Chapter 1: Thursday Afternoon
Charles Lindsay's buttocks were firm, hairless, and an unblemished pearl white. In fact, all of Charles Lindsay was firm, hairless, and an unblemished, pearl white, from the raven black hair that tapered off at the back of his long neck to midway down his thighs. At least on the back, anyway, and that's all that mattered to me at the moment because that's all I was looking at. The buttocks quivered slightly as I ran my fingertips gently up the inside of his naked thigh, his body helplessly vulnerable to me because I'd been quite thorough in tying it down to the bed frame. My head of house sobbed softly around the underpants I'd shoved into his mouth--his semen-soaked underpants--as I continued to stroke various bits of his exposed flesh whilst he lay immobile, tied face down and spread-eagle on my bed.
I knelt between his open knees and pried open the deep cleft of his arse with my hands. The puckered hole confirmed that Charles Lindsay was a virgin. At least for my purposes. I lowered my naked body over his, aligning my semi-turgid cock inside his crack. Charles Lindsay stood over 6' tall, and I was only 5'8", so I didn't quite cover him. He was also broader, better muscled, more athletic; I more bookish, lean, slender, almost waifish. At 15, I was a year away from the Sixth Form, and here I had the senior boy in my house trembling underneath me. "I think I'm going to fuck you, Charlie," I murmured into his ear, using the soft, gentle tone of a lover. I bit his earlobe. "I think I'm going to fuck you, but I think I'm going to hurt you a bit first."
I propped myself up on my elbows and begin to rock my hips, grinding my cock in his arse. "Do you feel it, Charlie? It'll be inside you soon." I noticed the lines of tears on Charles Lindsay's cheeks and leaned down and licked them. Salty. Almost like blood. I heard him mumble something into his gag. Something that sounded like, "Please." Please what, I wondered. Please be gentle? Please let me go? Please don't hurt me? I snickered. He was two years older and bigger in every sense but one. Charles Lindsay's cock was 5" long when at its most erect and mine was 5" long when fully soft, and twice as thick as his. When I wanked, my hands barely closed around the girth, and they both fit on the shaft between the rim of the head and the nest of rust-coloured pubic hair whence it sprouted. That had been Charles Lindsay's undoing. The day he'd walked into the tosh during Period 5 to find me sitting on a toilet, naked, wanking.
"Oy, Kevin!" he'd called, intending to admonish me. As soon as he'd gotten a glimpse, though, his voice had trailed off. His eyes had widened as he'd realised its size in my hands. I'd looked on smugly as his face had flushed red and he'd swallowed hard. I'd stood up from the toilet seat; he couldn't take his eyes off it. I'd watched his eyes watching my cock as its own weight had held it parallel to the floor, swinging up and down a bit as it throbbed. I'd noticed the bulge growing in his crotch.
"Want to touch it, Charlie?" I'd asked. "It feels wicked hot. And it's so fucking hard right now."
He'd stood mesmerised in silence. I'd bent down to pull up my trousers and underpants. "No," he'd murmured, almost whispering. "Wait." I'd smiled to myself and let go, standing up in front of him again. Now he could see the contrast between my dark red cock with its moist, purple knob against my smooth, pale, pinkish body; the only hair below my neck was the sparse clutch of pubes.
"You can touch it, Charlie," I'd invited again. "I don't mind. In fact, it'll feel good. For both of us, I suspect."
"Fuck, Kevin, it's huge!" He'd swallowed again and licked his lips nervously.
"Well, show me yours then. We can wank off together." He'd shook his head slightly. Almost imperceptibly. I'd stepped out of the pool of clothes at my feet and walked over to him. He'd taken a small, hesitant half-step away but stopped. I'd moved within inches of him. So close I'd known he could feel the heat off my body because I could smell the distinct scent of his aftershave balm. I'd reached for his hands and pulled them to my cock.
"Oh, fuck," he'd whispered, as his hands came into contact with it. I'd curled his fingers around it and begun to move his hands up and down it, wanking myself with his hands.
"That feels great, Charlie," I'd moaned, letting go of his hands and grabbing his biceps. I'd rocked my hips into his grasp.
"Kevin, we can't. This isn't right," he'd begun to protest. I'd pressed my face into his shoulder at the base of his neck, letting him feel my breath above his collar. I'd feigned panting, as though I were near my climax.
"Oh, come on, Charlie, you're making me feel so good. Your hands feel so good on it. Just a bit longer and you'll have me off," I'd replied breathlessly. I'd moved my hips in closer to him and begun to grind my naked crotch against the front of his trousers. I could feel his small erection pointed up towards his waist in his Y-fronts.
"Kevin, someone might walk in!"
"Then let's go to my room. It's just across the hall. Peter's at Rattigan all afternoon. He'll be gone for ages yet. We'll be all alone. And you can make me feel good, Charlie. And I'll make you feel good, too," I'd almost whined.
I'd persuaded him that I was desperate to get off and that only his participation would make it happen. He had to come to my room. I needed him. And in his lust-crazed delirium, he'd bought the lie. I'd moved back from him and turned, delighting in his quiet groan as my cock slipped from his hands, and gathered up my clothes. I'd looked over my shoulder as I'd bent over, my arse exposed to Charles Lindsay's stare. "You'd like to fuck me, I bet, wouldn't you Charlie? Feel your cock right up inside me? God, I'd love to have it off with my head of house, Charlie; it'll be so fucking kinky."
He'd licked his lips again and nodded slowly as I rose and turned for the door. I'd opened it and stepped into the corridor, looking back and giving Charles Lindsay my best, my most innocent, my most seductive smile. And he'd shuffled over towards me, eyes glazed a bit, and followed me into my room.
But now I lay most contentedly on his back, feeling his unsteady breathing. I dragged my tongue across the back of his neck, tasting the fear oozing out from his pores. Fear not just at the size of the cock he now knew would break him, would steal his virginity, but of what he'd become, of what I would make of him.
He'd followed me into my room so willingly. I'd tossed my kit on the floor and sat in my desk chair. My cock had begun to soften ever so slightly, and I'd sat stroking at it idly with just the tips of the fingers of my right hand. "You should probably strip off, too, Charlie," I'd smiled, pointing at his crotch. He'd looked down sheepishly to see the glistening strands of my precum smeared on his grey trousers, and the damp blossom of his own juices leaking through his pants. He'd looked back up at me, shy, bewildered, like a frightened animal with no means of escape and uncertain desire to escape at any rate. He'd pulled nervously at his tie, loosing it, and shrugging out of his bluer. I'd risen from my chair and moved to him, reaching for his belt and opening his flies as he'd opened the top buttons of his shirt and lifted it over his head. I'd leaned forward, kissing his chest and flicking my tongue over his nipples as I unfastened the button at his waist and his trousers finally dropped to the floor. His chest was lightly accented with fine black hair, spattered over the top of his pecs before uniting into a single line that cascaded down his sculpted abdomen and disappeared into his Y-fronts. I'd slowly fallen to my knees in front of him, tracing that line of hair with my tongue and sliding his underpants down.
I'd knelt there, kissing his navel, as my hands went for him. One hand had closed tenderly around his dick as the other cupped his balls. I'd looked up at him sweetly. "It's so cute, Charlie." My saccharine tone masked the obviously demeaning comment, softening its blow but nevertheless eliciting a bashful blush. I'd risen to my feet again and beckoned him to step out of his clothes. I'd taken his hand and led him to the chair, which I sat in. I'd reached for his hips and taken them and gently pulled him forward and down until he knelt between my legs. "Touch it again, Charlie. Please? Make it feel good."
His hands had shaken a bit as he'd reached out and took it in both hands, tentatively peeling the foreskin back to reveal anew the purple knob. "Fuck, Kevin," he'd whispered again, his breath tickling me. His mouth had been so close. I'd known he could smell me, the unwashed scent of my musk, as I'd not bathed since the morning the day before. The healthy, heady, needful scent of a 15 year-old, Five-Two's crotch.
"Kiss it, Charlie," I'd invited him. "It's OK if you want to kiss it. Go ahead. You'll like it, and I will, too." And, still under my siren spell, he'd done it. Leaned forward and kissed it ever so softly with his lips. I'd stroked his hair with one hand as the other reached behind me, searching for the mobile phone I'd left on the desk. The mobile phone that took pictures.
It had taken very little coaxing for Charles Lindsay to take my cock into his mouth and suck on the head. One might think surprisingly little coaxing, for no one thought Charles Lindsay was a shirt lifter. And he wasn't. Yet. But he'd soon come to be. Once he tasted the purple knob, he was lost forever. There was no reality for Charles Lindsay except my oversized cock, pulsing in his hands as he stroked the shaft that extended down from his lips to my crotch. Nothing but the scent, the taste, the texture, the moistness, the heat. Precum had burbled out my cock lips and his tongue had whisked it away. And I'd taken picture after picture of the handsome, youthful, pliant head of house as he worshiped me. Picture after picture of his ruddy face, his lids closed over his famously blue eyes, his red tongue flickering over the head and down the shaft. Picture after picture of his lips spread around it, his cheeks hollowed with suction. And picture after picture of my orgasm, as I'd pushed Charles Lindsay's face away from my erupting cock--my thick, white semen spouting from the tip into his open, craving mouth, landing on his outstretched tongue; his eyes fluttering open in surprise as he realised my cock had left his mouth and semen spattered on his cheeks and forehead, and down his nose; his eyes filling with horror as he saw me taking pictures, but too paralysed with shock to react.
My balls are proportionate to my cock, and they supply me with a copious amount of spunk. Aside from the spurt that had ended up coating Charles Lindsay's tongue, the remainder had covered his face completely, as though someone had upended a serving of vanilla yoghurt over him. It had streaked his black hair and mottled his eyebrows, even clinging stickily to his eyelashes when he blinked. It had sloughed viscously off his chin and strong jawline and onto his chest. And he'd sat back on his heels, humiliated and panicked and stunned, as I quickly e-mailed the pictures to my school account.
"Wha-what the fuck have you done?" Charles Lindsay had stutteringly asked me, after subconsciously swallowing the cum in his mouth, his voice taking on an uncharacteristically high octave.
"Taken ownership, Charlie," I'd replied. "And you should be glad really that it's me who's putting you in your place. I mean, this penchant you've got for young lads with big dicks could get one into serious trouble. But, luckily, it's just me."
"No! I'm not! It's a lie! I don't...I'm not," he stumbled as tears welled in his eyes.
"I know, Charlie, but these pictures I've taken. Well, they tell a different tale, don't they? But don't worry, you're safe with me. As long as you behave properly." My falsely friendly smile and tone did nothing to reassure him. Through no fault of mine, because I'm sure I'd acted as well then as I had done all along. I suspect nothing would have reassured him at that point.
"Wha-what do you want of me?" he'd asked. And I'd smiled wickedly for the first time.
"Oh, Charlie. It'd be a shorter list to say what I don't want of you. But to start off, you need to tidy up a bit." I'd stood and walked to the pile of his clothes. I'd fished out his Y-fronts and begun dabbing delicately at the cum that coated his features. After all, I didn't want to get cum on my bed before I tied him down to be fucked.
And so it was my spunk he tasted now, as he lay bound to my bed. My spunk, which I'd carefully and almost lovingly cleaned off his face. He'd needed to taste it, to savour his new master, whilst I took his virginity. I rolled off his back and sat beside him at the edge of the mattress. "Yes, Charlie," I repeated, "I think I'm going to hurt you a bit first." I began to smack his firm buttocks, reveling in the feeling of the muscle and the sight of them turning first pink and then red. I smacked his arse until the palms of my hands stung, and then I rose from the bed and took his belt from his trousers. To his credit, Charles Lindsay struggled. He writhed and fought against Peter Courtney's school ties, which I'd used to tie his wrists and ankles to the corners of my bed. He tried to call out, the pitch of his voice continually rising as the belt fell across his already discoloured arse, as the shade changed from bright red to a sickish burgundy purple. And, as he became exhausted and sank into the mattress too spent to fight on or merely recognising the futility of it, I worked the belt down his thighs, eliciting from him anew desperate cries and squirming.
Both my arms were tired by the time I'd dropped the belt to the floor and sat on the bedside again. I rubbed my tingly palms over the hot, welted flesh, then leaned over and began to lick the abused skin. Charles Lindsay's pain tasted wonderful. I relished my mental image of Charles Lindsay sitting on those buttocks and thighs through lessons the next day. I thought briefly about whipping the soles of his feet, too, but decided to leave that choice to him. Again, I draped my naked body over his, my now quite hard cock in his crack. I nuzzled his neck and whispered seductively, "That made me feel so good, Charlie. Feel how ready I am to fuck? Has it made you ready to fuck, too, or shall we go on a bit more?" Charles Lindsay shook his head furiously.
"No, you're not ready to fuck?" He shook his head again with equal enthusiasm. "No, you'd prefer we skip the foreplay and get right down to it?" He nodded. "That's lovely, Charlie, because I know I'm ready now and, to be quite frank, the foreplay's worn me out a bit. The question now is, to lubricate or not to lubricate, I believe." I rose again to kneel between his legs and pry open his bum to peer at his hole. Charles Lindsay closed his eyes as the tears flowed from them and emitted a long, high-pitched whine. "Would you like to be oiled up a bit before we start, Charlie?" He nodded slowly. "Not very excited about lubrication? We can forego it if you're indifferent, you know. Won't matter to me, not once I'm in and start rutting."
"Please, please, please," came the Vedic chant through the slobbery underpants between Charles Lindsay's jaws, at least as best I could make out. I didn't know what he was begging for then, whether for lube or release or for me to just get it over with. But I didn't care. I slipped off the bed and sauntered over to where Peter Courtney kept the lotion he applied to his sensitive fairy skin. I returned to Charles Lindsay's arse and squirted a pool of the aloe-based goo right onto his orifice, then squirted a touch more on the purple knob of my already wet cock. I remounted the bed between Charles Lindsay's legs and leaned forward, wedging the tip of my knob right into his anus before lying on top of him again. I interlaced my forearms under his armpits, curling my wrists around so I could grasp his shoulders for leverage.
"They say it goes in better if you relax a bit whilst I push it through, Charlie. You know, like you're going. You can try that if you'd like. Or not. Might feel better for me if you don't, anyway." I paused for a moment to suckle the bottom lobe of his ear. And then I pushed in.
Oh, the feeling! The hot, steel grip of his hole against my shaft as I slowly rammed the full length in. I was like plunging my cock into warm water, warm water that was almost too hot to stand, warm water that clutched me tightly and pressed hard against my flesh, warm water that felt of smooth velvet against my sensitive cock head. The feeling of all of Charles Lindsay's muscles, every single muscle in that Upper Sixth footballer's frame, tensing and clenching and clamping in agony under me, against my scrawny Fifth Form body. The feeling of the scream in Charles Lindsay's lungs reverberating through his back against my chest. As my comparatively massive balls came to rest on top of his, and my wiry crotch came fully pressed against his beaten buttocks, I feared I might cum again, even after the delicious blow job I'd had so recently. So I stopped. I held myself inside him and raised up and kissed his shoulder and his neck and his upturned ear and cheek. I released his shoulders and slid my hands gingerly along his sides, feeling his muscles rippling over his ribcage, before I wrapped them around his chest, fingering through the sparse, fine black hair and closing each thumb and forefinger on his nipples.
I left my cock wholly inside him as I rolled my hips against him, twisting my cock up and down, side to side, as my lips danced across his upper back and my fingers teased his sensitive nubs. "Oh, fuck, Charlie, you're fucking perfect," I hissed breathlessly. "Tell me. Tell me how much you like it, my cock in your fucking cunt. Tell me how utterly complete I've made you," I ordered my new bitch. And Charles Lindsay wept.
And so I fucked him. I was gentle with him at first, sliding slowly in and out with the full length of my cock, sometimes slipping all the way out so I could delight in his shudder as I penetrated him anew, over and over again. At one point, I pulled out and crawled down to his ankles, untying them, and pulled him up onto his knees. By then, his hole was so stretched I could have dropped a pound into it and the coin wouldn't have touched the rim. So I abandoned my languid pace, took hold of his hips, and pistoned him rapidly, almost rabidly, my crotch slamming into his already abused buttocks, our balls slapping together under us, my larger, heavier nuts no doubt battering his painfully. Each time I sensed my impending orgasm, I stopped inside him. At least a half dozen times he had me ready to shoot, but I knew it was too soon. With the spanking and whipping, I'd lost track of time, but I didn't care about time. I didn't care if Peter Courtney came back from his Rattigan Society meeting or not. I was having my first fuck, and it was with the virgin arse of Charles Lindsay, the too beautiful head of West Acre house.
Eventually, though, my energy waned. I was covered in perspiration and my legs ached from the fucking. Charles Lindsay was covered in perspiration as well, his and mine. And so, when the opportunity next presented itself, I cut our mating short and came inside him. The orgasm was incredible, but, honestly, I nearly passed out and can't describe too much of the sensation. It felt like heaven had exploded in my balls and filled my whole body before overflowing in an eruption from my dick. I lost my breath and the last of my strength and slumped over Charles Lindsay's body. It took some time to recover my breath and senses to realise that I was draped over his naked body, his arse still propped aloft on his knees and my softening cock still embedded in his chafed anus.
We both whimpered as I pulled myself free and rolled off him onto the bed. Charles Lindsay remained frozen in place, his face screwed up in shame. And as I reached up to pull the underpants from his mouth, to use them to clean off my dick, my arm coursed through a lake of goo and I realised why he was ashamed. He'd cum. Copiously. "Fucking hell, Charlie," I muttered as I tugged the Y-fronts free from his mouth. "How'd such a little boy like you make all this fucking mess? How many times did you get off on my fucking your arse?"
"Three," he replied stonily. And then his reserves gave out and he collapsed, physically and emotionally, onto the bed. I untied his wrists and he curled against me and I held him as he cried.
"It's all right, Charlie, I thought you were fucking fabulous. Really. Best ever." Of course, he'd been my first, but he needn't know that. I tenderly brushed the black hair off his forehead and kissed his face. And after a few moments, he kissed back through his mewling. And we held each other in my bed, soaking in his spunk as mine began ever so slowly to ooze out of his broken hole.
Eventually, he grew calm again. I noticed the time at last and warned him about Peter Courtney, who'd be back soon in advance of supper. I ushered him from my room, still naked and carrying his clothes in his hands, after explaining he'd soil his kit if put it on as filthy with semen as he was. I kissed him again at the door and told him I'd see him again at eight, and we'd spend some time together before flicks. Fuck flicks, I thought silently to myself; who gives a rat's arse about lights out when your new bitch is the head of house?