Mountain Music Retreat Treats

I went back to the pole barn, seeing that the luscious little violinist, Jordan Compton, was still in the chair at the edge of the concrete floor under the pole barn where I'd left him, watching me approach, a little puppy dog expression on his face. Bernice Klein, one of the Garth-Newel staffers intercepted my progress to the barn. She had a harried look on her face.

"I was wondering, Mrs. Klein," I started to say, but she interrupted me.

"Have you decided whether you'll stay a while into this session, Professor Shelton?" she asked before I could ask if I could free Jordan for dinner.

"I could stay for a day or two," I answered. "I haven't decided about the board position and I doubt I can stay the whole four weeks of this session."

"Could you stay long enough to get the young violinist, Jordan Compton, settled in? We don't usually have participants that young. He needs someone to chaperone and mentor him closely, at least at first. We're terribly shorthanded, especially in the program transition days, and we were wondering . . ."

"If I'd take young Jordan in hand?" I asked. I couldn't resist putting it that way. I could think of it as Bernice giving me permission. I was pretty sure that Jordan was going to give me permission.

"Well, yes, that was what we'd hoped you could do. He seems to have taken to you. We do want him to get the most out of his experience here. Most of the other participants are considerably older than he is. We fear he won't find a group he can relate to."

"I'd be happy to do that for him, at least for a few days," I said. "Maybe it would be good to ease him into the institutional aspects of the residency here. Do you suppose it would be all right if I took him away from here for dinner tonight—gave him some close, individual attention."

"Yes, that sound like a splendid idea," Bernice said, beaming that it had been so easy to get the young man off her hands.

"So be it," I said, giving the staffer a cooperating, all-innocence smile. "We'll see how it goes with developing Jordan's skills as far as staying more than a few days." I was humming and smiling as I headed off to join the youth who was fairly wagging his tail in pleasure of my approach.

Should I approach him from the front or the rear? Missionary or doggie?

* * * *

For our initial session, I approached Jordan both from the front and the rear, and now, as I was recovering from climaxing, I was moving him into a side split position.

"What, again?" he'd asked when I was making clear we were moving into a second fuck. He sounded a bit exhausted, but he opened his legs and rolled his pelvis up, so he wasn't saying "no."

"I promised to develop your skills," I answered.

We were fucking on my bed in the B&B in the late afternoon, both on our sides in a spoon, his back spooned into my lap. I had my right hand under him in an embrace that held him close into my body, with my right hand covering his mouth and nose, controlling his breathing, keeping him docile and under control. I don't think he'd had breath control included in the screwing service before, so this could be racked up as development of his skills.

My left hand gripped his left leg, which I'd held raised until I sensed that was tiring him, and then I folded it up into his chest. I was deep inside him, fucking him in long slides. He'd opened right up for me. He was no novice to being fucked by a man, not even one as hung as I was.

He moaned and groaned, not being able to get enough of me. I rolled onto my back, bringing Jordan with me and putting him into a bent spoon position, with him on top of me, pointed toward the room's ceiling, still on the cock, with my legs spread, his legs bent, feet flat on my thighs, and me grasping and squeezing his butt cheeks and raising and lowering him on my cock while he beat himself off and I slowly built to shooting my load again. I was barebacking him.

After I took him to dinner, we came back to the room and he rode me in a cowboy man. He was only nineteen, but he knew how to take cock from a man in multiple positions that he fully participated in.

"Have you done this before?" I asked when I had him in position but before I entered him. "I'm going to fuck you but I want to know how carefully I should do it."

"You don't think I made it to this program on musical talent alone, do you?" he answered. "You can do your . . . shit. Fuck!" I had thrust up into him in one, stretching slide to the quick. After the initial surprised writhing, he settled right down and took it as the little whore he was.

When I took him back to the Garth-Newel cottage area, the music center staffer, Bernice Klein, was there to check him into his room. Jordan was all innocence and "oh gee" on what a good time we'd had discussing the techniques of the violin over dinner, when we had, in fact, talked of sex positions he liked.

"So, what do you think about tutoring him for a few days, Professor Shelton?" she asked, looking up at me. "You obviously turn the young man onto music."

Among other things, including fuck positions, I thought, but what I said was, "Yes, he's quite a talent"—which was certainly true—"I'd be happy to take him on for a few days. Let me think about how long I can stay away from the university." The fact was that I hadn't signed on to teach any classes at either Bridgewater or the Shenandoah Music Conservatory for the summer session. I was free as a bird to stay the whole four weeks if I wanted to. So far, the sweet yielding nature of young Jordan and the tenderness of his mouth and channel combined with his skill, even at his age, of his submissiveness had me planning new positions for days, if not weeks.

When I returned to the B&B, I showered and went to the window to watch the sunset over the inn's back garden. I saw that there was a light on in the wooden structure over the thermal spring. The building was so old that there were gaps in the wood siding. I wondered who would be using the pool at this time in the evening. I was intrigued at being able to see that someone was moving around in the pool. Not just one person—one was white; another figure was black. Rick and his black bull? That's when I remembered that the B&B owner's son, Rick, had suggested that I might want to try to the pool out this evening.

They were waiting for me, naked, soaking in the pool, when I went down there in my Speedo. There was a lock on the inside of the door and, once I was inside, I shot it home. I wasn't in my Speedo for very long. I sat on the rim of the pool, while Rick floated in front of me, deep-throating my cock. Then I sank into the pool, crouching there in bubbling, warm water up to my nipples as the young nineteen-year-old sat in my lap, facing me, and, using the leverage off the rim of the pool, rose and fell on my cock to a near mutual ejaculation. When I was well saddled, the black bull gardener swam over from the other side of the pool, saddled up behind Rick, and worked his cock inside the young man's channel above mine. I leaned my face over Rick's shoulder and met the black stud's lips in a kiss as Rick shuddered between us and we fucked him together.

"We almost came together," Rick whispered when we all were done.

"Yes, that was nice," I answered, as I watched the black dude, whose name I still didn't know, leave the pool and the building.

"If you stay longer, we can practice toward hitting it at the same time," Rick said.

"With your black bull friend?" I asked.

"If you like."

When I got back to my room, I called Bernice Klein. "I hope this isn't too late to be calling you," I said.

"Not at all," she answered.

"I've thought about it. I'd be happy to stay the full four weeks and chaperone and mentor Jordan Compton. And, I'd be pleased to serve on the Garth-Newel board. This is just the sort of arrangement I was looking forward to in moving to the Allegheny Mountains area."