Classroom Example By Brett Saxtom e-mail bsgfour4me@gmail.com
STRICTLY FOR READERS OVER 18 YEARS OF AGE
This is a story about late teenage boys developing their understanding of a sexual option, per medium of a devious sadist school master. It is a fantasy, and it is highly unlikely to describe a real happening, although it is an extrapolation of a most common punishment culture over a generation ago. If it does partly replicate a real situation, it is just by chance. The story pushes the limit that one might be expected to endure in a situation involving any form of domination without injury to the recipients. The story does however give readers a chance to translate a real life situation of their own into something of this nature in order to explore beyond their usual limits of sexuality. I hope you enjoy this first part of my story.
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By Brett Saxton
As a young guy living in a small town nestled in the lower Alps of eastern Australia, I'm an outdoors guy who loves my sport. I've grown up a long way from the sea but my parents promoted sport to me for my health, physical development and to build confidence that I didn't have as a small boy.. I do now, thanks to Mum and Dad! I swim, play Aussie Rules Football, tennis and military rifle shooting, the latter being a sport in which muscle tone and general fitness supports a steady hand and concentration.
More generally, I'm a pretty eclectic sort of character, as a lot of country kids can be, due to their being outward bound and exposed to the broader aspects of community life. One of the bi-products of this active background is, as my old man often says, that I can sometimes 'get ahead of myself' and even seem to be a smart arse, despite not setting out to be one.
My creativity is another attribute that sometimes gets me into trouble, especially at school, as I can be a dreamer and a talker in class; I'm in year 11 at the local high school. The school only numbers 75 students in total across the five years. My dreaming sometimes extends to who I am and how I 'fit' into my peer group.
I have lots of friends from all my busyness in life, mainly boys, but also a few girls who drool over me because of my 'nice' looks, as Mum would describe them.
I've heard that creative people can sometimes struggle with defining their sexuality and can be more inclined towards bisexuality or homosexuality than others. Be this true or false, I'm one of these. In fact I'm still trying to work out if I'm more homosexual than bi. I just can't help myself, I lust over guys' butts.. as long as they're not too big or out of shape. It's amazing how many shapes there are to admire. What is it that makes butts so fucking much of a turn on?
My good fortune is that the topic of sexuality is more openly discussed these days. There is greater tolerance and liberalism in respect to the minorities, especially in the young, as a result, I guess, of our exposure to so many examples through the various modern day media.
Going back to my looks, I know I'm fairly narcissistic. I love mirrors and looking at myself from all angles and I love people paying attention to me..This has to have something to do with feeling good looking, something that everyone seems to tell you from the time you first draw breath, if you're like me – so you can't blame a poor brain-washed, affected kid.
Good looking people of both genders so often seem to exude more confidence and vitality. They tend to smile a lot.. probably because their bed life gives them a lot to smile about. All these characteristics make them even more attractive. We can't help it, but I'd say to those less well-endowed in the looks department, get a good makeover, dress well and start to behave as if you're really good looking. Watch the difference in how you're received! After all, looks are only skin deep.
I've loved seeing my body develop so quickly in recent times, a result of the copious quantities of testosterone and other androgens that gush through a young teenager's body, not to mention the ever-increasing workouts that we do as a group. I'm hoping to turn out like my favourite Aussie Rules player, David Mackay of the Adelaide Crows.
I actually barrack for the Saints here in Victoria, but I just love watching games with David in them, and anyhow he's actually a Victorian like me.
My haircut is short and really blond like David's and I have a light but strong frame just like his and even blue eyes like his. I don't reckon I'm full height yet, being 5'11" and still edging up. I weigh 163 lbs though, which isn't bad for a rising seventeen year old.
David, like me, doesn't have a big butt, but it's a really nice shape. I remember seeing a shot of him on the web with that tight little bum up in the air after a tackle. I've often tried to imagine that shot taken if his shorts had come down. I'd like to see that! He's very fast and plays on a wing, but he's often on the ground in packs and that's when I take particular interest.
I regularly fantasise about being in the showers, in bed, on a nude beach, in a sauna with horny looking David. I imagine our bodies intertwined and the body owners doing everything and anything to each other. I'm even getting the beginnings of a hard-on writing about it now.
At school, I love classes but not all the time. English Literature is my favourite subject. Biology is one I like too, but here is where I introduce the anti-hero of this story – our biology and sports master this year. "Grumpston" we call him.
Miserable old Mr Cranston, his real name, has to be sixty not out, and just about the meanest looking dude you'd see in a day's march. He's only about 5' 7", narrow faced and built like a whippet, with those horn-rimmed glasses for the "intellectual" look. He sports a pitiful 'comb-over' of his steely grey hair and he has a smile like a rattler.
Grumpston seems to talk or rather hiss through his teeth like he's throttling someone under his desk whilst he's giving his class. He always wears the same baggy dark brown suit, which doesn't suit his coloring in any case. It may partly to help to hide his Even a makeover would do nothing to better him, because his meanness could never be disguised.
The only way we can seem to survive Grumpston is by sticking together and covering for each other if someone steps out of line. This rarely works as we think he's more than just a mild sadist and pervert and would contrive a reason for dishing out punishment even if one didn't exist.
This was our initial week under Grumpston's authority and so we had no first-hand knowledge of his habits and routines but we knew from those going before us that he was to be feared for his creative variety of physical attacks on students.
Unfortunately for us boys, we were prone to unimaginable mistreatment. Our high school must be one of the last bastions for heavy corporal punishment.
The archaic practice seems to survive because the town is close-knit and, in general, our parents are fairly high on discipline, much like their parents before them.
Whilst I see no problem with a bit of a sting on the bum if you deserve it, to support vicious corporal punishments as a culture in institutions for the young can be so damaging to the victims, especially as they develop.
In a smaller town a boy in particular has to grow up quickly and accept responsibilities, so fathers still have the old fashioned 'take no prisoners' approach. Here is where a school is in a commanding position.
We're all terrified of bad reports going home from school so we're exposed to blackmail by the teachers who have carte blanche authority, therefore, to do with us anything that comes into their nasty little heads.
Grumpston is the worst exponent of this culture. We're also aware that he's never been married and his preferences is for males, young males. He likes nothing more than to stare at our respective arses whatever the occasion. If that occasion happens to be the showers after sport, where a school master must supervise, then it's 'open season' for Grumpston.
Our five shower house showers are arranged in a single row and so we're made to queue at one end and steadily progress, upon a clap of Grumpston's hands, from the hot shower down to a very cold one at the other end. It's actually quite humorous to see these naked boy bodies whizzing from one shower to the next in unison.
This routine is in fact an effective way for closing the pores of the skin to keep out the cold air when we leave the last shower. The winters in particular get down to zero during the day even in the lower Alps. It's also a good way to leave someone breathless as they hit the killer cold shower at the end of the row.
Some guys, especially the thinner ones, tend to try to duck out of that last shower before they hear the 'clap' of Grumpston's mean little hands.
When they do, they soon learn that the better option was to risk a near death experience and stay in there gasping for air.
In this first week back to school, we were all stripping down in the shower house following a hard inter-district footy match that we had lost by two points, due to inaccurate kicking for goal. I could see that Grumpston was ready to take it out on at least one of us, from a combination of anger over our loss and his compulsion for sadistic punishment. I also saw him looking Mitchell (Mitch) Sampson up and down minutes earlier, as he left the playing field caked in mud and wringing wet.
Mitch was one of our smallest but also one of our most courageous footballers. He possesses one of those hopelessly 'baby' faces, but by the same token he's a real little male..the girls gloat over him and so does at least one of us boys. If I had to compare him with a well-known celebrity, I'd liken him to a slightly darker haired Reece Mastin, a South Australian and a recent national X-Factor talent quest winner in Australia.. and what a little rock star. Mitch even has Reece's prominent front teeth with a noticeable separation between the very front ones. So cute. Maybe they're related!
Mitch had endured a really hard match in the packs on a day that poured continuously with rain and on a field that became a total mud bath.
This cute little teenage fireball sauntered towards the shower house at the edge of the playing field, ripping his shirt from his bruised and muddied torso as he went; that left him wearing only his bright yellow and black striped footy boots and formerly white but now completely mud-soiled and water-soaked shorts. His shorts extended less than half way down his lean but muscular, almost hairless thighs. They had slipped slightly off one hip, just revealing the top of his right butt cheek. He was obviously too fucked to bother hitching them up again.
I was walking several metres behind our brave little rover with Grumpston just in front of me and to our right. I could see him staring, as I was, at Mitch's skin-hugging water-logged shorts. The lines of his jockstrap framed his two nicely rounded buns which were clearly discernible – more so than on a dry day.
Mitch's saturated shorts hugged his buns as might a set of tights, with the added fact that they ran fully into the deep crack of Mitch's butt. He might just as well have been naked but was oblivious of the fact.
Like us all, he just wanted to make it into that shower house and let that first stream of soothing and re-energising hot water beat down onto his tired and battered body.
Grumpston was quite fixed in his stare as if it were a laser beam heading straight to the middle of Mitch's featured little butt. I couldn't really blame him, but he's a so-called teacher and I'm a mere confused adolescent.
I just knew that this teacher was itching to hand out a naked punishment to this sweet and sexy little target. Mitch was a lamb to the slaughter.
The sixteen year old had very little energy left in him as he dropped his butt down on the shower room bench to take off his footy shoes and socks.
He was spent. An honest little footballer to his young backbone. After a period with his head in his hands, he rose and pushed down his shorts, heavy with mud and water, until they flopped with a thud to the ground at his feet. He stepped out of them looking just so hot and adorable – a sexpot. His soaked light brown, medium length hair, now dark brown, stuck close to his head as if he'd already showered.
By now Grumpston was in the shower house and, not surprisingly, had taken up an ideal vantage point to watch Mitch peel off his last piece of clothing. I'm sure I could see a swelling giving his nasty little mind away in the front of the old teacher's quite tired looking suit trousers. I had to be careful to stand back enough to avoid being caught staring at the starer. That would result in a fate worse than death.
Grumpston's mean, beady eyes followed Mitch as he progressed slowly over to the showers, sullenly discussing with full forward, Tommy Angland, the pities of the match just lost.
The giveaway licking of Grumpston's lips came next. Mitch had a bit of a swagger as he walked. He knew he was a hot looking dude and I guess he didn't mind others checking him out. As he moved, his beautifully proportioned bottom was accentuated with each step, revealing the beautiful lateral indent to his toned yet soft bubble butt cheeks – from behind, his luscious curvatures and plunging arse crack, perfect in its six or seven inch length for Mitch's height of 5'9".
There's something about a naked guy who's just come off the sports field.
He looks even more naked than naked. The wet look is also very sensuous.
Mitch takes this to another level again, due to his animal magnetism and presence.
He looked particularly fuckable on this occasion, actually he looked edible. Now he was in the shower and turning towards us, his limp, uncut cock over three inches long but almost fully contracted into its sheath. He was extra well endowed in that department.
He started soaping himself and looked up to notice for the first time the Grumpston stare. His heart must have stepped up a gear to see that he was at the treacherous old creep's centre of attention. This couldn't be a good thing, he thought.
Mitch quickly looked away as he proceeded to soap up his rear end. Now I was drooling, wishing that his right hand was mine. There's nothing I'd like more than to explore his hot little arse and its stunning valley of pleasure. A hand clap rang out, then quickly another. The row of five bodies made their comical transfer from one shower booth to the next.
The guys were starting to reach the cold end and we could see the strained, flinching expressions on their faces as they attempted mind over matter techniques to brave the frigid water.
I now moved to the first shower. I risked a glance around and noticed that I had crossed the school master's line of sight. I could almost feel him playing with my body parts as I went. Quickly I looked away again and entered the shower.
By now young Mitch had reached the coldest shower. I heard him squeal as his compact frame received its first unwelcomed cold shock. I observed Grumpston, knowing full well that he was almost coiling up to pounce like a leopard onto its prey. Then the moment came.
"Oh shit, fuck this," came the loud reflex expletive from the cold shower, to the inner delight of Grumpston, as poor Mitch succumbed to the almost icy water jet and hopped out of the biting cold stream of water.
"How dare you spray your foul language in the bounds of this school Mitchell," spat Grumpston between his row of shuffled teeth.. "Now get your arse over here and take what's coming to you for leaving the shower early and exercising that filthy little tongue of yours."
Trembling like a leaf, and wet and shiny as a body can be, Mitch tentatively tiptoed, shivering to the bone, towards where Grumpston was stationed, near the cubic timber box, almost a metre in width.
The box was used as a large seat and storage facility in the middle of the shower house. Our guess is that it was a dual purpose item, to include punishments such as Mitch's imminent one. This was akin to our "execution" platform, but for spankings not hangings.
"Up on the box you foul-mouthed little monster," screeched Grumpston. The shower routine was still progressing in the meantime but that was now a side show to the new event that was unfolding. Our class monitor, Simon, was summonsed to do the clapping in Grumpston's place.
"Now bend over Mitchell as I'm going to teach you a lesson you'll never forget," came the order. Mitch looked almost spitefully at the pathetic figure that was setting course to give him his most embarrassing moment of his short life. Mitch bent half way down, his finger tips about a foot from the platform, his feet just over a foot apart, then braced himself.
What a sight..those beautiful globes now presenting a new set of hills and valley, more suggestive, more enticing than ever. I only wished I could see just a little into his valley of excitement.
I was just about cumming on the spot at this developing scene picture of sadistic domination. Mitch's cute arse was slightly above our head heights and this actually accentuated its curvatures. I noticed in the audience of twenty virile young team mates a number of flaccid cocks tending to stir from their resting places.
Before us was a scene of sadism and sexual gratification for this twisted teacher who was taking the impacts of his wretched and colorless life out on all of us one by one.. without any higher authority standing in his way.
Grumpston let fly with a merciless swing of his right arm in almost blinding rage. He had to swing slightly upwards to meet with his target.
His open hand landed square in the middle of Mitch's bare, wet, scrumptious bottom. The sadist mongrel recoiled his arm quickly back to his side.
Mitch let out a scream that could be heard hundreds of metres away. He also pissed himself on the standing platform probably from a combination of fear and the cold.
I felt so sorry for him but I was also uncontrollably turned on at the spectacle of Mitch's cruel and callous punishment. A deep red imprint of Grumpston's weedy hand now stood out on Mitch's previously unblemished bottom.
This was a seriously bad situation in which he found himself as Grumpston was now pumping adrenalin and no doubt getting off on the bent over figure before him, not to mention his first feel of Mitch's very cute backside.
"Now bend over properly you little so and so. Touch your toes and then spread your feet to diagonally opposite corners of the platform please. I want your wet hide to be extended for maximum impact." His voice was surly and spiteful.
Slowly Mitch bent over to eventually be touching his toes. What a sexy show this was now, as we saw him from this angle in this posture for the first time.
His bottom still held beautiful shape but now it would transform and open somewhat as Mitch worked to spread his legs to the limit of the diagonal of the platform, his feet now almost four feet apart.
My heart started to race as we watched Mitch's beautiful buns part like the Red Sea for the Exodus. He had to spread his legs to the max to obey his master's command and even then his feet didn't reach the diagonal corners of the box platform. The teenager's hamstrings were bursting from top to bottom. We could see close up every wet strand of the light coating of fine adolescent hairs that covered his thighs.
"Keep going," squealed Grumpston, "you're not there yet."
"But I am sir," came the reply, "I can't bend any further."
Another full blow smashed into the boy's ever-reddening bottom. This time on his left butt cheek. I noticed Grumpston allow his finger tips to rest momentarily in the formerly deep crack of Mitch's arse. Again I noticed a small squirt of pee from Mitch's out of control bladder. This was purposely ignored by the striker.
"Now I want you to spread your legs until you feel yourself about to tear down the middle young man," screamed Grumpston.
By now the showers were empty and Mitch's butt was exposed to a full audience of twenty teenagers. We had all put on our shorts and trousers to hide any evidence of sexual excitement, but we all knew we must surely be getting boners. This was no ordinary spanking. Mouths were dropping open and lips were forming the words like "fuck" and "ouch" and "hot".
This was a bullying display to make a sexual exhibition of a spunky looking teenage lad, stretched in the most grotesque manner before us, wet as the moment he was born.
Now we could all see Mitch's most private parts. But not only that, his pink and puckered hole was actually winking at us in reflex to his expected beatings.
This scene fascinated me in a number of ways. I was turned on by the sexuality of the posture and the punishment. I was fascinated to be able to inspect, unimpeded, the private areas of a teenager my age, and a major turn-on at that. I was curious to perceive the reactions of both perpetrator and prey and I was equally curious to see how my class mates were reacting, including the movements in their respective groins. Most of all I was transfixed by the sight of Mitch's butthole. It had very few surrounding hairs and was like a deep pink, polished jewel; this matched my own body's development. But I had no idea that an arsehole could behave as if it were a separate entity to the body.
Mitch's muscular hole, succulent with moisture, was almost in a state of panic, twitching and seemingly trying to open as if gasping for air. Mitch's dark browny pink almost hairless balls and half erect pink cock dangled rudely between his legs. Droplets of piss were still being excreted from his pee hole. With each blow his tackle swung towards us and back like a pendulum in a storm.
The third stroke of violence was then unleashed. Mitch started to cry.
"Stop the blubbering," yelled Grumpston, "I'm only just getting started. You have seven more to come."
A fourth stroke onto Mitch's right cheek almost knocked him off his feet.
He had to regain balance but this was seen by Grumpston as insubordination once more.
"How dare you move out of position you little turd; brace yourself for the hardest stroke yet."
Mitch's little hole could take it no longer, he simply could not hold it closed any more under this attack. Ever so slowly it started to open. First there was just a hint then a quarter then a half an inch.
For the first time in my life I saw an arsehole opening before my very eyes and then just stay gaping open. I was only four feet away and it was at head height. We all looked at Mitch's perfect bottom doing its independent antics as if on a stage for entertainment.
I would say his sexy little hole had now expanded to over an inch in diameter. Similtaneously, and not surprisingly, he also had to let go of a long fart. He once again started to cry, no doubt in utter humiliation.
This was as basic as I could have imagined such a scene to be. I came in my pants immediately and I could tell several other boys did the same. We hadn't even touched ourselves, the sight was just "hyper" to our teenage senses. Mitch managed to contract his hole closed once more, the surrounding muscles straining to do their job.
But as soon as the fifth blow arrived on his right cheek, we were once again looking at this real life pornographic scene of a young footballer's darker caverns of almost apple red inner flesh.
Another blow on this left cheek, his arsehole remained wide open, now actually starting to release his natural lubrication juices ever so slightly.
Then I noticed about a one inch strand of clear fluid dripping from the lower perimeter of Mitch's arsehole and running down slowly towards his tight ball sack.
Fuck,this was almost heart attack material. We were all starting to point out the various happenings as Mitch now looked around at us red eyed, sobbing and helpless. To see his baby face in the same frame of vision as his gaping and now dripping arsehole was just out of this world. Surreal.
Having conveyed this mind-blowing scene, I haven't reached the climax yet.
Grumpston now moved to the right hand side of his target and changed to his left arm for his next swing. He smashed his hand extremely hard into the hot, red right hand arse cheek and then just held his fingers where they landed. His fingertips were actually just inside the boundary of Mitch's open hole. I had never seen anyone touch anyone else's private zone like this.
Grumpston, as if almost losing his mind, seemed to start to shake as he held his hand and fingers in postion. Then to my total amazement, I saw him slowly allow his middle three finger tips to enter around half an inch into Mitch's arsehole. Mitch's face went almost blank as if he were about to faint. He had just let out his loudest scream yet and rocked forward half a step with the impact.
Slowly Grumpston started to withdraw his fingers which of course were now covered in young Mitch's arse juices. Grumpston held his hand up to the light and, in staged anger, scalded Mitch for allowing his out of control bottom to dribble as it was.
"I'll tell you what you can do, you can lick your vile and sticky fluids off my hand young man, and ensure you control your behind better than you have so far."
I nearly collapsed as Mitch slowly licked the hand that was put to his mouth. I was thinking how much I would like to taste him but how impossible that would be.
Grumpston now had a smirk on his face and asked Mitch what his supposedly vile juice tasted like.
"Salty and sweetish," he blubbered. "Well let that be a lesson to control yourself in future Mitchell."
Mitch's hole had now closed again slowly but he had now become aroused. Being the centre of attention as one licks one's arse juices off a school master's fingers in front of all your peers doesn't happen every day, let's face it.
Grumpston now recoiled and then swung his arm and welted the left cheek of Mitch's now inflamed bottom. Lo and behold we saw Mitch's bottom pop open wide yet again. His sphincter muscles were so fatigued that he had seemingly lost all ability to control them. His aperture must have been almost two inches in diameter. I had no idea that this was physically possible.
Then out flowed about three times as much arse juice as before. It ran down Mitch's tight and convex perineum, which encased the trunk of his healthy cock, now at full extension despite his pain. The rivulet of rectally secreted lubrication then dripped onto his balls and onto the platform. In this position Mitch's cock was visible from his piss slit to where it disappeared as it dived into the base of his body just before the muscular ring of his arsehole. It looked all the world like like a fifteen inch section of hose.
The out of control teacher now put his hand to Mitch's open bottom and started to collect all the free-running juices. Furious with Mitch's new round of disobedience, he proceeded to walk to the front of the platform and smear a dose over poor Mitch's face. Mitch was now completely degraded.
Grumpston then used this excretion of juices as an excuse to check the insides of Mitch's tight and shapely bottom.
"How dare you disobey me time and again," he exclaimed, "You've now forced me to check to see if you have a problem up inside your pretty little arse. That will be your last stroke of punishment but you'll need to undergo my inspection in front of the class, so that they all learn that obedience is required at all times."
At this point Mitch started to whine and complain that he'd been punished and humiliated enough.
"I don't think it's right, sir, that you should be playing with my butt after my spanking. Every boy in my team has now seen right inside my hole.
I'll never be able to look them in the face without thinking that they had seen my entire arse and its insides."
"You will not question my judgment, you little upstart," bellowed Grumpston. "You will do and behave exactly how I order, nothing less," he hissed. "Now push your insides out towards me if you know what's good for you Mitchell."
Mitch obeyed and we saw the beginnings of a deep red swelling of silky soft, moist muscle layer start to protrude from his poor beaten arse. Some would say it looked gross, but it actually looked like a picture inviting you to fuck a target.
"Now let's see whose going to help me with this procedure," muttered Grumpston.
We all found our heart rates rising immediately. We couldn't believe our ears.
"Saxton, I've observed you taking more than a casual interest in this whole affair, you stand one side of the platform please and you Angland, you stand on the other side. You can be part of this because you kicked us out of the match today so if it's outside your silly little comfort zone, I don't care".
Angland was a tall slim lad with almost jet black wavy hair, a handsome face. Despite his slim build, he was very strong with good form over his entire physique. He worked hard in the gym and was also a great track worker, as speed and strength are two highly desirable attributes for full forwards.
So here we were ready to take our next instructions which I was certain would lead to a great deal of embarrassment for at least one of us and probably all three.
"Now the object of this exercise is that I have to get my fingers up inside Mitchell in order to see if he has some form of inflammation or painful areas that are causing this flow of fluid", explained Grumpston.
This of course was a complete diversion from the truth, as we knew even as young teenagers that such secretions are quite normal and assist the processes of the body but also tend to increase upon any stimulation or intrusion.
"Further more", said Grumpston, "you can both drop your trousers and shorts because we wouldn't like Mitchell to feel as if we're all ganging up on him would we?"
To my horror my cover was about to be blown; my team mates were about to discover that I was turned on by poor Mitch's situation and display of meat. Angland may be in the same boat I thought. Grumpston knew only too well, we were now about to give our private feelings away to our peers.
This was part of our punishment.
Tentatively we both stripped off for the second time in ten minutes revealing our fully erect cocks which were certainly not hiding their feelings! We anxiously awaited our next instructions.My embarrassment was indescribable. I made sure not to look at any of my team mates. It's hard to describe how a person feels when he is about to be ordered to assist in the sexual abuse of someone that is as highly attractive as Mitch.
"I need each of you to take a buttock in your hand and pull Mitchell's bottom open so that I can look inside and feel around."
This was an incredible order to receive from a teacher, but this was an incredible situation. "Well what are you waiting for.. open the boy's arse and do it quickly."
We both took a firm grip on Mitch's poor inflamed bottom, grabbed a hunk of flesh and at that point I came on the spot. My cum ran down Mitch's shapely right thigh, as if he needed that as well.
"Damn well open him don't play with him," came the next order.
Angland and I now concentrated on prising these spectacular buns back open as they had previously been. Mitch was moaning no doubt with utter embarrassment and probably with pain and fatigue as well.
"More," shouted Grumpston, "more."
We now had Mitch's little round bum gaping by almost two inches. Grumpston then moved in. Without any thought of reducing Mitch's discomfort, he forced three fingers as far into the gaping butt hole of deep red muscle as he could and started to rotate his hand. He suddenly withdrew, causing poor Mitch to let go of yet another long and juicy fart.
At this point Angland blew an enormous load, you guessed it straight down Mitch's left thigh. He was now a sticky abused juice- secreting mess. Looking pitifuly around at us Mitch pleaded: "please don't worry guys, you can't help this, just do as you're told and it will all be over sooner."
"Shutup Mitchell,"screamed Grumpston. "My little party will end when I say so and not before."
Mitch's moans became a wavering high pitch then lower pitch, alternating with the force and penetration of Grumston's fingers.
"Now pull his buttocks out and towards you please," came the command.
We just followed the order and were now pulling Mitch's bottom not only apart but outwards away from his body. This had the effect of loosening his hole even more and allowing Grumpston to sink his three fingers further up the teenager's hot arsehole with a sudden inward jolt. I'll bet MItch was wishing he'd not jumped out of that cold shower and shouted those expletives. But had he not done so, Grumpston would still have been on his tail, as he had locked in to that sexy piece of arse as it in turn ambled off the playing field looking so inviting.
"Ah," Grumpston exclaimed," I've found the top of his rectum where it turns into his large intestine. You boys need to know this for your biology exams this year. Now I'm looking for his prostate gland which is to be found on the anterior side of his rectum adjacent to his penis after it has entered his body. Now I'm massaging the prostate from the inside and we'll watch to see if it sends any seminal fluid down his penis."
At this point, without notice, we felt Mitch contract his bottom and try to close his arsehole. He went crazy with excitement. He was cumming due to the prostate stimulation. He was wagging his tail up and down and sideways, despite the human invasion of it's cavity, as his cock expoded out of control.
What a sight to behold! That beautiful little bottom behaving as if it was an out of control spring-loaded toy. His spoof hit the platform at force and formed an expanding patch on the timber. There must have been six or seven spurts under power, as Grumpston's fingers rotated over and over the prostate mound inside Mitch's now highly flexible butthole.
"So you filthy adolescents have now done your business all over each other and my shower house platform," barked Grumpston. "I hope you're relieved, are you?"
We each remained silent before he yelled at the top of his voice: "Well ARE you?"
"Yes sir," we each muttered.
"Well that's good because we'll have to look for how I might punish you for that little exhibition of self-indulgence."
We were all getting a real live dose of biology on this particular afternoon.
I was intrigued how, when he ejaculated, Mitch's arsehole tried to shut down on Grumpston's three fingers and it became almost impossible to keep his buns apart. Mitch was also perspiring as profusely as he might in a footy game so great was the sexual energy of his "explosion".
"Now we move to the next part of the test," announced Grupmston, "I'm going to shine my pocket torch up into Mitchell's bottom and each boy is going to take a look inside to examine just how red and moist the mucous tissue linings of his interior have become.
"Then I shall need to take a mucous sample, so I need each person to insert a finger inside Mitchell's anus and stimulate his tissues to produce secretions. I shall then ask you, Saxton to take a sample of mucous with this plastic spoon, and place it in this jar."
Each player, including myself had their go at feeling around in their star rover's bottom. The looks on their faces were as if they were in some sort of semi-conscious trance. Some smelt, other tasted the contents that came out of Mitch and clung to their fingers.
I was handed the round edged plastic spoon and as Grumpston handed it to me, he said: "Twenty spoonfuls please."
This was an amazing situation now. Here I was with a plastic tea spoon about to tap my spunky looking team mate for his butt juice. It was like some porno science fiction in which I was permanently entwined.
By now we all realised that Mitch's innards were free of anything other than clear mucous. As a rule we all ensure that we've been to the bathroom well before a match and of course the sweating during a match does the remainder of the job of reabsorbing remaining fluids and moisture into the bloodstream. This is even more the case when massage is also performed, as it too has a water reabsorption effect, hence the thirst factor.
Subsequently, a player's cavity is usually at it's best if any form of entry for any reason is needed.
Indeed Mitch's bottom was pristine inside. We would have known otherwise, from the many occasions Grumpston had withrawn his fingers from it. I always ensure my arse is thoroughly clean before parties, or going out or even before bed, because hot games with others or one's self can be so much more fun if all parts are clean.
Even though it was clean, Mitch's arsehole was giving out a rich aroma that can only have been coming from the juices it was making. This was a rich scent that is characteristic of any intrusion into the lower cavities of either gender. I recall the same aroma on my own fingers when I have been wanking and finger fucking my arse in the process.
Mitch had tired noticeably and even Grumpston had realised that he wouldn't go the distance for any more abuse unless he was allowed a more supportive posture than standing and stretching his hammies to the limit. There was a large black punching bag hanging from a ceiling rafter that we used for aerobic exercises.
"That bag, pull it down and place it on its side on the platform please Angland," ordered Grumpston.
Angland set up the bag according to instructions. Now Saxton helped Mitchell to position himself face down over the bag with his bottom at the highest point, legs well apart."
Mitch slowly got himself positioned for the next onslaught. Kneeling down, he lowered his cock onto the bag's rounded soft surface. Immediately he felt relief in his legs and back. His prone posture was nothing, as he'd had everything thrown at him up to now.
For the spectator, it was a different view. His thighs looked bulkier and his bottom was far more featured. Was he ever a spunky dude! I reckon just about any man, irrespective of his sexulity, would have wanted to screw that perfect arse where it lay face up for the world to examine.
The curvature of Mitch's spine also took on a more pronounced shape, where the small of his back converted to the top of his butt crack. This looked like an image from paradise.
"Now Angland," said Grumpston, "sit over his back facing his legs and force open his buttocks so that Saxton can take his sample." Angland's bare arse now sat on Mitch's bare back. What a happy marriage.
"Now dig," snapped Grumpston, glaring at me with those fierce little eyes.
The gaping hole in Mitch's bum was now about an inch and a half open, enough to push through a spoon. Angland's thumbs acted as guides each side of Mitch's opening, indenting his beautiful butt cheeks where they plunged into his crack. Slowly I inserted my instrument and then started to collect arse juice as I moved the spoon up and around his insides.
This was just an unbelievable set of circumstances. I had to hold the contents in the bowl of the spoon and minimise spillage.
I slowly pulled the spoon back through Mitch's gaping butthole. It yielded a little juice, captured in the spoon's bowl. I repeated this procedure some 15 times and when the test tube into which the collected juices were poured was holding about 20 mls of fluid, my job was done.
The result of this most unusual activity was that Mitch's poor arse was even redder and his anal muscles more swollen now. He was moaning from the discomfort. I think he felt he'd never be able to shit again. Maybe that was a fair assumption, given the rawness and swelling we could all see. I found the whole exercise so surreal that I had almost depersonalised Mitch in my mind as if he were some sort of biological experimental, an animal rather than a friend and a team mate whilst I was working on him.
"Give me the tube please Saxton, I shall have the contents medically analysed," demanded Grumpston.
This was a myth of course. We all saw the way that the old prick sneered as he slid the tube into his inside coat pocket, after inserting a rubber stopper into its mouth to hold in the precious contents. He had other plans for the fluid that we were to discover the following week.
The final work on Mitch was now to be a rehabilitative massage to restore all circulation and to sooth his sore arse tisues, inside and out. I would never forget this day, which ironically was the beginning of a passionate friendship and relationship with Mitchell Sampson.