THE MASTERY OF TABLE-TURNING
[Fellow conspirators Tim Robey, Phil Marshall, Dave Newman and Geoff Talbot possess the power to make their schoolmaster slave, Alan Watson, ejaculate whenever and wherever they want, determined to degrade him to maximum effect. That such overall control has been almost willingly given is a source of amazement to the thirty-year-old who, only a week ago, would not have admitted to being a homosexual, let alone someone who craves domination in all its degrees.]
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE - Breaking Bounds
"Alan, have you bought a mobile 'phone?"
"No. Why?
"Well, I've received this strange text message on mine. It's signed AW, so I thought it must be from you," Richard explained with a little frown.
"What does it say," I asked.
"Give me a buzz, AW"
"I see," I said.
"So, if you're not AW, I don't know who it's from."
"Oh, I'm AW all right, and I also know who the message is from," I added grimly. "Come in here a moment."
We were passing my study and I ushered him in and closed the door. Locking it, I swiftly pulled down my trousers and underpants and raised my shirt tails. He stared in open-mouthed wonder.
"Dial the number," I ordered.
He looked up at me, perplexed, but did what I'd said. Within moments, I shivered to feel the buzzing sensation begin, and my cock and balls began to vibrate immediately like coins left on top of a washer in spin cycle. Eyes wide open and with his jaw dropping open, Richard gazed at me in astonishment.
"Am I doing that to you now?" he asked.
"You are,"
A wickedly slow smile spread across his face as realisation dawned.
"So I can bring you off whenever and wherever I fancy?" he sought clarification.
"You and four other people, " I said bitterly.
"You mean Tim, Dave, Geoff and Phil?" he asked.
"Right in one," I answered grimly, adding," and will you hang up now, please. I still haven't recovered from being brought off in English this morning."
Astounded at their nerve, Richard listened avidly to my account of my barely-suppressed and very public orgasm as he put his mobile away, and I did the same with my cock and balls. The very fact that I had voluntarily exposed myself to him just then, by pulling down my trousers and underpants like that in front of him, clearly showed how far I had come down the road to utter subjugation, I thought.
"The very thought of you being made to come like that has made me so hard," he said, and he took my hand and closed my fingers round his rigid shaft through the material of his trousers. "If my essay's really good tonight, can we suck each other off as my reward?"
My heart leapt. Tonight was the night for one of our private lessons. And since it was to be at my place, we would both be naked throughout - Richard having foresworn clothing when we were together alone.
A sudden knock on the study door made my hand leap off Richard's unyielding phallus as though it had been burnt, and I dived to unlock it.
"Come in," I called putting distance between us.
It was Dave Whalley, the games master.
"Ah, Mr Watson, I've been looking for you." He shot an almost malevolent glance in Richard's direction before continuing grudgingly. "The -er - the fact is I was wondering if you were free at all tonight?"
I froze. I instantly knew what he wanted. It was clear he would have said more, had Richard not been witness to our conversation. He wanted to come round and suck my cock again. This was a nightmare; particularly now I was forced to wear a cock ring - and a vibrating one to boot! There was no way I could explain that away like the lack of pubic hair.
"No, I'm sorry, Mr Whalley. I've got a private pupil, and then I must complete some tasks I had to put off from last night when I was sitting for that portrait," I explained.
"Oh, yes, I was going to ask you about that," he began. He looked a little uncomfortably at Richard again. "Well, never mind. It wasn't important. It'll keep," he added with a sad little smile and shuffled uncomfortably out.
"And what was all that about?" Richard wanted to know, having sensed an atmosphere.
"He needed a drinking partner, I think," I lied.
Derek Bamforth nobbled me as soon as I got back into the Common Room after lunch.
"Alan," he began, beaming at me, "I see you have a double free this afternoon. Can you come and pose for Jason? He has a double with me."
My heart sank.
"Erm, I think I'm down to cover for Frank Hartley, aren't I?" I prevaricated. He'd had to keep a hospital appointment in connection with the rugby injury. It seemed the collar bone fracture had been complicated by a dislocated shoulder as well.
"I've seen to that; called in an old favour and got Bob Illingworth to stand in," he responded.
"Couldn't you get Bob Illingworth to stand in for me posing for Jason?" I rejoindered.
My mind was leaping ahead. I should have to track down one of the boys for an Allen key to remove my vibrating ring. Reluctantly, I agreed to do the sitting, reasoning with myself that the sooner the whole miserable experience was over, the better I'd feel. I shot off in search of Tim Robey.
Momentary panic hit me when I learned he had left school on a geography field trip for the whole afternoon. I knew both Phil Marshall and Dave Newman did geography too, so that meant Geoff Talbot was the only one of my tormentors available in school, and I had to trust my luck that he had his Allen key with him. There was just no way I could strip and pose in the nude, letting another colleague and pupil see the strange metal accoutrement I was being forced to wear. Even worse was the prospect that it might spring into action!
I finally tracked him down coming in from a sports practice. The rugby season had concluded with that fateful staff versus First Fifteen match for which I was still paying, and Geoff had been out practising for the senior shot-put competition in the up and coming School Sports Day just before half term.
I briefed him urgently and asked if he had the key with him.
"It's in my clothes in the changing room," he said.
I gave a grateful sigh of relief.
"Go to your study and I'll come over right away," and he broke into a sprint across the quadrangle lawn, a sixth-form privilege, leaping bovinely over a couple of scattered groups basking in the warm spring sun as they busied themselves in some last minute revision before that afternoon's exam.
True to his word, Geoff Talbot arrived moments after I had got there. He turned and locked himself in, and then turned back and grinned. He had not stopped to change even, and now stood before me in his singlet and well-filled shorts as he held up the tiny Allen key which would loosen the finely threaded screw that ensured I was firmly bridled by their ring of power.
"There is a forfeit to be paid for this favour," he said with roguish glee. "First, you must suck my cock."
I stared at him, appalled.
"I want you bollock naked first, then you must kneel down, pull my shorts down with your teeth, then my undies, and suck my cock."
I regarded him in dumb astonishment. There was nothing for it. I knew I had no option but to comply. Resolutely, I began to undress.
"Completely naked?" I sought clarification, although I already knew the answer.
"Bollock naked, means completely," he said. "Stark bollock naked."
His eyes grazed my exposed flesh as each garment was removed. When I stood before him totally bare, and he held out a cupped hand in front of himself, I had to shuffle forward to lay my metal framed genitals in his palm. Glancing down at the front of his shorts, I could not help notice he was fully aroused by his sense of power over me.
"Kneel," he commanded thickly.
I did so. I could smell his arousal through the material which clothed him.
"Begin," he almost whispered, and I noticed that his thickly furred sportsman's thighs had begun to tremble in excited anticipation.
With my teeth only (I was made to hold my hands behind my back), I dragged his shorts down and off, then knelt up again to pull down his underpants. They were maroon briefs. They were moist from his sporting exertions and consequently pungent. His thickly haired and swollen headed penis sprang up strongly and smacked me quite literally in the eye as I released it from the descending waistband. Once I had dragged the somewhat fetid pants to his knees, I left them to slither down during his exertions and pool around his feet. I could feel my throat fast closing as I stared at his angry appendage.
"Kiss it first," I was commanded.
I shivered and obeyed.
"Kiss my bollocks too."
With my cheek and nose, I had to heft his rampant penis aside so I could reach to kiss his hotly damp sac, thickly coated with strong and heady sweat-soaked pubic hair.
"Now, suck my cock, Sir."
How he revelled in that command, even emphasising slightly the title, "Sir".
I swallowed hard and opened my lips.
He came almost immediately with a triumphant "Yes!"
Quickly he snatched his underpants back up and stepped into his gym shorts, then knelt before me and began to tackle the removal of my ring.
"I enjoyed that. Thank you, Sir," he said with a genuine grin.
There was not a hint of mockery in the statement - just an amazing matter-of-factness, as though I had just bought him an ice cream or something.
"Apart from Richard, is this a first for you, Sir?" he asked conversationally as he grappled behind my scrotum. "Sucking cock, I mean?"
"Yes, of course," I answered, slightly scandalised at the implied suggestion that I might have made a habit of sucking schoolboys' cocks - or anybody else's, for that matter.
As he removed the ring he stood up and gave me a conspiratorial wink.
"Well, you might like to know that you're not the first schoolmaster at this place to have sucked mine," he chuckled.
I could feel my jaw drop, but I instantly knew who was the first.
When I was dressed, all the while under his unblinking scrutiny, he let himself out with the promise that they'd come round that night to refit my ring of slavery.
Within the space of five minutes I was naked again and clutching a rugby ball to my groin as both Bamforth and Farnworth Major subjected my nudity to further close scrutiny. The window was open as it was an uncustomarily warm May afternoon. A sudden light breeze riffled through my chest hair, somehow emphasising my vulnerable state of nakedness. I felt my nipples tauten, self-consciously aware of their rude exposure.
Five minutes before the end of the double period, I was permitted to dress and, as the bell rang, I walked off towards fourth form English in the clear knowledge that my vulnerably naked appearance - albeit in photographic form only as yet - had also been pored over at length by the artist's brother, Farnworth Minor, whom I was about to face once more - only this time with my clothes on, thankfully.
(I apologise most sincerely to you, dear reader, for the length of time since I last posted, but the trauma of what happened next has meant that some considerable time had to pass before I could take up my pen and recount the following events in my life with an appropriate degree of unbiased equanimity. Here, then, continues the story of my further degradation at the hands of members of my upper-sixth form tutor group.)
Our session that Wednesday night had started pleasantly enough. Richard had arrived and in a flurry of activity, during which our lips hardly broke contact, he'd divested himself of every shred of clothing in record-breaking time. Hungrily, we had pawed at each other's naked flesh, wantonly exploring the other's nudity, tickling, teasing, taunting, titillating. Finally, I had assumed the mantle of Master of Academe and insisted we got to work, though we both revelled in the informality of sitting together naked on the sofa as we'd fondled each other playfully and lovingly. Each right answer was rewarded by a deep and loving kiss and we were both constantly in a state of intense arousal, our cocks drooling with ardour.
I'd found that I kept stepping out of myself, or so it had seemed, to take a look at the pair of us. This impressively resplendent example of young godlike manhood, breathtakingly, nakedly handsome, sat beside me, oozing boyish charm from every pore, broad-chested, topped with two of the most tormentingly appetising nipples imaginable, as tempting a navel as to die for, and, as for his thighs , bronzed, honed, textured, and dusted with a fine coating of masculine down . . . well, words failed me. I went weak at the knees at the very thought of them near my face, and trembled like a leaf. He was quite simply superb in every quarter - par excellance in his hind-quarters! I ached for him with a deep-felt longing that hurt most desperately.
With a slow, sad, shuddering sigh we realised that our time was up. It was time to clothe his magnificence once more. The world could brook such distraction no longer. I helped him into his clothing, reluctantly veiling his beauty until it could be revealed to me again. Prolonging each and every moment we had together, we had sunk back onto the sofa and embraced in a final lasting heady all-enveloping kiss.
Suddenly, I was disturbed from my reverie. We were no longer alone. My four tormentors stood looking down at us.
"What a touching scene," Tim said mockingly as Dave Newman took a photograph.
"Caught for posterity. I'm sure Mr and Mrs Mayhew would like a copy to frame and put on their sideboard." There was an ugly edge to his tone.
"I bet that snap turns out really well, with both their cocks drooling like that," Dave Newman added.
A quick glance confirmed a noticeable dark damp patch on Richard's cargo pants.
"I bet they want to lick it off each other's cocks," Phil Marshall sniggered.
"I bet they want to suck each other off!" Geoff Talbot crowed.
"Been there, done that, got the t-shirt," Tim drawled, feigning boredom. He looked at me with a steady gaze. "I think it's time Big Boy was fucked."
I don't think I'd quite assimilated what he had said. In a sort of daze I stared at him incredulously.
Geoff suddenly reached out from behind the sofa and, leaning over, forcibly thrust his hand down the waistband of Richard's trousers.
"That's made Dick's prick thick! The thought of shafting Watty's botty," he chuckled as he groped the frantically embarrassed Richard who writhed in Geoff's painful grasp.
An icy blast of realism hit me like delayed shock.
"You don't mean . . . ?"
I couldn't bring myself to put it into words somehow.
"That's exactly what we mean, Big Boy," Tim said with a slow cruel smile.
"No, please . . . " I began, "this is too much to ask me to bear."
"Bollocks!" Geoff interjected. "If we all decide to fuck you, then you'll bear it with a grin humming `this is my lucky day!' and thanking us all for honouring your arse with our cocks."
They all thought this was very funny. Quickly, I was overpowered and thrown to the floor on my back. My ankles were grabbed and thrust forward over my shoulders and pinned to the floor either side of my head. During this, Richard was hurriedly helped out of his clothes, whinnying faint protests and appeals throughout. As his blue and white pin-striped cotton boxer underpants were unceremoniously torn off him in tatters, his erect penis slapped noisily against his belly as it sprang back up. He was thrust into a kneeling position behind me, and I froze in alarm as I felt the hot tip of his penis guided onto the very sensitive bud of my stretched anus. Phil arrived with a bottle of olive oil from the kitchen and liberally applied some of its contents to the pinioned Richard's turgid weapon and then smeared and fingered oil over my sensitive area, even invading me with his fingertips. The cold sensation was quite startlingly extraordinary and so totally demeaning. I knew my face was scarlet, and from far more than the exertion from the position in which I was so firmly held.
I really find it too acutely degrading to recount in detail exactly what happened. The grossest of indignities was perpetrated upon me. My humiliation was increased by being so firmly held and the fact that my complete degradation was not only closely watched by my upper-sixth form students but openly and coarsely commented upon, greatly increasing the degree of my wholly shaming and total ignominy. Suffice to say that I was quite forcibly and painfully raped - and by an unwilling assailant. The sensation of being impaled was quite alarming, shocking and horrendous. I was in constant fear of some permanent damage being done and the extreme discomfort I was experiencing was something I shall never forget. Involuntary gasps and groans were forced from me - all the more shaming, as my avid audience kept taking them for lustful and orgasmic outpourings. The fact that Richard found the experience sufficiently stimulating that he climaxed within me should be neither here nor there. As should the fact be ignored that I involuntarily ejaculated as well. That we were both consumed with shame and embarrassment was obvious to behold. He kept apologising to me throughout, his voice rising to a crescendo and a multiplicity of "sorrys" as he orgasmed deep inside me.
As we lay in a spent heap, Phil and Dave were dispatched by Tim to run us a bath. Finally we were helped up and forced to get in together. There was indeed something embarrassingly erotic, I have to confess, about our being obliged to sponge each other all over in a hot bath, being forced to follow close instructions as to what to do to each other and what to allow to be done to you. Although I was constantly made all too conscious of my seniority, both in position and age, Richard did his utmost to make me forget these differences and his many intimate gestures - at first alarming in front of our audience - did much to assuage my initial froideur.
After my ring had been refitted, as they all made their departures later that evening, he found time to whisper in my ear unobserved: "I love you, Alan. Never forget that."
That night he 'phoned and told me that while he regretted the circumstances in which he was forced to impale me, he had to confess to it being the pinnacle of his desires. As he spoke in barely audible tones down the line I was forced to guiltily acknowledge the very noticeable reaction in my loins. He begged for an early opportunity for just the two of us to relive intimately the experience we had both undergone earlier that evening. Amazingly, I did not view the prospect of such an ordeal with as much repugnance as I had imagined I would. That I was sore and stretched there was no doubt, but by far the most damage had been done to my pride. I had been reduced to less than a sex object. I was merely a chattel, a plaything for teenage boys who treated me with utter disdain and contempt.
Their power over me, however, knew no bounds. I could never refuse their most outlandish demands for fear of losing my career. There was too much incriminating evidence stored against me. I was their subservient if not wholly unwilling slave, condemned to obey their every whim whenever and wherever they decreed. With a rampant hard-on from Richard's call, accentuated by the vice-like grip of my circle of steel, I relived some of the many indignities to which I had already been subjected, from that first incident which had started it all. My fate had been sealed the moment after I had been stripped to my underwear and hurled into the pool at Richard's coming-of-age party. When my soaked underpants had revealed all too clearly my state of uncontrolled excitement at the prospect of being cradled in the arms of a naked Adonis, the die was indeed cast.
There had been the blackmail photographs, the confiscated underwear, the seam weakened rugger kit and the very public humiliation I had been forced to undergo before the entire school. The ordeal had then been mortifyingly replayed for the local press, and again before the nation's television cameras. After that I had been stripped naked and urinated upon in the public convenience behind a pub'. Even the swimming pool trauma, the enforced demeaning displays in scanty sports gear, the posing, the cock ring, the enforced electronic orgasm of that very day seemed to pale into relative insignificance as I was forced to acknowledge to myself the ultimate dishonour I had undergone, that of my complete violation, having my virginity stolen from me, being made less than a man at the hands of boys.
I slept little that night - not through pain, though there was a degree of unpleasant burning discomfort. My turbulent mind revolved endlessly over all the indignities which had been heaped upon me. Surely, I had reached the very nadir now, I told myself. There was no lower I could sink, unquestionably. The bounds had been broken, and so, I had to confess, had I.