Detention

The teachers at the Lyceum Saint-Maurice in Brussels might have their disagreements, but one thing they all knew for sure: Julien Michel was a troublemaker.

The 18-year-old student with British roots had come close to being expelled several times for disregarding the rules – on multiple occasions: Smoking in the hallway and bringing beer to school in combination with his bad grades had sent him into detention more than once but it had never actually been enough for an expulsion.

It was a shame, Professor Mertens thought. The 40-year-old, bespectacled and neatly dressed Professor for Geography and History, whose brown hair began to recede at his temples, knew that Julien Michel was a very intelligent young man. He just possessed no interest in studying. The only subject in which he had excellent grades was Music; and he was quite good at sports as well. It did not help that the handsome boy could be extremely charming at times which made the teachers more willing to overlook his general lack of respect.

Once again they met in the empty classroom for detention; this time Michel received extra work for showing up late to class – for the third time in a week. As always, the tall kid with the messy black hair flashed Professor Mertens a captivating smile before squeezing out the cigarette butt on the table and flipping it into the general direction of the wastebasket.

Mertens ignored the behavior, feeling a tad ashamed at noticing again how handsome his student was. As tall as Mertens, sturdy and well built for his age - almost mature - Julien already had dark hair on the back of his hands; there was even some hair peeking out from the unbuttoned top half of his shirt.

"All right, Professor, what do you have for me today?" he asked, leaning back on his chair, interlocking his fingers behind his head.

Mertens adjusted his glasses, maintaining a serious expression. Usually he was friendlier but in this case he would have to be strict. "We'll start with the French revolution. You will write an essay about its background and how the revolutionary ideals led to a regime of terror, ending with the execution of Robespierre in 1794. And you will do so in your cleanest, most appealing handwriting without any spelling mistakes." He slammed a stack of history textbooks onto the table to reaffirm his words. "All the information you need you will find in here. You have two hours. Understood?"

He exhaled, readying himself for Julien's inevitable sassy comment that would catch him off guard.

But the student did no such thing. He simply yawned, then slowly arranged pen and paper on the desk. "Very well, sir."

Mertens nodded in acknowledgment, seating himself at the teacher's desk opposite Julien Michel's table, preparing to correct a stack of exams. In this moment Julien commented, "Actually I'm quite glad you're doing my detention this time, sir."

Mertens gave him a sceptical look.

Julien grinned from one ear to the other. "I mean, I'm glad you're not Her- er, Professor Hermans. That old goat made me do all this goddamned advanced algebra stuff with vectors and statistics until my head hurt. Thundering typhoons! If I were the principal here, algebra would be banned!"

"I forbid you to speak in this disrespectful tone about the other teachers", Mertens said icily. "And no cursing in the classroom!"

The student rolled his eyes theatrically. "C'mon, Mertens! You're probably the only normal person in that bedlam of a staffroom! Have you never gotten angry at the antics of your annoying colleagues?"

"It's Monsieur Mertens to you, Michel! Now shut up and get to work."

"Oh. Wow." The boy had raised two eyebrows, staring wide-eyed at Mertens. "Your freckles really stand out when you're pissed. Maybe they're blushing along with the rest of your cute face."

Now Mertens was completely caught off guard, sensing his face become hot, and wanted to kick himself for it. Had that daredevil just called him cute?

How dare he.

Mertens inhaled deeply, feeling a little shaky and was glad he'd already sat down. That rascal might be purposely flirting with him; but he, as a teacher, would not respond to it – he could not, must not; he could get into deep trouble if he-

... if he what? The fantasies that sometimes entered his mind made him angry – furious at himself for being so weak in the presence of a cocky Don Juan barely half his age, and furious at the boy for teasing him like that.

Most certainly that callow youth knew what he was doing, for he was not just looking at Mertens – he was checking him out, for Heaven's sake! Mertens tried to focus on his work, barely able to hold the pen in his sweaty hand.

Again the boy spoke. "Monsieur Mertens, are you not feeling well? Your face is all red."

"Shut up", Mertens hissed; an exclamation directed more at his own filthy mind than at his student.

"Is it too warm in here?" Julien asked, grinning smugly. "I wouldn't mind if you'd take off your shirt. I think I'm gonna do just that." Before Mertens could object Julien was unbuttoning and removing his shirt, folding it neatly on the table.

Mertens's held his breath. His gaze attached to the student's bare upper body he felt his suspicions reaffirmed: This was one exceptionally well built young man who would soon grow into one of those big, burly men whose mere aspect always made Mertens's legs weak.

"Hey", he protested, the commanding tone in his voice failing him, "put your shirt back on!"

Julien's smug grin widened. "No."

"As your teacher I order you to put your shirt back on!" Mertens stood up, slamming a hand onto the table in one miserably unsuccessful attempt to demonstrate his authority.

"Or else what? What can a goody-two-shoes like you possibly threaten me with?"

Dear God. That kid's cheeky, confident expression was unbearable. It made Mertens angry yet sent a warm rush of excitement through his nether regions. "I will have to punish you", he said, opening the drawer to retrieve a thin, lightweight bamboo stick. Stepping in front of Julien Michel's desk, tapping the cane threateningly onto the wood, he said, "I don't like to punish my students. But you leave me without a choice. Your hands!"

For a second it seemed Julien was going to protest. His smile disappeared, but then he silently presented his open palms to his teacher.

Whack. The first slap was light, and the boy did not even flinch. Mertens hated violence, and the occasions on which a student had to be chastised were extremely rare, but now there was no other way.

Suddenly Mertens felt himself being dragged across the table with one swift, jerky movement; and he gasped in surprise. That devil, the enfant terrible, had jumped to his feet, quickly grabbed the bamboo cane, pulling it toward himself and his teacher along with it.

Their noses almost touching, Mertens felt Julien's warm breath on his face, and his first instinct was to move back, but the strong hand on his neck would not allow it.

"It's all right, Professor", the boy whispered. Mertens stared, too flabbergasted to resist when Julien gently pulled the cane out of Mertens's hand.

And then both his hands were on Mertens's cheeks, and his lips brushing against Mertens's.

Mon Dieu!

Completely taken by surprise Professor Mertens offered no resistance when that devil kissed him.

If he was honest with himself he did not want to resist.

Julien's cheek was stubbly and rough against his face. The boy probably made a calculated effort to appear rebellious by not shaving daily, but it reminded Mertens of the older men he used to meet in dark alleys and notorious taverns long before he had become a teacher. By God! Julien even smelled like them, and Mertens inhaled the scent of tobacco and adventure, so very mature and familiar, yet titillatingly young and fresh.

It was Julien who pulled away from the wet kiss, observing his teacher's flustered face with satisfaction as though he had expected this very reaction all along.

He reached down, fumbling with the buttons of Mertens's trousers; his fingers and knuckles not quite accidentally brushing against the bulge of Mertens's erection that was straining the fabric.

Mertens had barely gathered his wits to realize what was happening when Julien knelt down before him. "Wait... wait a minute! You can't just – we... we can't-!"

"Of course we can", Julien said, looking up at his teacher with a cheeky grin while opening the man's pants. "What's the matter, Monsieur Mertens? It's all right. I know you prefer male company."

"What?" Professor Mertens blurted out. How does he know?

Had Mertens really been that easy to read? The embarrassment, however, did nothing to lessen his arousal. On the contrary – he became harder, feeling his erection twitch with eager anticipation, and fought back a sigh when he felt Julien's firm grip around it.

He'd lost control.

"... easy to see", he heard Julien say before he licked his teacher's cock, looking up at him while teasing him. "I could tell. That way you look at me – even during class. At first I was surprised, figuring you'd rather shag a really cute kid like Kevin..."

Mertens was leaning back against the desk, his sweaty hands desperately seeking hold on the table edge as his student proceeded to take him inside his mouth.

Overwhelmed by the intense sensation of warm wetness and slippery tongue Mertens almost let his knees give way. He hadn't had this experience in years. It was exquisite. Consuming. Hot.

"Mon Dieu", he panted.

Tension was building up, urging and aching, and it was in that instant Julien stopped. He arose from his kneeling position, and through the lust-veiled haze of his mind Mertens recognized the blush, the look of arousal in the boy's face. He clearly was no longer a kid, but someone who knew exactly what he was doing. Where on earth had he learnt such things?

"What do you want, Monsieur?" His lips felt soft and wet, just touching upon Mertens's mouth and cheek, whispering forbidden things. "I'll do anything you want... Tell me."

"I.. we..." Mertens stuttered, panting as Julien pushed his body closer to him, rubbing his pelvis against Mertens's erection.

"Anything, Monsieur." His breath felt warm against Mertens's ear, and his hands were all over his teacher's body, carressing, groping. "Tell me. Do you want to be taken?" A firm squeeze on Mertens's butt. "Or do you prefer to be on top?"

Tell me.

Professor Mertens was no longer thinking clearly – his erection had taken over command. "You", he breathed, "You."

"And how do you want me?" the student purred, licking over Mertens's neck. He grabbed Mertens's hand, laying it onto his own bottom. "How about this: I bend over the table and you take me... hard?"

Mertens, dazed by long-suppressed fantasies now taking over his mind, realized he must have been speechless several seconds, for Julien became impatient. "What's the matter... Professor?" The boy rubbed himself against Mertens, forcing labored breaths from them both. "Never had your cock... hah... inside something... hh- hot and tight before?"

Correct.

He was right. It always had been Mertens whose face they'd pushed down onto the mattress, his countless one-night-affairs in days long past. It had always been Mertens who'd spread himself open for them, eager to be fucked, always hungry for more. Dingy tavern and motel rooms in the red light districts of Brussels and Amsterdam would forever remind him of the rush-seeking, pleasure-driven encounters of his younger years, but as he became older Mertens had realized that they left him empty and emotionally unsatisfied. He had been abstinent ever since; a respectable, clean-cut gentleman; and whenever temptation became too strong he reminded himself of the horrors of sexually transmitted diseases.

But his preference for men had never changed. They were still present in his fantasies, as clearly visible as ever; sturdy, strong males of the sailor variety who were happy to give him both the gentle and the rough treatment his body craved.

"No", Mertens muttered at last. No, I've never done it that way before. "But how... why do you...?"

"Yes?" Julien had turned around, rummaging through his school bag, and found a small jar of vaseline which he showed his teacher. "Here."

That kid's experience and self-assuredness were incredible. Mertens watched in amazement as Julien tugged down his pants and bent over the desk, preparing himself with a generous portion of petroleum jelly. "C'mon, Monsieur..." he whispered. "Don't be shy."

It was a delectable sight, the well-formed rear end of this handsome young man, all ready for him. Whatever objections and protests Mertens's rational mind might have had all were eclipsed by urgent desire. He even pushed aside the fear of being caught, focusing solely on the task.

His breath went fast, and his hands trembled as he grabbed his student's ass, rubbing his erection against it. Lust had clouded his thinking to the point of no return.

"C'mon, Professor!" That little minx was urging him to do it, to take him right now.

Mertens did not need to be told twice. He groaned as he entered the younger man, slowly and still barely able to believe that this was really happening.

So that's how it is like. Tight, demanding heat all around him.

Julien was owning him, owning him completely. Jutting against Mertens, moaning, his body shivering with want, he signaled his teacher to take him properly, and Mertens obliged, moving his hips to thrust, drawing encouraging sounds from his student.

It was amazing, a forbidden pleasure reserved for the gods, and Mertens felt a pang of regret he'd never been daring enough to try it before, but it was instantly burnt away by the perfect tightness clasping around him – divine and desperate; so wrong and yet so right.

I'm screwing my student, for Heaven's sake...! And it was good and right and he never wanted to stop; wanted to possess him over and over again.

Julien was biting his knuckle, apparently trying to force back loud moans, but Mertens wanted to hear him; wanted more of that beautiful voice. Gripping the lad's hot erection and stroking it, he heard him cry out, shivering with even more hungry wanting under Mertens's movements.

"Oh... fuck! Mertens...!" the boy whined, all formal speech gone and forgotten. "Fuck me!"

A hard thrust, and for a split second Mertens was afraid he'd hurt him, but Julien kept begging for more, arching his body toward him. Soon his body tensed under Mertens's pounding movements, and he groaned as he reached his apex, spilling his seed over the desk and a bunch of messily scattered exam papers. Another spurt trickled over Mertens's hand still enclosing him, warm and sticky.

Soon Mertens would come as well. It was building up, desperate to burst out. Clasping both hands around Julien's hips he pushed hard, trying to hold back, to prolong the pleasure but to no avail; Julien was thrusting back against him, moaning and whimpering, clearly anxious to have his teacher come inside him.

That insatiable incubus! The mere pleasure alone was intense enough to be illegal. Grunting a filthy curse he had not used in at least two decades, Mertens hit home with a particularly hard thrust that made Julien cry out and caused several paper sheets to flutter from the desk. He forced his cock deeply inside the lad, and at last could not restrain his orgasm any longer.

The passion had been contained for too long. Following a reflex that made him thust his hips forward it erupted out of him, sending an intensely pleasurable shiver throughout his entire body.

.

.

.

Mertens's fingers were still trembling as he closed his trousers. He had not yet quite grasped the reality of what he'd just done, so his conscience allowed him to watch Julien as the boy hastily dressed. A fine body indeed – so lean and muscular, and I've just fucked him! Mon Dieu! Mertens caught a glance of the cum glistening on the insides of Julien's thighs before the lad pulled up his pants, not bothering to clean up the mess.

Dear God, what had he done? Slowly his conscience awoke.

Burying his face in his hands he sat on the chair, his mind feeling tired and nearly vacant. He was a teacher. Julien Michel was a student. He'd just committed a crime. It was true, he mused, the old prejudice that men think with their penises.

But it had been fantastic, hadn't it? Curiosity still outweighing the shame he looked up, facing Julien. "Say, Michel..."

The student raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"...where the hell did you learn all that stuff?"

Another of his signature cocky smiles. "Oh, I've tried a couple things. Both men and women. But I'm not sure yet which I prefer."

"So... women? Well..."

"That's why I got such good grades in Music, y'know. She can't get enough of me."

It took Mertens a few seconds to put two and two together. He opened his mouth to say something but Julien interrupted him.

"And sports. Professor Devos was my first one. Last year. We still do it sometimes."

Mertens sighed. He should not be surprised.

He wanted him again.