THE MASTERY OF TABLE-TURNING
[THE STORY SO FAR - Forced to indulge in an embarrassing sixty-nine session with a favourite pupil of his, English public schoolmaster, Alan Watson, is on a roller-coaster of degradation enforced by some of his pupils ever since a revealing photo taken at his favourite pupil's eighteenth birthday clearly illustrated his sexual arousal. In an effort to prevent his exposure as a pervert, the thirty-year-old schoolmaster is demeaned , degraded, humiliated for the amusement of his eighteen-year-old students enjoying the power they now hold over him.]
CHAPTER TEN - Nightmare at the Baths
I lay under the sheets that night, naked and tumescent, my pyjamas confiscated, my underwear severely restricted, my whole domain accessible to my young Masters. In my mind I relived the appallingly exquisite horrendousness of my being subjugated before the naked and resplendent Richard after he had lavished his spendings down my eager throat, and I had drained my fevered outpourings down his. Drinks were called for, and, still naked, I had to serve them as they lounged about my house, taking possession of me and all that was mine. I was forced to submit to their intimate fondling and groping, in which Richard was also compelled to indulge, and with which he sheepishly complied. An electric thrill ran through me whenever he was forced to touch me familiarly, and soon I was sporting a raging erection again, unable to conceal such shameful lust at his handling of my erogenous parts.
The coarse comments concerning my engorged organ did nothing to allay the reaction to such playful prodding and stroking, and led to my total subjugation in their eyes. I was forced to masturbate to the inevitable conclusion in front of their full gaze. I was required to catch my sperm in my hand and lick it all up. And I was filmed doing it.
As they all left, after having finally allowed Richard to dress again, I was reminded that, from henceforth, my wearing of any manner of clothing in the house was most strictly forbidden. As a concession, however, I would be permitted to put a towelling robe by the front door which I was authorized to don whilst answering it to any caller. It was admitted that if pre-arranged visits were made, I would be allowed to dress normally in order to receive them, but if casual or unexpected guests turned up, then only the towelling robe could be worn and I should have to explain that they had caught me preparing for a bath. Furthermore, I had been earnestly reminded to wear the stipulated tight red underwear on the following day. All orders had to be carried out to the letter on pain of further sanctions.
My mind hummed. And yet, deep down, I was intensely excited. This worried me.
I slept fitfully and uncomfortably, a turgid organ impeding my composure as I tossed and turned, trying to discover some respite from my overly stimulating nightmares. I leapt awake in strangely startled and alarmed fashion and lay still and wide-eyed as the slow dawn of realisation crept over me that what had woken me was my own fingertip, grazing tentatively against the amazingly sensitive bud of my anus. Appalled and rigid, I wondered what had featured in my dream to inspire such disagreeably uncustomary and foreign behaviour. The exploratory sensation had been most unnerving - something with which I was not prepared to come to terms, and I strove to put it from my mind.
Eating breakfast naked seemed exceedingly odd. Shaving naked - even sitting on the lavatory, naked - was an unaccustomed and somehow unnerving experience. All the time I was conscious that I had one ear on the front door, more than half-expecting a visitor to check up on my newly enforced nudity in the home. It was with enormous relief that I finally repaired to my bedroom to dress for another day at school - even if I was having to wear the ridiculous scarlet minuscule briefs my ex-girlfriend had bought me in one coy moment.
I had barely been in school five minutes before there was a knock on my study door. Tim, Geoff and Phil all entered when I yelled "Come!" in my customary, and now seemingly highly inappropriate, fashion.
"Underpants inspection in progress. Turn on the traffic light and drop your trousers," I was ordered.
(A brief explanation - again, to use an unfortunate, but singularly appropriate, choice of adjective - as to what spokesman Tim Robey meant requires me to state that all colleagues with studies, or tiny interview rooms, have a red and green light outside it in the corridor. Quite obviously, the green light means a master is available for whatever reason, whilst the red one means he is unavailable, in conference, and therefore should not be disturbed. It is considered a heinous crime to so much as knock on a door displaying the red traffic light - let alone, enter - and highly deserving of a bawling out, unless, at the very least, the school is on fire.)
I turned the switch on my desk to red and, with a heavy heart, blood pumping in my temples, began to unfasten my belt. Three pairs of steely eyes watched my every move. As I lowered my zip, gravity took charge, and my trousers slithered down my thighs to land with a muffled rattle of coin round my feet. I was commanded to hitch my shirt tails right up, exposing both nipples and armpit hair, and had to shuffle round to model both the back and front effect of the tight and skimpy scarlet briefs. As might be apparent from my unwanted nomenclature, "Big Boy", I am reasonably well endowed, and I glanced down in horror at the grotesquely obscene bulge which stretched them almost dangerously. I was quickly cross-questioned as to my complete lack of sleeping attire and as to my having obeyed all no clothing rules after they had gone. So, passing muster, I was permitted to redress. As soon as I had done so, and zipped up. I saw Tim hold out a cupped hand. Resignedly, I lowered the zip again, pulled down the pouch front of my red briefs and, extracting my genitalia, I shuffled round my desk to lay it in his hand in true, respectful and almost oblatory fashion.
Playfully, he manipulated me until I sported a full erection and then instructed me to put myself away. Of course, it was impossible to get my swollen member back inside the elasticated briefs completely, much to their amusement, and I had to head off to registration all too conscious of the sensation of my exposed glans rubbing against the inside of my trousers as I strode along the corridors.
Richard was back in school and avoided looking at me throughout what happened to be a tutor-group assembly that day. There were one or two veiled comments that, were I not hyper-sensitive, I might have let pass with no further thought, but otherwise the rest of the school day passed uneventfully until Richard came to see me at going home time.
"Alan," he began. It was the first time he had used my Christian name in school, even though we were in my study. "They know we've got a private lesson tonight, and they know it's at your place. They've given me a message for you. They say you've got to be naked."
I looked at him with incredulity.
"I've to bring some swimmers with me as well, they've told me," he added.
Feverishly I sought a reason behind such a bizarre instruction.
"Look, I can make an excuse about my health, with only having come back to school for the first time today, and put the lesson off if you like?" he offered tentatively.
"What's the point?" I said bitterly. "It's only postponing the inevitable, isn't it? They`re determined to maximise my complete and utter degradation, and being forced to do it in front of you increases it manifold in their eyes - and in mine too," I grudgingly added.
I drove home with an erection. I knew I was going to be teaching Richard with one that evening, and that my state of excitement would be shamingly all too visible to him. Closing my front door, I began to undress immediately. Hanging up my suit, I moved into the bathroom and stepped under the shower. I had just turned it off when Geoff Talbot walked into the room. I leapt. I was not accustomed to anybody having access to my home whenever they felt like walking in.
"Just checking up on you, Big Boy," he said with a crookedly sardonic smile as his eyes pored over my nakedness. "Anyhow, good for you. You must have stripped off straight away. Well done. Your Masters are pleased with you."
I murmured a "thank you, Sir," then noted the cupped hand. I moved towards his outstretched hand and manoeuvred my damply warm scrotum into it.
"The hair's all wet," he said. "Hmmm, I'll have to talk to the others about this. Perhaps we'd better make you shave."
I shuddered in abhorrence at the thought.
Geoff left after a short while and I began to prepare an evening meal for myself, taking great care near the ceramic hob. The doorbell startled me and I hurried into the hall and donned my robe before answering it. It was the milkman. He looked me up and down and grinned.
"Hullo, Mr Watson, sorry to disturb. It's twenty pounds and seventy-two pence this week," he said writing in his little book.
I murmured the excuse about showering to explain away my state of deshabille as I went to get the money to pay my milk bill. This was going to be a problem with regular callers like him. They would come to think I practically lived in my shower cubicle. Absent-mindedly, I returned to my culinary endeavours still wearing the robe. My back door suddenly opened and there stood Dave Newman gently tut-tutting his disapproval.
"Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear," he said slowly, shaking his head. "Master Tim's not going to like this one tiny little bit. When he said stark bollock naked at all times, that's exactly what he meant; stark bollock naked at all times."
I snatched the offending garment off and tried to explain I had just returned from answering the front door.
"I know all about that. Why d'you think I came round to the back?" he said. "But you're supposed to take the robe off again when your callers have gone."
I apologised sheepishly. It mollified him somewhat, and he agreed to overlook my misdemeanour as it was the first, adding that he doubted Master Tim would have been so understanding.
"This robe's too long, too respectable, too all-covering. There needs to be a hint of danger in the wearing of it," Dave mused as he studied the only garment I was allowed to protect me from prying eyes. "You must bring it to school with you and I'll have it suitably adjusted for you."
"Yes, Sir," I answered meekly, as I moved towards his cupped hand to place my genitals there.
"You're quite a hairy bloke, aren't you?" he suddenly said, studying my nakedness.
"Not especially so, Sir, I don't think," I answered, a little bemused, and very self-conscious of standing close to my fully-clothed pupil, smartly dressed in his formal school suit, white shirt and tie. It seemed only to serve to emphasize my embarrassing and vulnerable nudity.
He left, and after replacing my robe in the hall, I continued preparing myself dinner. Sitting naked at table and eating a meal is a strangely unnerving experience. Does one use a napkin? Washing up also presents unthought-of problems with startling splashes, but perhaps I was being overly sensitive since these sensations were new to me. I even felt embarrassed watching the news on television with nothing on. As the time for Richard's lesson approached, my heart rate increased palpably. I began to conceive plausible excuses in my own mind whereby I could ring and put him off, but each and every one was so obviously a pathetic attempt to avoid the inevitable, that I soon became resigned to the indignity of my fate.
As the doorbell rang I moved into the hall and wrapped the towelling robe tightly round me, even through I knew it was Richard and that I should have to remove it again the moment the door closed behind him, and he stood there in my hall looking at me. Peeling it from me before his eyes was quite an ordeal, exaggerated enormously by the fact that my penis immediately sprang to attention. Richard coughed with embarrassment and looked away.
"Come through," I murmured, turning my back on him, showing him my bare buttocks as I led the way through to the lounge.
"Look, I feel awful about this," he began.
"Not as awful as I do," I interjected with a rueful grin.
"Would you feel better if I stripped off too?" he asked suddenly.
"No!!!" I said quickly and too vehemently. My penis bucked in excitement at the thought, and I felt myself blush for its obvious and blatant promiscuity.
I've got swimming trunks on. They told me to have some with me. I could leave those on," he offered.
"Did they tell you that you must strip too?" I asked.
"No," he answered.
"Then you stay fully-clothed," I said quietly and sat down.
Richard sat on the sofa, staring hypnotically at my erection.
"Can I ask . . ." he began tentatively, " . . . does this turn you on?"
I looked down at myself, then at him with a little shrug.
"It's pointless to deny what you can already confirm for yourself," I was forced to admit.
"But . . . why? . . . What . . . ?"
"I can't put it into words, and I'm not sure I want to," I said, perhaps a little brusquely. "Let's just try to get on as normal, shall we?"
What a fatuous thing to say! I could hear the fatuity in my voice as I started to talk about the improvement in his essay. The falseness, the fear, the foreboding. It was the most uncomfortable private lesson of my life. Probably it was Richard's too. I was squirming inwardly, my penis rock hard and quivering throughout, or so it seemed. Whenever it was at its zenith I noticed Richard's eyes drawn to it, fascinated by it, and this served to multiply my heightened state of acute embarrassment. A little before the appointed hour was up, I heard a key in my door. All four of my tormentors entered the lounge, smugly grinning at my predicament.
"Hallo Big Boy," Tim drawled. "Have you been working hard?"
He leant with added emphasis on the last word, and earned appreciative sniggers from his three cohorts.
"So, Richard. Got your swimmers?"
Richard murmured he was wearing them. My heart started to beat uncontrollably.
"Present for you, Big Boy," he said, hurling a small parcel in my lap. I opened it with unaccountably trembling fingers.
It was a pair of white swimming trunks, not particularly skimpy, but of the clinging variety that left little to the imagination.
"Jump into those, Big Boy. We're all going to have some fun at the local pool."
With presentiments gathering like storm clouds in my brain, I was allowed to hastily dress, and within a space of five minutes from their arrival, we all piled out of the house and into the back of Dave's brother's van. Once inside I had to forfeit my trousers and sit on the floor, looking guiltily askance at the effect the tightly-fitting swim trunks had upon certain aspects of my physique.
Determined that the effect should not pass unnoticed, Tim extolled it in detail dwelling upon how the garment keenly enhanced and drew attention to my manly attributes, emphasising their shape and size most becomingly.
"You ought to thank us, Big Boy, for giving you such a great opportunity to reveal your outstanding assets."
"And how they stand out!" Phil Marshall sniggered, and was silenced with a glance.
That should have been presentiment enough, but it wasn't. I obviously wasn't thinking straight. Of course, I had caused them to remember that I was a very poor swimmer, reminding them of the difficulties I had got into when thrown into the pool in my underwear at Richard's party, and which had been the start of all my troubles. That did not matter, I was assured. One didn't need to be able to swim anymore. Municipal baths had been redesigned and fashioned as "leisure pools" nowadays with broad areas of shallow water for safe play with water spouts and wave machines. The fact that I was provided with a pair of trunks did not alert me either. I did not possess a pair, and so it seemed a perfectly reasonable action for some to be provided for me. The humiliation of appearing insufficiently clad for my liking in public was enough of a cause for concern without dreaming that there might be all sorts of hidden motives at which I could not even begin to guess.
The public changing room was something of an ordeal to begin with, and I was much relieved that I had been allowed to put the trunks on in the comparative privacy of my own home and therefore forego the mortifying experience of stripping off even one's own underpants in front of all age groups as one struggled into one's swimmers. As we left the changing area, attaching rubber bracelets with our locker key to our wrists, we came to a compulsory shower area through which all had to pass before reaching poolside. I still had my towel with me which would have been rendered useless, so Dave took it, together with my key, to put it in my locker. We stepped into the shower, revolving under its jets and slowly walked through and out the other end. I stood on the edge of the pool and took in all that surrounded me.
Suddenly, there was a very loud shriek of girlish glee followed by two or three more. Startled by the volume, I glanced across to see what was the cause of such excitement, and was somewhat surprised to note they were staring in our direction with one hand pressed over their hysterically giggling mouths, and the other ones all pointing at us. I looked round, and then froze, appalled, as I saw all eyes were on me.
I stood before the populace in the pleasure pool, to all intents, stark naked!
My swimming trunks had been rendered transparent almost by the shower, I had just walked through. My hands flew to cover myself, and as they did so, I was pushed into the pool.