A Week of Self-discovery by Britguy WARNING - HOMOEROTIC

[Britguy]

A Week of Self Discovery

First published 6/8/2016

Content Warning

In some ways this story is rather different to what I usually write so whether anyone will like it remains to be seen. I feel I should warn readers up front. The first three chapters and chapter eight are stories of the type I usually write. Different enough to be interesting, I hope, but not radically different in kind. Chapter four contains no stripping, just a humiliating conversation.

The rest of it contains S&H aplenty but no girls or women. It is a homo-erotic fantasy (not gay but to some that will be a distinction without a difference) including sex acts which also expresses some fairly non-PC views about sexuality (not ‘homophobic’, far from it, just old fashioned and therefore unconventional). Strong anti-gay sentiments are expressed by one character in chapter eight. If any of that is likely to upset or offend you then perhaps you shouldn’t read it.

Everyone probably should read William Golding’s excellent novel ‘Lord of the Flies’ but if anyone doesn’t want to they can read a summary on Wikipedia.

This is, as I said, a fantasy. I have never attended boarding school and this is a product of my imagination plus a couple of internet articles. If anyone who has attended such a school thinks I don’t know what I’m talking about he’s probably right.

I haven’t put a specific date on this but it’s probably sometime in the seventies.

Chapter One – John’s New Nick-name

I look over my shoulder. Yes, they’re following a few yards behind. Four of them, not chasing, just following. Funny, I thought there’d be more. Four is more than enough, of course, but I thought the other three would want to join in anyway. HE is leading of course, who else.

I’ve only known him for the three days since the fifth year started. Up until now I’ve avoided the school’s bullies, who generally pick on the small, the weak, the ugly, the retards, the socially awkward, anyone different, not reasonably popular top set [highest ability] boys like me. It looks like that’s about to change now, two months before I’ll be sixteen.

Just keep walking, quickly, but don’t run, it will only encourage them and they’re not chasing yet, just following. I’ve never been in a situation like this before and I don’t know what to expect. If I can get over the river bridge just ahead and past the park entrance then it’s only 200 yards down Curzon Street and then I’m in the High Street. They can’t do anything in the High Street, too many adults around and I’ll be safe.

HE is Tristan Bartlett, the new boy, starting at our school after being expelled from his private boarding school, allegedly for attempting to perform a Black Mass in the chapel, using a Dennis Wheatley novel for instructions, in order to prove that nothing would happen. His contempt for authority was demonstrated by getting every question in a multiple choice history test wrong. This was a tough test with no obvious wrong answers put in to make it easier. Every question had four plausible answers to choose from. To score zero requires just as thorough a knowledge of the subject as to score 100% as both Tristan and the history teacher knew full well.

I’m crossing the bridge now. I turn to look at the river and out of the corner of my eye I see they’re still there a few yards behind. Tristan is accompanied by Nigel Jones, Jim Bevan and David Sykes. They’re still just following quietly, nothing more. Come on John, just keep going, not far now.

Tristan spent his first day at school finding out who the bullies were. On the second he picked a fight with the biggest, nastiest, hardest bastard of the lot of them, Steve Carter. Steve didn’t stand a chance; the new boy was tough, intelligent, and a trained boxer, thanks to his old school. After effortlessly beating Steve semi-conscious without getting so much as a bruise he made himself unchallenged master of the bullies. They are now HIS gang, and seem content to be.

I’m over the bridge now and walking past the entrance to the park. They’re still not trying to catch me and I’m so close to the High Street I don’t think they can anyway. Perhaps they’re just trying to scare me.

On the third day, that is earlier today, I remarked to a friend that “that new boy thinks he’s God, doesn’t he? He reminds me of Jack from when we did ‘Lord of the Flies’ in English somehow.” That was my big mistake, that and voicing my (low) opinion of him without looking around me first.

“How very kind of you to say so” said a voice behind me and I turned to find myself facing him and his new friends. “I always fancied myself as Jack. You’re John Bacon aren’t you? How appropriate. You can be my little Piggy. Oink, oink” he added, jabbing me in the stomach with a finger. “Fat little Piggy. Hunting piggies is my role, as I recall.” He turned to his new gang and said “Let’s hunt piggies after school shall we? It’ll be fun! See you later Piggy, don’t go near any cliffs or anything will you?” I should have known he’d know the book. Just for the record, I’m not really fat, just a little plump.

Disaster: Steve Carter has just stepped out from behind a van parked at the curb and is standing in front of me with Danny Glover and Lee Jenkins, blocking my way. I wondered where they’d got to, now I know.

Run for it! Into the park, now they’re all chasing me. Along the path, fork left, this path curves around a little wood on the right. They can’t see me, I can’t see far ahead. Sharp right down this side path HERE and round the corner, now I can’t be seen from the main path. I walk through the wood to the bench by the other path that runs along by the river; it’s only a few yards. I wait. I can hear nothing.

Still nothing. I must have lost them. I’ll just sit here for ten minutes or so until they give up. It’s nice and peaceful here looking out over the river at the school playing fields, I’ve always liked it. Five minutes go past. I start to calm down. “Oink, oink” says a horribly familiar voice just behind me.

It’s him, flanked by Lee and David. I look to my right; Nigel and Jim approach, grinning. I look left, only to see Steve and Danny coming up the path. No exit, I freeze, wondering what will happen. “Hello, Piggy” he says.

“He’s a little wanker, isn’t he?” asks Danny. “Trying to hide from us and spoil the hunt. What’re we gonna do with him now we’ve caught him Tris?”

“I don’t know, I’ll have to give it some thought” he replies. Then a thought occurs to him and he smiles. “But meanwhile... Is that true, what he said? Are you a little wanker, piggy? Like to play, but not much to play with? I think we should see for ourselves. Come on Piggy, be a good piggy. Get your little todger out and start stroking.”

“What?” I ask stupidly. I can’t believe I heard that right. I’ve heard things about what goes on at those posh boarding schools, obviously, who hasn’t, but he doesn’t seem like that type, and the others certainly don’t. Why would they want to see that?

“You heard” he says. “Get your prick out and start playing with it.” He seems to be joking, I think, but then he sees something in my face and becomes serious. “There’s seven of us and one of you. You’re going to do as I ask. You know it and I know it so why make difficulties and cause unnessecery unpleasantness?”

I think about this. He’s right of course, they can probably break my will and make me do anything they want if they’re willing to hurt me enough and they probably will be. I’m scared, but there’s something else, a strange feeling of inevitability, something I can’t quite put my finger on, almost an excitement.

I decide that I’ll just have to do what he wants and then maybe he’ll be satisfied and nothing else will happen, or nothing too unpleasant anyway. The weird feeling gets stronger as I unzip myself and, with a shaky hand, fumble for the fly in my underwear.

“Well, it looks like I’m lord of your flies anyway” he jokes as I unzip. Then, as I fumble: “No, not like that.” I look at him, confused. I’m doing what he wanted aren’t I? “Drop your pants so we can see properly.”

Well, I suppose it’s really no worse. Shaking more, I unfasten my trousers, put my hands in my underwear, push them down to my knees and reach for my “No, wait, that won’t do at all, it looks far too uncomfortable. You’d better take them right off. And your shoes and socks, first.”

I untie my left shoe lace. My trousers drop to my ankles as I do so. This makes it awkward getting my shoes and socks off but I manage it, then my trousers and underwear. Obedience is becoming habitual. As I start to sit up he says “That shirt will only get in the way. You should take that off as well.”

As I start to undo the shirt he picks up the rest of my clothes and stuffs them into my schoolbag. I can hear girls’ voices in the main part of the park behind me. I just hope they stay there and don’t come over here; that would be too much. I take off the shirt and hand it over; he has his hand out for it and stuffs it into my bag with the rest.

“Not yet” he cautions as I’m about to start. “Wait for Steve and Danny to come back first.” I hadn’t noticed they’d gone. “Grab the back of the bench either side of you with your hands and stay like that while you’re waiting.

[Britguy]

Chapter Two – Mandy’s Delight

As I sit there naked, displaying myself, Tristan looks as if everything is normal and just as it should be. The other four are stunned, their faces reflecting a mixture of disbelief and contempt. They’re not seeing anything they haven’t seen often enough before in the changing rooms after swimming or games. It occurs to me that they haven’t seen it in circumstances like these before and Tristan hasn’t at all.

But there isn’t time to worry about that now because Steve and Danny are back and they have company, a fact I discover only after they walk up behind me and grab one wrist each so I can’t move my arms. Following them down the path through the little wood behind me are a lot the rougher girls from our year and the year below, who I suppose must have been in the park. There are about fifteen of them altogether; they must have been the voices I heard while I was undressing. Steve and Danny must have heard them too and gone to invite them to the party.

As the girls file down the path behind me they can see I have no shirt on and start giggling and whispering to each other but it’s only when they come around in front of me that they realise the whole truth. “Oh my God! You’ve stripped him!” says Mandy, amazed and delighted. My hands are held to the back of the bench; I can’t move them to cover anything as the girls crowd together in front of me, staring hungrily.

“No” replies Tristan smoothly. “He stripped himself. I merely invited him to do so. A somewhat pressing invitation perhaps, but still. Little Piggy looks good all in pink don’t you agree?”

“Well, yes, of course I do!” Mandy is enjoying the sight, as are her friends. They are all staring like they can’t believe it’s real and they want to memorise every detail before they wake up. I’m in a state of numb shock; I can’t believe it’s real either. “But why do you call him Piggy?” asks Mandy. “His name’s John.”

“It doesn’t matter. Private joke” he says. “Have you girls ever seen a boy masturbate?” he asks. They obviously don’t even know what that means. David does. He coughs to get their attention, holds his hand in front of his crotch and makes a gesture to enlighten them. Now they know what it is but haven’t seen it happen, or if they have they won’t admit it. “Well, hang around then” says Tristan. “In a minute or two Piggy is going to masturbate for our entertainment. You won’t want to miss that.”

“We don’t” says Carol, excited by the prospect. “But why would he do that? Why does he do what you say?”

“Because I have all his clothes and he doesn’t want to go home without them. And because he thinks my friends and I will beat him up if he doesn’t. That’s what he tells himself, but really he likes it. That’s why he got undressed without even trying to refuse or argue. He’s embarrassed as hell on one level but deep down he likes the attention and he likes doing what he’s told. But one must always give that type an excuse to do what they like or they won’t do it, and so one threatens.”

“Oh, yah, one simply must” sneers Steve.

“Yes, one must. Before that unfortunate misunderstanding last summer I attended a school where one is taught to use the English language correctly. Do you have some objection?” It seems that Steve’s bruises are too fresh and painful for him to have any objections to anything and he backs down. “I’m applying what I learned there from some of the weaker boys, mutatis mutandis, obviously.” He stares at Steve as he says this, daring him to react to the Latin. He doesn’t.

“Now then Piggy,” he returns his attention to me, “why don’t you try to think about something sexy until you get turned on?” I’m trying to introspect and decide if there’s any truth in what he just said. I stop that and try to think about girls, nice girls not the ones in front of me, in order to get this over with as soon as possible but I can’t make anything happen and I say so.

Mandy comes to the rescue. She stands in front of me and starts stroking the inside of her left thigh with her left hand while staring intently at my groin. Her right hand gradually lifts her skirt as her left hand gradually strokes higher and higher. I can’t help staring. If this goes on much longer she will soon be touching... She stops abruptly and lets the skirt drop. “I thought that would work” she says, pleased with herself. I look down and to my surprise it has done. Funny, I didn’t notice before but now I have I can feel the pressure. The other girls are staring, transfixed. They’ve just had an unimpeded view of a boy going from relaxed to aroused and their eyes are on stalks, as the saying goes.

Nothing happens for a moment, and then Carol becomes impatient. “Is he going to do it or not then?” she wants to know.

“Yes, go on Piggy, don’t keep the lady waiting” says Tristan. Some lady! “You can move your right arm now.” Danny lets go of my wrist so that I can.

Seeing no alternative I bring my hand down and start to pleasure myself. The boys talk to each other while watching me with fresh contempt but the girls look fascinated. Girls are fascinated by my sex organs, and with what they are watching they can only be thinking about one thing. Wow! With that thought in mind it doesn’t take very long before I erupt, delighting the watching girls.

Helen pipes up: She is a tarty girl who always wears her skirt as short as she can get away with. She’s probably not as much of a slut as she likes to make out but rumour has it that she spends her evenings hanging around older boys with motorbikes so you never know; if she wants it I’m sure they’ll oblige her, age of consent or not. “Well, that didn’t take long did it?” she comments. “I don’t think he’d be much use to a girl if he comes off that fast.”

“You shouldn’t be too hard on him” says Tristan condescendingly. I’m not sure if he’s patronising her, me, or both. “He’s just had a thrilling new experience and it was very exciting for him. The second time will be a lot slower but let’s have a cigarette first.”

The second time? He wants me to do that again? I haven’t got my breath back from the first time yet. And I’ve got some thinking to do. He’s adamant that I like this, but I don’t of course, and I hate the way everyone’s looking at me. But then Helen was right; it didn’t take long and the evidence of my excitement is splattered all over my torso. I’m confused now.

I’m even more confused when someone points out that I’ve still made no attempt to cover myself and I realise that they’re right, even though both my wrists have now been released. I move to correct this but Tristan says “Don’t” so I just leave it. I can’t see what difference it makes now anyway.

[Britguy]

Chapter Three – Smoky Bacon

At Tristan’s suggestion most of them pull out cigarettes of various brands. Tristan has to be different. He favours those tiny little cigars that come in a tin a little bigger than a cigarette packet. “Can I try one of those?” asks Danny.

“Yes, if you like. Give that to Piggy” he says, gesturing to the lit cigarette in Danny’s hand.

“But I don’t smoke” I protest.

“You do today” he tells me, handing me the cigarette. I suppose one won’t kill me and I’m in no position to argue so I take it and puff on it nervously. It tastes utterly vile! And I can’t breathe anywhere near it without coughing. People do this for pleasure? Everyone laughs at me when I cough.

I soon learn how to cope. Hold the cigarette well away from me and breathe in through my nose. Suck some smoke into my mouth. Move the cigarette back away from me. Breathe out through my mouth. Wait a second. Breathe in through my nose, out through my mouth. Keep repeating this sequence. My mouth tastes like something died in it but at least I can breathe. Everyone else finds this method of ‘smoking’ highly amusing. Or maybe it’s because I’m still stark naked. Something is amusing them anyway.

Eventually I finish it and throw the stub away. So does everyone else. Tristan announces that it’s time for me to ‘perform’ again. This may not be so easy. I have normal teenage virility but I usually wait longer than fifteen minutes between sessions! Danny announces that he has to be somewhere and anyway that was boring enough the first time. Lee goes with him. I wish the other boys would go as well but they don’t; they just stand around with that look of contempt on their faces.

I take myself in hand. I really don’t want to ‘wake up’ down there, it’s too soon. I keep rubbing and look up at the faces of the girls, all fascinated by what I’m doing and that helps a bit. By looking at them and studiously ignoring the boys I’m able to get turned on and then it starts to get easier.

The second time turns out to be a lot slower, slow enough to even satisfy Helen I imagine, but eventually, by imagining satisfying Helen, I manage another ejaculation, albeit much smaller than the first. I hope nobody’s going to demand a third performance; I’m sore and aching now.

“What’re we going to do now, Tris?” asks David. “Give the dirty bastard a kicking?”

“No” he replies, to my relief. “Dirty little Piggy’s all covered in his own come. You don’t want that on your shoes. Just chuck him in the river to clean up and then we’ll get out of here. Glover’s not... sorry, Danny’s not the only one with things to do.”

Tristan’s four remaining henchmen each grab one of my limbs, taking care not to touch my chest or stomach, for which I can’t blame them, and soon they are standing on the river bank swinging me back and forth towards the river.

“On the count of three” calls Tristan. “One... Two... Three!” I hear cheering as I fly through the air and then... Splash! I hear nothing as the water closes over my head. Damn, it’s cold! I struggle to the surface and look back towards the bank. Everyone is looking at me and laughing. I tread water, not keen to get out yet in case anyone decides I’m now clean enough for a ‘kicking.’

Soon enough they get bored and wander off, chatting and laughing, to whatever else they’d have been doing if not for me. Once they’ve gone I haul myself out onto the bank. I just hope they haven’t taken my bag. No, it’s there on the bench. I have nothing to dry myself with but I pull my clothes on anyway.

Walking home in wet clothes is very uncomfortable but what choice do I have? I’m just glad it’s over, for today at least. Tomorrow’s another story. For now I just need to get home and shower before my parents get home as I do not want to have to explain how I got in this state. At least my sister won’t be there; she’s going to a friend’s house.

[Britguy]

Chapter Four – Another Pressing Invitation

The next day Tristan Bartlett somehow contrives to be my partner for Chemistry Practical. He is the last person I want anything to do with but now I’m stuck with him for the last hour of the day. Like me he is in the top set for everything, in his case based on records from his old school. That business with the history test didn’t fool anyone, and wasn’t meant to.

I’ve been the subject of rumour and gossip all day. It seems that those who were there to see it have been telling the story to everyone who wasn’t, not always accurately. I’m now the talk of the fifth year, probably the fourth as well. I’ll have to square my sister somehow before she tells our parents whatever version she’s heard.

The version my incredulous and disapproving friends seemed to have heard when they questioned me at lunchtime was that I had stripped naked and played with myself in front of a lot of girls just because the new boy dared me to do it and I wanted to impress him. I tried to explain that it wasn’t like that; I was half tricked and half forced and it happened a bit at a time not all at once. Explaining the experience to them was almost worse than having it and they looked very dubious so now I’m not at all sure what they really think.

Now Tristan is talking to me as we set up the experiment, telling me how we’re going to be great friends. I tell him he wasn’t overly friendly in the park yesterday. He says I need to understand his position. I ask what he means by that.

“You must understand, John, that every school has bullies and a pecking order” he explains. “With my background and accent, coming to a school like this one where I don’t know anyone, I can’t ignore that. You can be inconspicuous, not me. This school has its share of bullies and I have to be their master or their victim, they won’t ignore me. I don’t choose to be a victim.”

“So you make me the victim instead.”

“You insulted me in public. I couldn’t let that go for obvious reasons. I can’t afford to show any weakness.”

“But what you made me do...”

“I’m not apologising for that. You did that because you wanted to. You should be thanking me for giving you the opportunity and the excuse for it. And I didn’t make you. I told you to, but you could have refused and you never even tried to. The words ‘no’ or ‘I don’t want to’ never passed your lips and I didn’t really even threaten you. I told you what to do and you did it straight away. You did it because you wanted to and you enjoyed it. I watched your face when you were watching the girls watching you perform for them and what I saw was pleasure not shame; you were enjoying yourself a lot, I could tell.”

“And if I’d told you to get stuffed you’d have let me walk away would you?” I ask sarcastically.

He laughs. “You see? You don’t deny what I said even now do you? That’s because you know it’s true and that’s why we’re going to be such good friends. If you’d refused I’d have had to push you around a bit just for the look of the thing but I couldn’t have forced you to do what you did. I was joking at first, just to scare you a bit, but then I saw that look on your face and I knew you wanted to do it.

“You’re a submissive, John, just like the ones we used to have fun with at my old school. One tells them what to do and they like it; they’re grateful for the attention. I bet you’ve ‘enjoyed the memory’ already haven’t you?”

I remember doing so twice last night and again before school this morning. I’ve never been so randy. I keep remembering the looks on those girls’ faces. He looks at my face and laughs again. “Thought so” he says.

It’s shameful to have my private tastes and fantasies understood so well by this bully but at the same time the memory is starting to have an effect, yet again, and I discretely adjust myself while he’s not looking. Only he is. He rips my white lab coat open and stares unashamedly at the bulge in my trousers. “You just can’t get enough of it, can you?” he says, laughing yet again.

I’m glad he finds it so amusing. Personally I’m far from amused. My most secret feelings, that I’m still pretty confused about myself, are an open book to someone who finds them comical. Just to make it even better, he doesn’t have to imagine what I look like tossing myself off, he has witnessed it, twice. I want the ground to open and swallow me and I can feel myself blushing furiously.

“What’s going on here then?” asks Mr Wood, the chemistry teacher, approaching us.

“Nothing, sir” replies Tristan. “Bacon and I were just setting up the experiment.”

“It’s John, Tristan, not Bacon” corrects Mr Wood. “We’re not so old fashioned and formal as your last school here. But we do have rules and one of them is that lab coats must be fastened at all times to prevent damage to your clothes. Don’t try to get John in trouble by pulling his open, okay? It’s not funny or clever.”

“No sir, sorry sir, I’ll try to remember about the names, I’m sure I’ll get used to it soon” Tristan says contritely. Then, once Mr Wood is out of earshot, “What a dickhead! How much trouble would I have got you in if I told him the truth about that?” He grins at the thought, I go pale. It makes a change from blushing I suppose.

“Well, I have some good news for you John” he tells me. “I’m giving a little party for some friends from my old school on Saturday evening. Their term doesn’t start until next week and a couple of them live near me. The others are staying with them. You’re invited. They’ll enjoy meeting someone like you and you can indulge your taste. Everybody wins.”

I don’t know what he means by this. And then suddenly I do. “No!” I say emphatically. He wants me to strip and do whatever he says, just to amuse his friends. “No way.” But the weird feeling is back and I feel my groin stirring. “I can’t do that” I say less confidently, it’s almost a question.

“You can and you will” he replies. He looks searchingly at my face, reading my thoughts. “And what’s more you’ll enjoy it, you know. But I see I have to give you an incentive to overcome your Puritanism and enjoy yourself so here it is:

“Everyone is talking about what happened yesterday but they don’t understand it. If we’re friends I tell everyone we got off on the wrong foot, that I forced you into a humiliating ordeal to punish you for insulting me, that we’ve settled our differences and you are now my good friend who is to be left alone. After what happened to Carter and then you no-one will dare pick on you if they think it will upset me. And who knows? If you ask nicely I might find an excuse to get angry and punish you the same way again. You’ll enjoy that, won’t you?

“But if you are not my friend and you refuse my invitation, well then the truth will out. And you will have a massive target on your back and no protection. Remember, ‘the beast is in all of us.’ Don’t arouse its interest. Do you think boys like Carter and Sykes will leave you alone after what they’ve seen? I’ve already stopped them giving you a kicking once. Do you think your friends will stick by you if they think you’re a pervert?”

Clearly the answer to both these questions is ‘no.’ I remember the looks on Steve and David’s faces and the censorious questions of my friends only too well. I realise I could be in for a very bad time if I alienate Tristan. He has made himself my master too, whether I like it or not.

“I don’t have any choice, do I?” I ask rhetorically.

“Not really, no” he replies. “I’ll see you on Saturday at twenty to seven then.” He hands me a piece of paper. “Here’s the address. Now, what are we supposed to be doing with this experiment?”

Clearly the subject is now closed. It isn’t mentioned again as we proceed with the experiment. I look forward to Saturday with a mixture of fear and a strange anticipation. I think the next fifty odd hours are going to pass very slowly.

[Britguy]

Chapter Five – John’s New Job

I arrive early on Saturday and wander around the neighbourhood to kill time, admiring the big detached houses and the expensive cars in their driveways. No Austins or Datsuns round here, mainly Jags and Mercedes, the occasional Volvo, Rover or Audi.

At 6:40 exactly I walk up the drive and ring the doorbell. Tristan answers, wearing a dinner jacket and formal trousers. Embarrassed, I look down at my sweatshirt and jeans. “Don’t worry about that, it won’t matter, come along in” he says, smiling.

I’m led down a hallway to a kitchen at the back of the house. The only occupant is a strikingly good looking fair-haired boy about my own age, also casually dressed, who is introduced as Darius Appleby. Tristan looks at my shoes, produces brushes and polish and tells me to clean them and then leaves the room. The other boy helps me to get a really good shine on them. “Thanks, Darius” I say.

He gives me a very strange look. “It’s Appleby if you don’t mind” he says sharply. I’m hurt; I was only trying to be friendly, why is he rejecting it?

“But Tristan...” I begin lamely and then trail off, unsure what I mean to say.

“Listen, Bacon,” says Dar... Appleby. “Our mores may be a little different to what you’re used to so you’ll need to adapt. Among the people here tonight Christian names are used only for young children and close friends. I am not either, and I can promise you that Bartlett isn’t. It’s presumptuous to use our first names without being invited to.”

It seems strange to me but what the hell, if that’s what they want. I’ve noticed that Bartlett, as I suppose I’d better get used to calling him, always instinctively refers to people by their surnames. Now I understand it’s not rudeness, just his background. If anything it’s him calling me John that’s rude, and patronising as well.

Bartlett returns and admires the shine on my shoes. He produces two of those fake bow ties that are held on by elastic and gives one to each of us. “You two are the waiters tonight” he tells us. “My new chubby dark-haired cherub and my old skinny blonde cherub. We’ll have you in shoes, socks and bowties. Apart from that, naked and priapic I think, that should be suitably decadent. I’ll leave you to get ready but be quick; the food should be here at seven.” With that he leaves the room.

“What’s ‘priapic’ mean?” I ask.

“He means get a hard-on” says Appleby bluntly. “That’s not quite what the word means but do you want to correct him?”

I’m expected to walk into a roomful of strangers in that state and serve them food? “I’m not too sure about this” I mutter.

“Then be sure!” Appleby is already taking his shirt off and seems impatient. “Walk out the door or stay and enjoy yourself but make your bloody mind up! The worst thing you can do is play these games and not allow yourself to have fun. No-one will touch you, if that’s what you’re worried about; it’s not that kind of party. Nobody had to blackmail me into being here, I can tell you; I’m here for the sport. I love showing off and enjoying the attention.”

“From a bunch of queers?”

“They’re not. They’re boys at a boarding school. They play with pretty-boys at school and in ten years they’ll be married with kids. It’s just the way it is, and has been for centuries. I’m a pretty-boy and a tart and I know it and I cash in on it and it makes my life a lot easier. When I go home I have a girlfriend I’ll probably end up marrying. The only real homosexual here is Benson and I love winding him up because he fancies me so much. It’s my ambition to make him come in his pants.” He smiles at the prospect, obviously seeing this Benson in his mind’s eye.

Actually this makes a lot of sense. I can’t walk out so I may as well embrace the experience. Try anything once as they say. It’s not like I’ll see Bartlett’s friends again anyway.

Appleby has taken his shoes off while making his speech. Now he calmly removes his trousers and underwear and puts his shoes back on. He stands in front of me quite shamelessly and he seems to be enjoying himself because he’s already ‘priapic’ from anticipation. I can’t help staring. “See anything you like?” he asks, grinning.

I blush bright red instantly if the heat in my face is any clue. “No, of course not” I mutter as I turn away. To cover my confusion I start taking my own clothes off as he laughs at my discomfiture. I finish getting ready and then turn my back and start fondling myself. Nothing happens. I remember the look on Mandy and Carol’s faces watching me do this by the river. That does the trick.

“That’s the ticket. Keep playing with yourself until you get really excited so you can stay that way.” Appleby is looking over my shoulder, watching me.

“Do you mind!?” I step away and glare at him over my shoulder.

“Not at all.” He walks round to stand in front of me, staring at me, with that smug grin on his face. “You’re a well made boy; I may have a rival for Benson’s affections tonight!” That’s the last thing I want to hear. He seems to see the whole thing as one big joke. I wish I could match his attitude but I suppose I just don’t have the experience for it.

We hear the front doorbell and then, a minute or two later, Bartlett comes into the kitchen carrying a stack of pizza boxes emitting a mouth-watering smell of cheese and meat. He puts these down and returns to the hallway for another stack. “They’re all the same. Pepperoni for everyone. Just put them on plates and bring them through when I ring the bell. There’s one for each of you two as well, and a bottle of wine for you.” He gestures to a counter which has a stack of plates, plus an open bottle of Chianti and two glasses.

He looks us over. “Don’t forget your ties, boys. Oh, and Piggy, you’re drooping a bit.” He’s right, I’m losing my erection. I start to turn away and then deliberately don’t. I start stimulating myself as they watch. It’s strangely exciting, even though they’re not girls.

Once Bartlett is satisfied with our appearance he switches the coffee percolator on and returns to his other guests. Appleby and I start transferring the pizzas to plates and throwing the boxes into a black plastic rubbish [trash] bag. “Piggy?” he asks.

I don’t enlighten him too much. “Bacon. Piggy. You see?” He nods.

We hear a hand bell ring in the next room. As Appleby opens the connecting door we hear Bartlett announce “Gentlemen, pizza will now be served by my two cherubs.”

I swallow hard and follow Appleby’s lead, picking up two plates of pizza and follow him through the door. “You take the left side, I’ll do the right” he whispers. I suppose Benson must be on the right.

We enter a large dining room. The door to the kitchen is behind us. In the opposite wall are double doors, probably to the living room. In the left wall near the corner is another door, which I think must lead to the hall. A large sideboard stands by the left wall. There are French Windows [glass doors] in the right wall, giving access to the garden, three of them. In the middle of the room is a large polished dining table.

Bartlett is seated at the head of this table. Four boys sit down each side; the other end has no place set. Everyone except us ‘cherubs’ is formally dressed in a tuxedo. They all look stunned at our appearance; clearly they were not expecting it.

After a moment the stunned silence gives way to applause, laughter and ironic (I hope) whistles. I feel incredibly vulnerable playing this role essentially nude in front of eight total strangers, ten if you count the two I barely know as well as the eight I’ve never seen before, but it’s also strangely exciting. I seem to be thinking that phrase a lot lately.

“You never fail to amaze us Bartlett” says one of the laughing boys on my side of the table. “We’re going to miss your imagination this year. I don’t suppose there’s any chance...”

“Sorry, Randall,” replies Bartlett, “there’s no chance of that. I miscalculated badly there. I was willing to risk a beating for that but I never expected expulsion. The problem is old Copley takes being chaplain seriously; he really believes all that stuff. I upset him really badly and I do regret that. I always liked the old boy.

“Anyway they won’t have me back at any price. I don’t yet know what I’m doing for ‘A’ levels [exams taken at eighteen] and I’m sort of parked at this Comp [comprehensive school – takes everyone] for now but I hope to see a lot of you at Oxford after that. For now this evening is farewell.”

[Britguy]

Chapter Six – Waking the Beast

We serve the pizza. The guests help themselves to wine from decanters on the table. I find that I’m actually quite enjoying myself showing off to an appreciative audience who take aesthetic pleasure in seeing me but can’t do anything except look. I certainly wouldn’t like it if they could do anything else but since they can’t I just enjoy the attention. It’s curiously easy to remain aroused.

Benson turns out to be an unattractive boy with slightly greasy ginger hair and glasses sitting third from the head on the right of the table. Even with my severely limited knowledge it seems clear that he doesn’t have much luck with the ‘pretty boys’ at school. He takes a good look at me but seems mesmerised by Appleby; he can hardly take his eyes off him.

Appleby winks at me and then ‘accidentally’ knocks Benson’s empty wine glass onto the floor as he serves his pizza. Apologising profusely he bends over to pick it up, standing with his legs apart and giving Benson a view of his backside from close range. Fetching a clean glass he leans forward to put it in front of Benson and ‘inadvertently’ presses his erection against the back of the boy’s right hand, which is resting on the table. “Is there anything else I can do for you?” he asks. “Anything at all?”

“No, nothing just now, thank you” Benson manages to answer but his voice sounds tight and strained and his face is flushed. I wonder how close Appleby is to achieving his ambition. Everyone around the table is grinning; they know exactly what Appleby is doing and they like it. I’m glad I don’t have friends like that.

After serving the food we return to the kitchen and quickly eat our own pizzas, washing them down with a glass each of the Chianti. I rarely drink, just the occasional glass of wine with dinner on special family occasions, but this Chianti does seem to be good quality and it certainly helps calm my nerves. Appleby looks at me like he has something on his mind. “What?” I say.

“I was just thinking. Have you ever had a blowjob?”

“A what? Oh, I know. No, I never have. Why?”

“Would you like one?”

“Well, yes, I suppose so, but so what? There’s no girls here.”

“Not from a girl you idiot!” He smiles wickedly and then licks his lips obscenely and I realise what I’m being offered.

“But you’re not... I mean I’m not... that is...” Disconcerted, I try to say what I mean without saying it.

“John Bacon,” he says in an exasperated tone, “will you please, for heaven’s sake, stop being so bloody bourgeois. I know you’re not gay. Neither am I. I already told you that. You don’t have to be gay. It’s not a binary choice whatever you might have read in the Daily Mail about the permissive society and the decline of civilisation. Take your pleasure where you can. Your dick won’t care what sex I am, believe me.”

“Well, I don’t know...” I’m curious what it would feel like, despite my misgivings.

“Just try it for ten seconds, and then decide” he suggests. He seems eager to do this for me. “If you tell me to stop I will, otherwise close your eyes and pretend it’s a girl you fancy doing it if you like, and just see if you like the feeling.”

“All right then. Ten seconds.” I stand up and he kneels in front of me. I close my eyes, feeling very apprehensive. And then I feel the warm wet embrace of his mouth and he’s right. My dick doesn’t care what sex he is, the feeling is amazing. Too soon it stops.

I open my eyes and see him getting to his feet, smiling at me. “Don’t stop” I plead. “Keep doing that.”

“I will,” he says, “but not yet. You’ll have to be patient.”

“I thought you wanted to do it” I complain, feeling cheated.

“Well really, Bacon, did you really think I like having your cock in my mouth? You’ve got a lot to learn.” I certainly have, like how do you have sex with someone and not be on first name terms. These posh boys are weird! I keep that opinion to myself.

“I don’t enjoy doing that to anyone” he informs me. “Don’t take it personally. I do it when it’s necessary to get something I want. Sometimes just to have it reciprocated; I very much like getting blown myself. Sometimes to get some other favour. Don’t worry; I don’t want anything like that from you. You are going to be part of Project Benson, you’ll see. For now just think of it as something nice to look forward to.”

The bell rings again and we go back into the dining room to clear away the plates. Then we serve supermarket tiramisu in plastic pots. We get admiring glances as we do so, and I am beginning to enjoy these more and more as I start to relax, aided by the wine no doubt, but no-one talks to us.

Appleby makes time to talk to Bartlett about something. Then Bartlett taps his wine glass to get attention and announces: “Gentlemen, after this we will take our port and cigars into the garden. My parents were kind enough to agree to this party and then go out for the evening but Mother won’t like it if the place stinks of smoke and Father won’t like it if Mother’s upset and so we go outside. It’s a nice evening anyway.” While he is saying this Appleby gets two packets of five Castella cigars from the sideboard and distributes a cigar to each boy. He replaces the decanters of wine, which are now mostly empty, with one of port and gives each guest a clean glass. I just stand there trying not to smile at these fifteen year old boys trying so hard to be middle aged men.

We return to the kitchen to enjoy our own tiramisu. I haven’t tried this before but I really like it, and we share the rest of the Chianti. Appleby busies himself assembling a tray of cups and saucers, sugar and cream, and takes it out through the back door.

The bell rings yet again and Appleby glances at the wall clock. “Now we have fifteen minutes to clear up next door and then we serve coffee.”

We throw the pots in the rubbish bag, load the plates and cutlery into the dishwasher and tidy the room. Appleby seems to enjoy his role as a servant and is keen to be a good one. He remarks that there’s only one cigar left for the two of us and I tell him to keep it, which pleases him. Through the windows I can see Bartlett and his guests enjoying their cigars and creating clouds of blue smoke that would have turned the dining room into a gas chamber. I’m glad they’re outside. As the allotted fifteen minutes comes to an end Appleby switches off the percolator and pours its contents into two coffee pots.

“Ready then?” he asks. “Oh, no you’re not. You’ve lost your enthusiasm.” He looks at my crotch. My erection has indeed subsided. I’m amazed that his hasn’t, how exciting is a dishwasher? “Just think of that BJ you’ve got coming soon, that should do the trick.” It does, instantly. I’m going to have some thinking to do after this. We take the coffee out to the garden.

[Britguy]

Chapter Seven – Feeding the Beast

We take the coffee out and put it down on an outdoor table on the patio. There are four chairs surrounding this, with a boy sat in each of them. There are also two three seat benches. Bartlett and Randall are sprawled in one; Benson sits in the middle of the other with a boy either side of him. The garden is completely private, surrounded by shrubbery and not overlooked. We distribute cups of coffee to the guests. “Now for some entertainment with our coffee” announces Bartlett.

Appleby leads me over to stand directly in front of Benson, sideways on. He has got a gardening mat from somewhere and drops it on the patio to protect his knees as he kneels in front of me. He starts playing with my prick with his tongue, licking it and teasing the head. After a few seconds of driving me crazy with this he puts it in his mouth properly and I’m getting my promised BJ at long last. After spending most of the last hour with an erection I’m more than ready for it.

It feels great. I don’t care that it’s a boy doing it. I don’t care about the people watching. I don’t even care that it’s not even being done for my pleasure or Appleby’s but purely to torture Benson, probably in the hope that he will embarrass himself with a spontaneous emission. It turns out that I’m wrong about the last bit; they are much crueller than that. All I care about right now is my own almost unendurable pleasure which is building towards...

I groan so loud it’s almost a shout as I experience my best orgasm ever. That was just... beyond words, I can’t describe it. Appleby opens his mouth and leans back a little so that Benson can watch me ejaculating onto his tongue. Then he closes his mouth again and cleans me up, swallowing it all.

I’m gasping for breath as I come back down from that intense pleasure. Appleby is licking his lips and looking self-satisfied. Benson is making little whining noises, almost like a dog, and I notice that the boys either side of him are each holding one of his hands. Watching the boy he lusts after do that to another boy right in front of his eyes seems to have had a terrible effect on him and he is flushed and sweating again, although the evening is not that warm.

“Well, it certainly looks like Benson enjoyed the performance” drawls Randall lazily.

“Yes, but it’s best to make sure” replies Bartlett. “Check him out Grivas.”

A swarthy looking boy (Spanish? South American?) gets up from the table, walks over to Benson, squeezes the front of his trousers and then, with only the faintest of accents, says “Oh, yes. I think he enjoyed that, for sure.”

“That’s very naughty” says Bartlett sarcastically. “I don’t think such depravity can go unpunished. Whatever would Mary Whitehouse [England’s answer to the Moral Majority, sort of] say? It’s a debagging for Benson, I think. Get his trousers.”

“No, don’t!” says Benson, trying to sound authoritative but just sounding scared, “I’m not one of your submissive show-offs. I keep my private parts private. Leave me alone!”

But ‘the beast is in all of us.’ It’s certainly in everyone here tonight. Benson’s lust for Appleby is the metaphorical sharpened stake which is going to be used to torture him for our entertainment and I have to admit I want to see it just as much as everyone else does. The boys either side of Benson continue holding his wrists as Grivas unfastens his trousers and pulls them off over his shoes.

Grivas pushes Benson’s shirt out of the way. We can see his Y-fronts are bulging with excitement, despite his fear. Grivas reaches for them. “Please, Miguel, I thought we were friends” pleads Benson and then, when he sees that’s not working says “This is a criminal assault. I absolutely forbid it. Leave me alone now!”

“So it is assault and you forbid it. I do it anyway and maybe you call police. I risk it.” With that Grivas grabs the sides of Benson’s Y-fronts and pulls them off, leaving him helpless and exposed. There is a ludicrous contrast between the formal clothes on his torso and feet and the nudity between. He has a shock of ginger pubic hair and a fierce erection standing proud of his body. His balls are tight against his body. They are also matt black. Everyone stares, amazed, no wonder he didn’t want to be seen.

“Well, well” says Bartlett, intrigued. “I wonder how you got like that. Do tell.”

“I think perhaps it has something to do with watching your ‘cherubs’ playing” suggests Grivas, stating the obvious.

“No, I mean the colour of his balls” clarifies Bartlett.

“Mind your own business” mutters Benson.

“Who cares?” Appleby is faking uncontrollable lust. “Those black and white love toys are doing something to me. I must have some relief.”

Appleby’s desire for sexual release is no doubt genuine but we all know what he is really doing. He stands directly in front of Benson and begins to play with himself, very slowly at first, savouring every moment. He masturbates in slow motion, then stops and just strokes himself. He caresses his balls with his left hand. He licks a finger and uses it to gently tease the head. Then he goes back to slow masturbation.

Benson is in a bad way. His face is redder and he is sweating more. He is breathing heavily. He can’t take his eyes off what Appleby is doing. He is trying not to do it but still makes that whining noise occasionally. His cock is rigid, begging for attention that he can’t give it because the boys either side of him are still holding his wrists.

Appleby steps back a little. Captive Benson watches helplessly as he starts to speed up, pumping faster and faster until he suddenly leans forward and ejaculates into his left hand, provoking a louder, tortured whine from poor Benson.

Appleby raises his hand to his mouth and licks the come off it. He returns his wet hand to his dick and cleans up the last of it, licking that off and swallowing it as well. “Delicious” he pronounces, with apparent relish. “Now, where is my next feast to come from? Ah, I know.”

He looks at Benson, who looks tormented and who is now ‘leaking.’ A strand of it descends from the head of his prick into his pubic hair. Appleby kneels in front of him, puts just the head into his mouth and takes about a second to clean it with his tongue. Then he leans back again. “Ahhh”, Benson sounds like he is in physical pain; perhaps he is, his balls must be aching by now.

“A fine vintage!” Appleby licks his lips. “Now why don’t you tell us the story of how your balls got that colour and then maybe” – he kisses the base of Benson’s prick – “just maybe” – he kisses it half way up – “I might” – he kisses the head – “want to be nice to you and finish the bottle.”

Benson is desperate now; he’ll do almost anything for some relief. With eight of his schoolmates standing around watching, fully dressed in formal attire; with us two ‘cherubs’ still naked but no longer aroused; Benson, in his ludicrous state of half nakedness and desperate arousal, is forced to recount his story in the hope of some kind of release.

[Britguy]

Chapter Eight – Another Unfortunate Misunderstanding

Alan Benson spent the penultimate week of the summer holiday attending his school’s CCF [Combined Cadet Force - boys (and girls these days) playing soldiers if you want to be unkind but there’s much more to it than that] camp.

On the last evening a boy named Cottrell suggested that they go for a walk together. Alan was surprised as he and Cottrell were not close but no-one else seemed to be around so maybe Cottrell just didn’t like to be alone and thought Alan was better than nothing. Alan didn’t much want to be alone with nothing to do either so he accepted the invitation.

They walked out of the camp and a mile or so along the road towards the next village. Because of previous fights between cadets and local boys the village was out of bounds so it was no surprise that as they approached the cricket pitch on the edge of the village Cottrell said “Best not to go any further. We’ll just walk around the pitch and go back, shall we?”

They walked the length of the field towards a clubhouse at the far end and Cottrell led Alan down the side, obviously intending to walk around the building and head back. As they turned the corner to go behind the clubhouse Alan saw that about half the boys in his company were already there, obviously waiting for him. He’d been set up. He turned to run but as he started back down the side of the building the other half of the company were approaching him, having come around the front. He was trapped.

The boys soon hustled Alan behind the clubhouse and he found himself in the middle of a small area of waste ground shielded from view by the building on one side and tall hedges on the others. He was held down flat on his back and no-one spoke but hands started tugging at his clothes. Soon he was stripped to his underpants.

“Do you know why you’re here?” The speaker was Patterson, Company Sergeant Major and the highest ranking cadet in the company. “You’re here for being a filthy little scug and trying your perversion on Clarke in the showers.” It was true that Alan had been in the communal shower at the same time as Clarke, it was true that Clarke was there first, but that was coincidence, Alan hadn’t followed him. It was also true that Alan had got an erection but he was daydreaming about something else and not thinking about Clarke, who wasn’t his type, or even looking in his direction. He couldn’t see that well without his glasses anyway. That hadn’t stopped Clarke getting the wrong idea, calling him a pervert and rushing out of the shower in disgust.

Alan had found Clarke later on and tried to explain. He had thought he had been believed but it seemed he’d been wrong. He tried to explain again now.

“Spare us the lies and excuses” said Patterson. “You’re a filthy little scug and you have to be punished. We’ve got the perfect punishment for you but we can’t administer it ourselves; you’d probably enjoy it too much, so we’ve arranged some help.”

Patterson nodded to Clarke, who went around the opposite side of the building and returned with a group of seven or eight teenage girls. One of these confidently approached Patterson while the others huddled together whispering, surprised and delighted at seeing a boy in just his underwear.

“This is Susie” said Patterson, introducing the confident girl. “She is going to administer the punishment. We offered her a small fee for the service but the only reward she wanted was to give her friends from the village a treat by letting them watch. Susie knows what the punishment is but her friends don’t. They didn’t know you existed until twenty seconds ago.”

Susie knelt on the ground next to Alan’s right thigh and opened her handbag. From this she extracted a plastic carrier bag and opened it. She pulled out a pair of rubber gloves and put them on. Then came a small wooden brush with black bristles. It looked like a shoe brush. She put it on the ground and reached back into the bag for the last item, a tin of black shoe polish that she put down next to the brush.

Alan suddenly knew what the punishment was going to be. “No! You can’t! That stuff lasts for weeks! What will they say at school?” he protested.

“They will say that you’re a filthy little scug who got what he deserved” predicted Patterson. “And they’ll be right about it too. Go ahead Susie.”

Susie rapidly pulled Alan’s underpants down and off. He was used to being naked around boys, he attended a boarding school after all, but no female had seen him unclothed in years. He blushed with shame as Susie’s friends stared at him open mouthed, stunned by their treat, drinking in the sight. Susie herself hesitated, somewhat less confident now, confronted with the reality of a boy’s sex organs lying there awaiting her attention.

Recovering her composure Susie opened the tin, picked up the brush and dipped it in the polish. She held Alan’s balls in her left hand and the brush in her right. He hoped the impending stimulation wouldn’t turn him on in front of all these people; that would be unbearable.

Alan needn’t have worried. The stimulation, when it came, turned out to be painful, not erotic. He lay there enduring it, knowing that protest would be both futile and degrading, as Susie took her time doing a thorough job of blacking his balls. There was no way this was going to come off any time soon, he knew that.

Eventually it was over. Susie packed her stuff away, stood up and led her reluctant, giggling friends back the way they’d come. After waiting a couple of minutes to let them get away the boys holding Alan down released him.

“Let that be a lesson to you” said Patterson as Alan reached for his underwear. “Keep your filthy perversions to your own kind. Don’t inflict them on decent people.” With that the boys left, leaving Alan alone to dress, and to reflect on the unfairness of people jumping to conclusions. He walked back to camp alone and slowly, in no hurry to reach it. At least today was the last day.

[Britguy]

Chapter Nine – Sating the Beast

“Filthy perversions?” Bartlett is incredulous. “I knew there was a reason I never joined CCF. That Patterson belongs in the nineteenth century.”

“I think it rejected him for being an embarrassment” comments one of the boys holding Benson’s wrists, Harris I think his name is. “It probably thought he was satire. We torment you for fun but we like you really or you wouldn’t be here, you do know that don’t you?” Benson does; it turns out he’s staying with Harris not far away. These guys can be cruel to each other, but not malevolent.

All the while that Benson was telling his story Appleby has been keeping him turned on with occasional random touches; a hand on his thigh perhaps, or two fingers gently touching his balls, or one wet finger rubbing his cock-head for a second or two. Random touches at random intervals, he never knows what to expect or when to expect it.

“You’re tormenting me all right, you bastards” he says. “How long are you going to keep it up? There’s nothing more to see or hear about. Come on chaps, let me go. I really need ten minutes alone in the bathroom.”

“Oh no” says Bartlett. “We can do much better than that. It’s getting a little chilly so I’m going to let my two cherubs put some clothes on and then Appleby has promised to give you a little reward for being a good sport. It’s something you’ve wanted for a long time so you can be patient a little longer, I’m sure.”

Appleby smiles seductively at Benson and licks his lips. Benson’s dick twitches furiously and a look of longing and pain crosses his face. We go inside to dress.

A few minutes later we return to the garden, me in my jeans and sweatshirt, Appleby in black jeans and a black t-shirt featuring the design from the album sleeve of Pink Floyd’s ‘Dark Side of the Moon.’ It’s a look that really suits him.

The guests are sitting around talking. Some of them are smoking cigarettes. Bartlett is enjoying one of his miniature cigars. They make a point of repeatedly glancing at Benson, who is still being held there trouserless and exposed but has now lost his erection, just to remind him of his predicament. He is now the only one not fully clothed and is very self-conscious about it.

Appleby looks Benson over with a critical eye. He is impressed. “Well, it looks like your balls are a nice deep black even when they’re slack and relaxed. That Susie’s done a good job. You can forget about privacy; the whole school’s going to want to see that, and they won’t rest until they have. The best thing you can do is strip off and stand in the hallway on the first day and get it over with. Of course, the beaks [teachers] might have something to say about that.”

Appleby smiles. “I was going to give you a little treat,” he tells the helpless Benson, “but I see you’ve lost interest.” He kneels in front of him, strokes his inner thigh and lifts his balls in his hand, feeling their weight. “Are you sure you’ve lost interest?” he asks, looking at Benson’s groin and licking his lips.

This is all it takes. Benson’s balls contract rapidly, almost as if they are running away from being touched, an impression falsified by the erection that appears at the same time. Appleby’s mouth closes around the erection, his head starts bobbing up and down and a look of pure bliss appears on Benson’s face.

The look of bliss is gradually supplanted by a more intense expression as Benson gets closer to orgasm. Suddenly Appleby pulls his head away and instead starts masturbating Benson with his hand. “Nohhhhhh” moans Benson in disappointment.

Appleby stops instantly. “No?” he asks innocently.

Benson thrusts his hips forward uselessly. His cock is glistening in the sunlight, wet with saliva and is really straining now and he is so frustrated he can barely speak. “Oh... Oh you bastard! You utter sod... You... You know what I want but... but do anything but do something for pity’s sake, I can’t bear this.”

Appleby resumes what he was doing with his hand and we all gather round to watch from close range. The intense look on Benson’s face intensifies and then “Ahh... Ahh... AARGH!” It’s close to an actual scream as a jet of milky white liquid shoots out of Benson, high into the air. He is coming, and he keeps on coming, jet after jet. I’m jealous; I’ve never come like that. Eventually it stops and Appleby squeezes the last of it out of him. Benson’s shirt is covered in blobs of semen.

Benson sits there gasping for breath as the boys holding him let go and everyone applauds. After a few moments he shakes his head and blinks a couple of times. “Oh... Oh F**K!” he says in a shocked tone of voice. It’s the first time I’ve heard any of them use a four letter word; I thought maybe they were too refined.

“Well, no” says Appleby ironically, “but maybe the next best thing. It’s nice to be appreciated anyway.”

“Appreciated? My God!” Benson is almost lost for words. “You can’t possibly begin to know. I have never experienced anything like that before. I feel drained and weak. I’m surprised my balls are still there; it felt like I shot them into the stratosphere.” He leans forward and reaches for his clothing, which Grivas just dropped on the ground in front of him. “Wow, my hands are shaking, look.” He holds them out and they are indeed trembling.

“I think he needs a drink” says Bartlett. Somebody procures a glass of port from the dining room and Benson, after pulling his clothes back on, drains it in one go. “So you enjoyed yourself in the end then?” Bartlett wants to know.

“You have no idea!” Benson replies. “You know how it feels to get something you really, really want? Add your best wank ever and multiply by ten and you might begin to have an inkling. Feeling that is worth all the torment and then some. You boys wanted to have fun at my expense but you’ve given me a memory none of you can even imagine. All I can say is thank you.” He gives Bartlett and Appleby a big smile; he knows they are the ring leaders. They look slightly disconcerted.

Everyone reverts to talking about school, unsure what to make of what just happened. They are insiders, talking about an institution I neither know nor care about. Time to leave. And I have a lot to think about. In the space of four days I seem to have changed from an average teenager into a shameless bi-sexual exhibitionist with a taste for voyeurism and sadism to boot. I could blame Tristan Bartlett but he could not have created those feelings, he just liberated them.

I approach Tristan (reverting to my own ‘mores’) and tell him I’m leaving. He asks if I’m sure I don’t want to stay and watch the film [movie] with them. I am, it’s some boarding school fantasy apparently. He asks if I enjoyed the evening.

“Yes, I did” I reply. “I didn’t expect to and I was nervous as hell but once I got into it it was fun. Now I’ve got some thinking to do about all of it. I never thought I’d enjoy seeing another boy get wanked off, for one thing. Then there’s all the other gay stuff...”

“It’s not gay stuff” interrupts Darius, who has now joined us, “just fun stuff. I already told you that. Trust me; it won’t put you off girls.”

“And anyway, how many girls do you know who’d let you come in their mouths?” adds Tristan.

“Well, none. But after tonight I don’t know any boys who will either. My mates would beat me up if I even suggested it, and then I’d have no mates.”

“Yes, that goes for me too now. Perhaps we’ll come to an arrangement. But meanwhile... Excuse me everyone” he calls out. “Cherub Bacon is leaving now. Let’s have a round of applause to express our appreciation.” As the applause dies down he adds “And now we’ve time for one more smoke and then, thanks to the wonders of modern technology in the form of Father’s new video machine, we can watch Lindsay Anderson’s wonderful movie If. I do hope it doesn’t give you any ideas, I’d hate to miss out by not being there.”

I leave them to fantasise about murdering their teachers and head off.

Epilogue

That week turned out to be a one off. Nothing quite like it ever happened again. Darius was right, it didn’t put me off girls and Tristan and I never came to any ‘arrangement.’ I don’t think he was any more interested than I was and anyway he soon hooked up with Mary Trafford, probably the best looking girl in our year.

There was one other development though: A few weeks later Mary’s close friend Lydia Soames approached me nervously. “I don’t really know how to say this and, well, of course, you can say no if you want to. That is... No, forget it; of course you’ll say no, I’m just being silly. Sorry.” She turned to walk away.

Lydia was a pretty girl but shy, just my type in fact and I didn’t want her to walk away. “Wait” I said. “Why don’t you tell me what it is? Maybe I won’t say no. You’ll never know unless you ask will you?”

“Well I... That is... Look, the thing is... I can’t believe I’m telling you this but... well... it’s my birthday next weekend and I’m having a sleepover party for some of my friends and... this is so embarrassing... well... some of the girls were saying it’s a pity we can’t get John to entertain us like he did for Carol and all them in the park... sorry... and then Tristan said... we didn’t know he was there he came up behind us with Mary... well he said you might like showing off and I should ask you and you might let us look and maybe even touch and then the girls just kept on at me until I said I’d ask you so I came to ask you but of course you won’t do it why would you do that? It’s just silly and now I’ve insulted you and I’m sorry but I promised and can we just forget about it now please?”

As Lydia paused for a desperately needed breath I felt the adrenaline rush mixture of fear and temptation. This pretty girl and her friends were interested in my body? They wanted to look at and... crikey... ‘maybe even touch’ me? I remembered the looks on Carol and her friends’ faces and imagined Lydia looking at me like that. I imagined her touching me and then I shoved my hand into my trouser pocket urgently to hold my reaction out of sight.

The price of what my body was unambiguously telling me I wanted was to strip naked in front of a group of girls who would know I’d done it voluntarily for my own enjoyment and who I would have to go to school with for the next year to three years and I feared for my reputation.

“Wait,” I said, indecisive, “let me think about this...”

Lydia looked like someone who can’t quite believe they have the winning lottery ticket even though they’ve checked the numbers three times. “You mean you’ll do it? Why? I don’t mean to be ungrateful but... well...why?”

“I didn’t say I’ll do it I said I’ll think about it. As for the why, well, doesn’t it make you happy when boys find you attractive? Why d’you think it’d be any different for us? We like to have girls think about us that way. Keep this to yourself but the way some of those girls were looking at me was a turn-on even though I’d been forced, and I like you a lot better than them. If it was voluntary it could be a lot of fun for everyone but I don’t know if I’ve got the balls for it, if you’ll excuse the expression.”

She smiled. “Mandy Jackson says you’ve got very nice balls and she ought to know; she’s seen them working! And if you say you’ll think about it that means you want to else you’d have just said no. Please please please be brave and give me the best birthday ever. We’ll all be ever so grateful!”

A pretty girl was looking at me adoringly and begging me for a favour. How could I disappoint her? It turned out I couldn’t and before I knew what I was doing I found I’d agreed to do it. I pride myself, then and now, on being the sort of bloke that if I say I’ll do something you can forget about it, it’s done. Having made the promise I spent the next few days alternating between nervously regretting it and excitedly looking forward to it but I wouldn’t permit myself to break it.

Well the details of what happened are rather off topic for this site but let’s just say a good time was had by all on that and several subsequent occasions as I enjoyed the hobby now known as CFNM. It made me a popular guest at girls’ parties for a while back then.

Tristan made the other boys leave me alone and they soon got used to the idea and took it for granted, even after he left. It seemed he had written a heartfelt letter of apology to Dr Copley expressing genuine remorse at a time when he’d had no hope of returning to the school, which convinced them of its sincerity, especially since he’d sent it to the chaplain not the headmaster. This, plus a large cheque to the bursary fund from Tristan’s father, caused the school to relent and accept him back. He returned after Christmas and I never saw him again. I wonder what became of him; perhaps I’ll try looking for him on Facebook or somewhere.

As for Lydia Soames, well, now she’s Mrs Lydia Bacon and it’s our anniversary next week. We still sometimes re-enact the past. It’s easier now that the children have all left, but these days we have to dim the lights a lot before we can pretend to be teenagers again.

The End