to me, because I ask people to do some outrageous shit, sometimes, and because I often have an eerie and accurate sixth sense about people—like who’s fucking whom and keeping it down low—that I’m the dangerous twin.

I am laughing out fucking loud.

Oh, and then there’s my pale, white shadow, Quen. I’ll get back to her, or is it him in a bit.

You might want to know, though, that skinny Quen’s in the cloak room, unbeknownst to Dr. Hupper, and watching our mutual jack off fest with those enormous cornflower blue eyes of his.

Hers?

Or is it its?

Nevermind, for now, because handsome Professor Dr. Sanders Hupper is still explaining the deeper, more rhythmic implications of the Elizabethan Shakespearean sonnets or the Iambics; ba-bum, ba-bum, ba-bum, ba-bum.

Or maybe it was just the wonderful rhythm of his black hand sliding up and down my rose tan cock and my lighter-skinned mitt, as Dad says, returning a similar tight rhythm on Dr. Hupper’s hard, brownish black bat.

I’m not a huge cocksucker; but, Dr. Hupper’s whopper is the exception, not that I could suck him off, in this position.

Quen’s probably never met a cock he didn’t suck, or at least want to blow.

He hasn’t sucked the dessert cream out of Dr. Hupper’s fine éclair yet, nor had the fine privilege of tasting and deep-throating my fine piece, yet, which is his most dedicated desire; that and to have my long, fat cock abuse his, as yet, pink, tight and virgin asshole.

Once, when I was bored, I whipped out my cock and showed him, in public, on a field trip bus, just to watch him … her? … it? get all bothered, hard, and squirmy in his seat.

Does that make me a cock tease?

Or a fellatio fluffer?

The thought of which, plus knowing of Quen’s observant proximity to viewing our hand on cock administrations, made me squirt off exactly then.

Ahh! Ah. Uhh-mm.

Whether Dr. Hupper’s got his hand on me or just looking at me in a certain way—sometimes, I get blood engorged. And as soon as I cum in his hand, I want to start it all over and cum again for him, because of him.

Here though, we’re on a time limit. You can only stay after school so long and for so many evenings before even people, who aren’t paying attention start wondering—What the fuck is going on with those two? Together? All the time?

My plentiful cum hit his classroom floor, the classroom I sit in with most every kid I really enjoy, as friends and interesting acquaintances, the smart kids, even Yune and smart-assed, skinny Sascha.

Quen actually takes the regular class, in here, another period. I’m in the Honors one, the advanced class.

Dr. Hupper laughed, completely enjoying seeing and hearing the results of his personal, hands-on tutoring with one of, if not, I feel, his favorite student, until he had to throw his dark head back. His black, hairy nuts contracted and exploded their gift to me out his fine cannon, jumping in my palm.

Damn he shoots far for a man in sight of his forties.

Ah-ah. Yes. You did fine, Tad. Always do.

He hooked his strong hand—he has big hands for his size—behind my neck and pulled my head down to his.

I love his mouth.

I love his kisses, his lips, and his bold tongue fucking deep into my mouth.