THE MASTERY OF TABLE-TURNING
[THE STORY SO FAR - Publicly exposed in every meaning of the word, held up to embarrassing ridicule, Alan Watson, a thirty-year-old schoolmaster, had just suffered the ultimate in degradation having been graphically exposed in a pair of swimming trunks turned `see-thru' by water. Deprived of all his clothing, the mortified young man has had to make his way home as best he could in this humiliating condition under the unwavering scrutiny of the public at large and his pupils in particular, who draw added enjoyment from the degradation of the master they love to master.]
CHAPTER TWELVE - Smooth as Silk
With an air of total resignation I shucked the now dried and no longer translucent trunks off my legs and handed them over to my Master.
"It is very rude to have a limp cock in front of your Masters. Get it hard at once."
"Look, please," I said, "I've had enough traumas already . . ."
"Come here right now, or pay the consequences," Tim said quite harshly, holding out his cupped hand in the manner to which I had grown accustomed and to which I knew also brooked no argument..
I sighed heavily as I moved forward to lay my scrotum in the palm of his hand, and flinched guiltily as I felt the fingers of his other hand close round the shaft of my already engorging penis.
Tim took hold of my bare arm and propelled me, still manipulating my excited penis, into the lounge where they all sat grinning at me. Richard was also there, but not grinning. He stared in a sort of lustful anguish at me as I was forcibly masturbated in front of them all. I was closely questioned as to how I had fared upon discovering my clothing gone from the changing room at the swimming pool, and forced to relate every demeaning detail of my ordeal up until I arrived home. All the while I was pummelled and pumped as they feasted with delighted satisfaction upon every morsel of my misery and mortification.
I must make clear that a video record was being made almost perpetually of all my degradations. I was made constantly aware that copies of my exploits so far would be made available to various people and indeed authorities, or perhaps even made available on the internet, if I failed to comply with further orders or instructions. I had no choice but to go along with everything I was made to do until they grew tired of me and their total control over me lost its novelty. I cannot overstress the feelings of absolute and utter humiliation I experienced standing there naked in front of my senior students, their being all fully clothed adding enormously to my angst, as they intently watched me succumb to the most basic and primeval animalistic urges of an enforced orgasm.
As I shuddered and panted with the force of my orgasm and then was forced to bend to the task of licking up all my spendings, I listened as they discussed my body quite intimately.
"You know, he really has quite a good body," Tim said with almost a tone of surprise. "The cock we had already imagined to be bigger than the norm from the bulge in his trousers, so that wasn't really a surprise when we first saw it and held it, but now we discover that his chest is quite impressive too."
They went on to discuss my attributes in alarming detail, touching me intimately as various body parts came in for mention. My scrotum was hefted as the size and weight of my testicles was speculated upon. My nipples were pulled and twisted as my pectorals were pushed and pummelled and my chest hair teased and stroked. My buttocks were pressed together and prised apart, fingers raking through what they called the "peach fuzz" that adorned them. They took great delight in exposing my anus to public view and prying fingers, forcing me to bend double and humiliating me further by demanding I pull my cheeks apart and turn to show each one my sphincter with which I was ordered to "wink" at them. This caused much raucous hilarity and mirth; then I was spanked playfully as my flanks were squeezed, groped and smacked. In my naiveté, that did not seem as threatening as it was later to prove. I was far more concerned about the revelation of my glans. Most shaming of all seemed to be having my foreskin pulled back exposing that which was most intimate and usually unseen, even by me, except in moments of uncontrollable excitement. The handling served only to emphasize my sense of vulnerable nakedness.
As I stood obediently beside Tim while he fondled my erection and grazed the hair of my buttocks, I flinched as he ran his hand up my chest and suddenly tugged on a handful of hair there. I could not prevent a moan of pain escaping.
"He's too fucking hairy. Like the last of the great apes," he announced of a sudden.
I am not a particularly hairy person in actual fact, sporting a fairly liberal covering across my chest and round my nipples which then tapers to a narrow band to my navel. At that point it seems to get a little more exuberant as it descends beneath the waistband to spread more vigorously and liberally coat my pubic area. I have a reasonable amount on both my legs and arms, but am not at all bear-like. My back is almost smooth with only the very slightest dusting on my shoulders and buttocks though sprouting in generous tufts between my legs and cheeks. The very fact that I have had to describe myself in such intimate detail to you, my reader, is in itself alarmingly humbling. I can almost feel your eyes poring over my naked body.
But Tim was not to be satisfied.
"I think Big Boy here needs a shave."
This was met with hoots of derisive laughter. I felt my heart stop.
"And I think Richard's the man for the job!"
My heart pounded, and my cock jerked involuntarily in Tim's hand.
"You like that idea, don't you, Big Boy?" Tim asked with a grin and a playful wank on my reproductive equipment. I shuddered with a frisson of excitement mingled with a pang of shame that my desire had been so transparently obvious.
He repeated the question. I was forced to answer. They all crowed in delight as I had to confess that I did like the idea of Richard shaving me. It was a Damascene moment and they recognised it as such. Richard looked at me with a mixture of astonishment and disbelief. A glance at the rigidity of my penis reassured him that he had not mistaken what lay behind my admission.
The moment was broken as interrogation began in order to assemble the necessary instruments for my impending depilation. Whilst normally a wet-shaver, I did possess an electric razor with a clipper attachment, useful for trimming the neck and sideboards, which was pounced upon as a useful accessory over and above scissors. Towels were laid down on the carpet, a bowl of water carried through together with the assembled instruments and an aerosol of shaving foam.
"How do you think Dick, our dick-barber, ought to be dressed for his task?" Tim asked suddenly.
"Bollock naked!" Geoff Talbot volunteered.
Everyone was in agreement, and they immediately set about rendering Richard as naked as I was. His erect penis smacked noisily against his belly as his trousers were dragged down, giving rise to risible remarks at his embarrassed expense.
Gingerly he took hold of the tip of my penis and I shuddered uncontrollably at the electricity of his touch. My teeth chattered in my head. I hungrily raked his fine naked body with my eyes. My cock was ramrod stiff and bucked out of his fingers. He grasped me more firmly, pulling it down and out of the way as he began to shear back with scissors at the forest of profusion that effervesced from above it to form the rope-like twist of fur that rose to my navel.
I watched in an almost detached manner as curly locks fell from my loins. The clippers on my shaver were put to use next. Moving on to pastures new, Richard scissored and clipped with painstaking care. He caressed my scrotum, stretching and tautening the skin before depilating it with scrupulous meticulousness. He laved the whole area as though baptising it, smoothing the foam on as though it were the finest scented unction with which he anointed me. The whole process was a silence-inducing act of worship, combining an almost religious fervour with a heightened form of eroticism. Not one young man sat there observing without a throbbing erection that they fingered through the fabric of their trousers.
Devoid of hair, I was studied intently.
"It looks bigger than ever," Phil Marshall murmured in disbelief after a moment.
It looked obscene, I thought. Like a newly-plucked chicken, only rampant and quivering.
"Now his arse," Tim said, rubbing his hands in anticipation, and met with murmurs of amused anticipatory agreement.
My bottom was washed for me - something that hadn't happened to me since I grew out of nappies, the shaving foam applied and then shaved off. I then had to assume various wholly degrading positions, bent double, or on my back with my splayed legs up in the air, so that my whole nether region could be stripped of every whisker. I was liberally talc'd and then closely inspected. Hands explored me, stroking the newly-bared areas. I was most intimately violated. Since achieving manhood these regions of my anatomy had been hirsute. To be deprived of that masculine coat was almost like having had my manhood stripped away. I had been emasculated, reduced to insignificant boyhood. No longer the master, I was now the boy.
I trembled uncontrollably - almost as though inflicted with an ague - at their touch as they pawed my extremities. All thought of shaving other areas appeared to have been forgotten, however, and I felt much relief as that fact dawned upon me. The sensation, however, was extraordinary. Somehow my state of nakedness seemed intensified. The very air on my newly-exposed skin felt different, cooler. I was more aware of this part of me than I had ever thought possible. My size and shape was alarmingly emphasized by this baldness; my vulnerability was increased manifold.
"Well, Dick the prick, I must admit you've made a good job of it," Tim said at last. "I think he deserves a drink, don't you, Big Boy?"
"Yes, Sir," I agreed, mentally running through the rather meagre contents of my drinks cupboard. "What would you like, Richard? I don't think I have any beer, I'm afraid."
"Oh no, nothing like that, Big Boy," Tim interrupted. "He wants milk. Your milk!" and, so saying, he fed my rock hard penis into Richard's all-too-eager mouth.
He started sucking hungrily straight away, as though frightened that it might be taken away from him again.
I find it difficult to express the mixture of emotions that coursed through me as I underwent this undignified assault. My lustful side was overwhelmed and yet at the same time appalled. I had never been sucked off in my life before the other evening when Richard and I had been forced to commit such an act upon each other. The sensation was astonishingly exquisite, but also fraught with multifarious doubts and fears as to what enjoyment of this unnatural performance actually meant with regard to one's innate sexuality. The fact that Richard was being forced to suck my penis now excited me enormously. Would the feeling have been the same if some other mouth were swallowing me? I doubted it. Waves of sheer ecstasy enveloped me and I found myself whimpering with pre-orgasmic pleasure as his tongue teased a reaction from me. I was unable to breathe properly. My body writhed, my head thrown back in bestial delight. I caressed his head, his ears, sensuously as guttural noises escaped from my throat. My legs trembled and grew weak. My heart beat a tattoo upon my rib-cage. My temples pulsed to the same hypnotic, exotic, erotic rhythm. I was light-headed. Not enough blood was reaching my brain; it was all engorged in the newly-shorn, shiny, spit-slicked weapon trying to bury its head down the very back of Richard Mayhew's throat.
With a primeval groan, such as might be heard in a maternity unit's birthing suite, I came copiously in Richard's mouth. Immediately my elation turned to flesh-crawling shame that I had been reduced to an object of amusement, forced to reveal my most base and carnal desires before their unwavering gaze. My naked smooth buttocks clenched again and again as I pumped the last of my spendings into Richard's hot wet mouth. Animalistic pantings were escaping from my open mouth. Beads of sweat dropped from my chin onto my chest. I whimpered and sighed, my orgasm complete.
The following morning, it being a Saturday, I lay in bed rigid, both in fear and sexual excitement, at the remembrance of the humiliating traumas I had experienced during the past week. Tentatively I ran my fingers over the silky smooth surface of my excited penis rearing up as though venturing to bury its head in my similarly hairless navel. It's sensitivity appeared to be much enhanced and accentuated by the loss of hair and I shivered at the thrill of my own touch. Guiltily, I dragged my fingers away with difficulty. A new spark of self-awareness had been kindled within me and I was more than a little alarmed by what it had revealed. In fact, I was not sure I was prepared to acknowledge the revelation. Squirming slightly with discomfort under the bedcovers, I was suddenly appalled to realise how stimulating I found rubbing my newly-smooth buttock cheeks against the sheets. I froze, like a caught-out, sinful schoolboy.
I could lay-a-bed no longer. Throwing back the covers, I bounded up, my erect penis bouncing and bobbing, taunting me, mocking me. The total lack of hair laid emphasis to its exposure, I discovered as I studied my nude reflection in the wardrobe mirror - even to its size somehow. I looked towards my chest of drawers. The temptation to cover my enforced nakedness with clothes swept over me. I began to argue that no self-respecting teenager would be up at this hour on a Saturday, so the risk of being caught by one of them dressed in my own home was extremely unlikely. Then I reasoned that with my recent luck I would be caught and the realisation that the subsequent revelation of my unnatural acts and practices as threatened by my young masters would have - not only upon my own life and career, but also on the life of a pupil I held most dear - I dared not succumb. All forms of clothing were expressly forbidden. Recognising this, I heaved a sigh and walked naked to the bathroom.
Attempting the `Telegraph' crossword in the nude is as unsettling as it is distracting, somehow. I felt most dreadfully self-conscious. My plucked genitalia lay before me in my lap like some great albatross balefully glaring at me in accusatory fashion, blaming me for some imagined wrongdoing. My obscenely naked penis refused to soften and lie down. It was determined to draw attention to itself in a most exasperating manner. It had taken on a life of its own. It had taken over part of my brain. Base thoughts were trawled before my eyes, uncalled for. And as these unsought imaginings popped up, so did my restless cock. I groaned in impatience, but even that appeared to take on a lascivious tone.
As it stretched and strained, my foreskin involuntarily rolled right back, and my crimson glossy glans quivered unequivocally seeking to draw attention to itself and its needs. It forced me to recall Richard's sucking on it the previous night. It reminded me how pleasurable the sensation had been. It insisted I acknowledge how I craved a repeat experience. It demanded I attend to its relief instantly.
I stared in almost disbelief as I watched myself masturbate in broad daylight, stark naked in my living room. I was aghast. These were the hurried, almost guilty actions snatched between the bedclothes or in the shower - private moments of which one was not proud. But here I was openly handling myself, legs splayed, thrusting into my pumping fist, gratifying my baser urges and thrilling at the moment. It was all exceedingly worrying. What on earth was happening to me? But, just then, all my worrying had to be put on "hold" as my instincts gave way to a golden moment of sheer ecstasy.
"Good morning, Alan. No nude rugby today then?"
I looked round to see Angela Mayhew standing behind me with her supermarket trolley half full. I grinned ruefully.
"We had Donald's mother and father over for dinner last night, and I showed them the tape," Angela went on. "His mother was very complimentary about you. She said what a good body you had when you were stripped down. We had to replay that sequence of you running for touch with your clothes dissolving three times for her, and in slow motion too. She said how much more interesting rugby would be to watch if it were all in the nude. Donald said it would give a whole new meaning to high and low tackle!"
I know I was blushing, and her dancing eyes told me she was enjoying teasing me.
"I believe you took Richard and some of the other boys swimming after your lesson last night," Angela continued. "That was good of you. You're a very thoughtful man, Alan."
"It wasn't my idea," I started, reddening still more as I recalled the shaming exposure I had undergone at their expense.
"Still, it was good of you to give up your own time like that."
She paused, smiling at me.
"Did you get the chance to find out if there is anything bothering Richard?" she enquired tentatively.
"Erm, no, 'fraid not," I mumbled, avoiding catching her eye.
"If you do get a moment or two to do a little probing on him, I'd be very grateful."
I gulped as the vision of my penis probing down his throat came instantly to mind.
"He has tremendous respect for you. I don't know if you know that."
I wondered what she would think if she knew her son had declared he loved me.
"I'm certain he would reveal all, if you gently asked him."
I knew that he had! I coughed to cover my confusion.
"I'll see what I can do," I said.
"Whatever you can come up with will be much appreciated." She grasped my hand warmly, the first flesh to press it since my rampant penis earlier. "Now, what are your plans for lunch tomorrow? I've got a lovely leg of baby spring lamb. You are more than welcome - you know that. Just drop in to eat, if you feel like it - no need to stay if you have things to do."
I thanked her and promised to telephone in the morning. Perhaps the cooling off period of a weekend apart would be the best prescription for Richard's condition. I had still to acknowledge that I might be in need of a dose of preventative medicine myself.
In the next aisle I careened into my elderly next-door neighbour, Mrs Wilkinson, shopping with her middle-aged daughter.
"Ooh, Mr Watson, I can't get the picture out of my mind of you standing there on my doorstep in just your little white bathing trunks. It gave me quite a turn, I can tell you. I told our Dottie all about it, didn't I, dear?" Her daughter nodded in wide-eyed wonderment as she ran her eyes up and down me, trying to strip away my clothing and create an image of me in her mind. "I thought it was your underwear at first," the old lady continued. "I thought you'd been mugged and that they'd stripped you right down to those little tiny panty-like things. You looked so very embarrassed."
I had been intensely embarrassed; I was almost as intensely embarrassed now, aware that passing shoppers who had caught part of Mrs Wilkinson's dialogue - delivered, as do most deaf people, several decibels above the norm - stopped and stared, mentally undressing me as I stood like a hypnotised rabbit, unable to move. Other trolley-pushers who had obviously heard part of the tale whilst standing in neighbouring aisles came to gawp.
"So what had actually happened?" she enquired of me. "How did you come to lose all your clothes?"
More bystanders gathered. Shopping virtually came to a halt, and for the benefit of Mrs Wilkinson, her daughter Dottie and a growing audience, I was forced to give every detail of my mortifying ordeal at the Baths to satiate their vicarious appetites.
My appetite for shopping had swiftly deserted me and as I progressed only too aware of the nudges and smirks as my tale was retold and embroidered upon, and for all I knew, some might well have been witnesses of the whole incident, I decided it would be more discreet to curtail my visit.
Trundling my trolley across the car park, a brisk breeze whipping playfully at my trouser legs, I was alerted to the sensation of cool air on my hairless nether regions. Was it just a simple shave that had made me so much more aware of my body, or had something far more meaningful been awoken in me? And if so, by whom? Richard Mayhew? A tautening in my chest echoed a tautening of my reproductive equipment.