THE MASTERY OF TABLE-TURNING
[THE STORY SO FAR - Alan Watson was stripped and humiliated before many of his pupils at Richard Mayhew's (his favourite student's) eighteenth birthday party. Rescued from the pool by the naked teenager, Alan very publicly became aroused, and embarrassing photographs were taken to record the occasion. Submitting to all sorts of demeaning demands in an effort to avoid public exposure of his true feelings for Richard, Alan was forced to spend the day in a tight fitting pair of demeaning style underwear supplied by his tormentors. Whilst at Richard's house, giving him private lessons, they were both surprised by unexpected visitors. Alan was forced to strip to reveal that he was indeed carrying out his orders, when, at that particular moment, Richard arrived in the room, having also been accosted, and stood looking at his tutor in utter astonishment.]
CHAPTER THREE - The Assailants Unmasked
Frozen in abject shame and horror, I stood with my trousers round my ankles and my shirt hitched up to expose my armpits, gazing glassily at Richard, himself clad only in a pair of navy blue baggy cotton boxer shorts. Three other figures, kitted out in similar vein to my sinister whisperer, and in black from head to foot, entered the room behind Richard.
"What the fucking hell's going on?" Richard wanted to know.
My whisperer turned to me and said:
"Shall I tell him, Big Boy, or will you?"
"What`s going on, Alan? Why did they jump me and tear all my fucking clothes off? Why are you standing there like that, and why for fuck's sake are you wearing a pair of my underpants?"
There was a mixture of fear and anger, bordering upon hysteria in the agitated eighteen-year-old's voice.
"I don't know who they are, Richard. and I didn't know these were your underpants. I was given them to put on by this man." I answered as coolly as I could.
"They were stolen during games from the changing room at school last week. I thought it was a joke," Richard volunteered bitterly looking from one to other. "Why have you come here? Why have you done this to me?" He gestured at his newly-acquired state of undress. "Why have you done that to Mr Watson?" he asked them angrily, pointing at me.
There was something in his tone that unnerved me.
"So you know these people, Richard?" I asked tentatively.
"Know them? Of course I fucking know them ! And so should you. It's Dave, Geoff and Phil who jumped me, and this one's Tim."
I was thunderstruck. Of course, The Whisperer was Tim Robey. He and I had crossed swords before. I had thought him aloof and arrogant and had said as much in his last report. I knew his parents had confronted him with my comments and that sanctions had been imposed. All this term there had been a definite something in his attitude towards me bordering on the confrontational which I had chosen to diplomatically ignore. The condescending manner of his alter ego towards me was now glaringly obvious, but my extremely nervous state had prevented me from identifying him. My satisfaction upon knowing their identity, however, had to be tempered with the additional intense humiliation I now felt standing as I was in front of four further members of my sixth-form tutor group. I quickly dropped my shirt and stooped to pick up my fallen trousers.
"Ah - ah - ah - ah !" Whispering Tim remonstrated. "I don't remember giving you permission to move, Big Boy." He clicked his fingers at two of the others. "Strip him," he ordered.
Within a heart-stopping, embarrassing moment my shirt was torn open, buttons flying round the room, dragged off my shoulders and - my protestations ignored - down my arms, as my trousers were yanked off my feet together with my shoes. I stood, stunned before them, reduced to a pair of socks and an obscenely brief pair of shiny turquoise underpants which consisted of little more than a pouch front and an abbreviated back not dissimilar to a thong. Glancing down at myself, I was appalled at how little they did in fact cover. They were so low at the front that my pubic hair was clearly on show, and there was nothing I could do to conceal it except with my hands. This was not allowed. Upon each of my two attempts to do so, they were firmly knocked away.
"So, Richard, my buck," Tim Robey began, as he tore the ski-mask off over his head, "don't you think he looks good in your pants, then? He certainly `fills' them well, eh, Big Boy? Now that was a surprise - when we all got to see it in its rampant splendour on the night of your party. I'd never imagined Mr Watson having a big hard prick like that. In fact, truth to tell, I'd never imagined him having a prick at all."
He chuckled. It was echoed by the other three who bizarrely retained their masks.
"So, you stole my underpants the other day," Richard said, realisation dawning.
"Stole is such a harsh word," Tim said in a tone that suggested his sensibilities had been hurt. "I would prefer `borrowed'. Besides exchange is no robbery?"
"What the fuck are you talking about - exchange?" Richard burst out.
"I'm talking about the pair of Y-fronts you received this morning."
Richard's eyes widened and he slowly turned his gaze on me. I flinched as his eyes ran over my naked flesh and rested over long upon the turquoise pouch and bush of my pubic hair bubbling uncontrollably out of it.
"You mean . . . ?" he began in a daze of incredulity.
"That's right. Watty here got yours, so it was only right you should have his."
"But . . . how . . . why?" he asked, struggling to understand.
"Because it's been patently obvious to the rest of us for months that Big Boy here has been longing to get into your knickers, so we thought we'd help things along a bit."
I know my jaw dropped. I'm fairly sure I went crimson. I was staggered. Never had I entertained the vaguest thought . . . . had I? Suddenly, the painful picture of me grinding myself into the mattress at my alcohol-fuelled nocturnal remembrance of my reclining in the arms of the naked Adonis flashed before my overly moist eyes. Richard stared in open-mouthed disbelief, then he too began to colour up.
"Bollocks!" he said with vigour. "You're talking utter crap!"
"Am I ?" Tim countered with a lofty grin. "Take another look at that photo we sent you. That's how excited he got just being in a bloody swimming pool with you."
"What a load of old cobblers!"
Richard managed a disdainful hollow bark of laughter.
"And is this a load of old cobblers too?" Tim countered. "I seem to remember you were fairly keen to get Watson stripped and into the pool with you at your party. Let's get to see his wedding tackle, lads' - that's what you said, if my memory serves me - and Ill get to keep his undies for a souvenir'. Only of course your father intervened, didnt he?"
It was Richard's turn to go crimson. Clearly he wanted to deny what Tim Robey had just said. He turned to look at me and with superlative effort met my eyes.
"I didn't know the underwear I got this morning was yours, honestly, Sir," he said to me earnestly. "I thought it was a joke pair from Alyson."
"Oh yeah, sure. Just the sort of joke that fag hag would play," jeered Tim.
"Look, let's leave Alyson out of this, shall we?" Richard turned on Tim belligerently.
"I think she's well out of it already," Tim opined smugly. "I think even she knows that. It was interesting to note how she was flirting with Big Boy here at the party, just so she could stay in her ickle Dickie's good books. You see, even she saw him as a challenge and a threat."
"You're sick. That's what this is. Just `cos he told the truth about you on your report, and your parents gave you a hard time. You're sick and you're jealous!" Richard rejoindered forcefully. "You're warped!"
It was Tim's turn for hollow laughter.
"You have the audacity to say I'm the one who's warped?" He turned to the others. "Did you just hear what sick Dick the prick said just now? Unbelievable, isn't it?"
Like lightning he turned to me and snatched my underpants down and off. I stood clasping my groin and wearing just a pair of socks. I was a trembling wreck.
"Hold his hands behind him," he barked an order at one of his cohorts. "Don't let him cover himself. I want to throw some light on exactly who is warped round here."
There was more than a hint of menace in his tone. Geoff Talbot firmly grasped my wrists behind me. I shot a baleful glance at Richard and saw that his eyes rested on my fully exposed groin.
"Now, Richard, with your help, I'm going to conduct a little experiment to try and ascertain who is exactly the real warped one round here."
With a nod at Dave Newman and Phil Marshall who positioned themselves at either side of Richard and grasped an arm each firmly, he added: "Let the unveiling begin."
I watched closely as, with their free hands, both boys moved to the elastic waistband of Richard's boxers. Richard broke his hypnotic stare at my stark naked genitals and looked down at himself.
"No!" he shouted, as with a supreme effort to free himself he writhed his body, but to no avail. He was pinioned.
"Look, stop it now, and we'll say no more about it," Richard tried. He looked across at me for confirmation. "All right with you, Alan?"
As a condemned man might, I met his earnest gaze but said nothing. He could read my expression. Tim Robey didn't even bother to answer. There was no way he was going to stop until he had succeeded in proving his point.
Slowly, ever so slowly, the navy blue cotton fabric was dragged down to reveal a rounded and smooth young belly, taut with muscle, glowing with good health and sun-tanned tone. Suddenly a teasing little curl or two peeped above the descending waistband as if newly awoken and anxious to see what was going on. With a pang of alarm I became aware that I was being closely studied for a reaction to this snail-like strip-tease. I shook uncontrollably and my teeth chattered. I begged some omnipotent force to come to my aid, to spare my contumely, but a jolt in the pit of my stomach awoke me to the base futility of such a request.
As a springing of luxuriant undergrowth became newly exposed to view and one could clearly make out the root of Richard's organ where it joined his magnificent torso, I swallowed. My mouth went dry. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth and I felt the unmistakeable sensation of blood flowing into my lengthening penis.
"Ther-e-r-e-r-e-r-e-r-e-r-e she goes," Tim Robey almost whispered in triumph, in the sort of tone a snooker commentator might adopt as the last black ball trickles agonisingly slowly across the seeming acres of green baize towards the pocket as he drew everyone's attention to the first stirrings.
He cast his eyes back on Richard as the fabric was pulled ever lower and the wrinkled flesh of his sac could now be seen behind the thick pendulous stalk of his organ. I risked a quick glance down at myself and again felt a stab in the pit of my stomach as I saw I had risen approximately forty-five degrees above the vertical. There was no denying the effect this deliberate unveiling was having upon me. Blood raced in my temples as well as elsewhere, and I could hear my heartbeat in my ears. My nipples prickled and all the hairs on my rudely bared chest, arms and legs stood on end.
With a graceful bob, Richard's penis acknowledged its freedom, soon to be followed by each testicle. He glanced down at himself, tearing his eyes away from my reproductive system at which he had been staring in a sort of hypnotic fascination with the growing change that had come over it.
"Ta - da!" Tim trumpeted as the boxers slid down Richard's thighs and to the floor, succumbing to the law of gravity.
"Now, let Warp Factor Two begin!" he announced importantly.
"I looked at him, unclear of what he meant. I glanced down at myself again to see my rigid member sticking out at right angles from my belly. Tim, in the manner of a spectator on the centre court at Wimbledon, was looking from my groin to Richard's and back again. There was a tremendous air of expectancy. Richard got a tremendous wobble on as his boxers were unceremoniously snatched from off his feet, and it seemed almost as if he did not return to the same position when stilled. I held my breath.
It bucked. Yes, it definitely bucked.
Mine bucked as if in response. Who am I fooling? It was definitely in response. Mine was fast achieving in excess of one hundred and twenty degrees and a hot flush of shame hit me as I watched my foreskin peel back voluntarily, revealing to my pupils my most intimate and secretly private part in all its moist and glossy splendour. Who was the master now, I asked myself? The tables most definitely had been turned.
I looked back at Richard's. He dropped his eyes from mine and stared in fascination at his own as it rose to the perpendicular in one magnificent move.
"Warp Factor Two achieved, I think you will agree, gentlemen," Tim remarked with sardonic satisfaction, to be met with appreciative sniggers from Geoff Talbot, holding me still, and Phil Marshall and Dave Newman, each hanging on to Richard.
"All right, so you've had your bit of fun. Pathetic creep! Now let us go."
Richard was choking with emotion. I could hear it in his voice. I knew only too well how shamed he felt. My throat was closed as well.
"Not quite so fast, Mayhew. Our fun and games aren't over yet by a long chalk."
My heart started to beat painfully in my chest. Each breath of air rasped against the back of my throat. As I fought the futile urge to escape, my penis slapped noisily and wetly against my belly drawing everybody's attention to my most atrocious degradation yet. I was leaking with excitement at the situation in which I found myself.
A low chuckle betrayed their amusement at my predicament. I flinched as Tim's finger wiped across my unprotected and dripping glans and watched, horror-struck as he smeared my slime across Richard's lips.
"Just you wait, you fucking warped bastard!"
Tears of impotent rage and frustration ran down his cheeks as he spat at our chief protagonist.
"That's rich, to be called a warped bastard by one of two gay boys who have raging hard-ons for each other," Tim said.
"Now for our next challenge, and I warn you, for this game the winner gets a prize!"
The patronising, sing-song style of voice he adopted to speak to us was calculated to demean. He was succeeding very well, with me, at least. I was thoroughly cowed. I felt I would have gone through with almost anything just to get it all over and done with.
"This game's called `Who Comes First?'" Richard announced with the air of a master of ceremonies at a children's party.
"No way!" yelled Richard. "You can fuck off, the lot of you!"
"Now, there's an idea I hadn't thought of," Tim said, as if considering the proposal. "Still, thanks for the suggestion, but I'm not all that keen. I know they say don't knock it if you've not tried it, but I think I'll take a rain check on it - for now, anyway."
"I am not tossing myself off in front of you lot," Richard added by way of clarification.
"Correct!" Tim agreed.
Richard was puzzled.
"What, then?"
"Mr Watson gets to toss you off."
"No!!!"
"At the same time you get to toss him off."
It was my turn to react in horror.
"No, please!" I begged, my cock jumping and drooling in alarmed and excited anticipation, traitorously belying the fervour of my request not to participate in such an exercise.
I have thought long and hard before I write this, examining my conscience closely. In spite of the horrific prospect of suffering the most colossal indignity of a pupil (albeit an adult) touching me there, stimulating me in such a degrading and animalistic fashion, exciting me to an orgasm in front of them all, making me ejaculate before them, I have to confess there was a secret thrill, a frisson of forbidden ecstasy at the enormity of such an erotic prospect.
In a state of almost feverish hysteria, I cannot recall the list of threats and blandishments that finally overcame all our protestations. Merely to be reminded of the blackmail threats would surely have been sufficient. I just recall the electric shock that ran through my naked body at the first sensation of Richard's tentative touch as his trembling fingertips strained to make contact with my rampant and engorged member. A whimper escaped my clenched teeth at that very moment and I shuddered uncontrollably, lost upon a sea of wanton and abandoned lust.
The thrill of contact was almost painful for me as the head of his turgid member brushed hotly against the palm of my trembling outstretched hand. I remember being surprised at the heat as my fingers closed round his hardened rod of tumescent flesh. He groaned and gasped noisily through clenched teeth.
"No!" he yelled, almost as though in pain.
I was on the verge of tears myself. Tears of impotent rage and humiliation. I knew I was on the brink of an orgasm too which made everything seem that much worse. The thought of ejaculating copiously in front of them all was almost more than I knew how to bear. And yet, truth to tell, this was the most fiendishly exquisite moment, feeling this young man's hands holding my most intimate parts and stimulating me into sheer hedonism. We fell into a mirrored rhythm, and our breathing reflected each other's too. I shot a glance at Richard. His eyes were screwed up with exertion. His forehead was bedewed with perspiration. He was experiencing just as much intensity as I. We were both so close. We pumped each other faster, animal lust taking over now, and disregarding our coarse and threatening spectators. He tightened his grip on my shaft and pulled harder than ever, his fingers flying up and down. I started grunting like a rutting animal, all self-control thrown to the winds. The sap was definitely rising. The point of no return had been reached.
I came first. I had shot twice when I felt a hot bullet of Richard's sperm hit me on the cheek and run down onto my naked chest. I opened my eyes in time to see him fire again and heard his little high-pitched whine of exertion. My heart sang, and at the same time I was appalled. This was so intensely exhilarating and, at the same time, mortifyingly shaming. The camera's flash alerted me to the fact that further degradation was inevitable with such a record being kept of my fall from grace. And then I wondered if it were possible for me to stoop lower.
As I said at the beginning of my tale the loss of respect of my pupils was going to be the hardest for me to bear. But now, what of my carefully built relationship with Richard Mayhew? The sudden pain in my chest alerted me to how much I cared about that. We looked at each other sheepishly, searching for some expression that would tell the other how what had just happened had affected us. Our eyes ran over our vulnerable nakedness. Suddenly Richard took hold of my hand and squeezed. What we had been forced to go through, we had been through together. I squeezed back.