THE MASTERY OF TABLE-TURNING
[Thirty-year-old English public schoolmaster, Alan Watson, a much abused sex-slave, forced to serve his student masters under threat of blackmail has just completed his first week of humiliating servitude. Highlight of the past twenty-four hours, however, has been his final acknowledgement of his own sexuality and the strength of his feelings for favourite pupil, Richard Mayhew, who has already declared his love for his teacher. Added complications include the fact that the well-endowed Alan has attracted the attention of seemingly otherwise heterosexual games master, Dave Whalley, who simply cannot get enough of Alan's cock. A new day of a new week dawns . . . ]
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - With This Ring . . . .
I could see the photograph on my desk as I entered the classroom. My mind, however, was full of higher-minded things.
"Sit down, gentlemen," I began, as I moved to the board and wrote the one word "Regicide" with a flourish.
We had already reached as far as Act One Scene Five in "Macbeth", where we first meet Lady M. reading a letter from her husband in which he recounts the witches' strange prophesies. Moving to the desk to put my bag down, I stared with open-mouthed horror at the photograph placed there for me. It was obscene. It was me, dressed in the onionskin shorts and the midriff-revealing singlet, stooping to fasten my shoelace in the middle of town. Taken from across the road, the picture showed me kneeling on my right knee as I tied the laces of my left trainer. Clearly visible was my scrotum bulging out of the right leg-hole of my ruckled-up shorts.
A snigger alerted me to the fact that everybody in the room had already studied the image closely. I looked up and stared glassily at the sea of fourth-form faces avidly searching mine.
"Whose is this?" I amazed myself with the steadiness of my enquiry.
"Mine, Sir."
I focused in upon Farnworth.
"I took it on Saturday afternoon, Sir. In town. With my new digital camera," he added unnecessarily. "I was very surprised when I saw it was you, Sir. Dressed like that."
The boy was enjoying himself at my expense enormously. I recalled his crowing attitude after my humiliation on the rugger field. "I didn't recognise you with your clothes on, Sir," he had shouted down the corridor the following day.
"It's a very clear shot, isn't it, Sir? It shows everything. Digitally enhanced on my computer."
It was digitally enhanced all right. I was hung like a bull, my bloated scrotum hanging down against my thigh, mere inches from the ground upon which I knelt. The child had obviously taken my picture and, upon blowing it up, seen that the mesh support hung below my leg-hole when in a crouching position. Applying flesh tint to the whiteness of the mesh inner lining, and enlarging the whole bulge, he had produced this freakish obscenity for him and his form-mates to roll with laughter over.
"Most amusing, Farnworth - even if libellous," I said dismissively, tossing the snap to one side. "Now, will you all turn to Act One, Scene Five, please . . ."
Farnworth had his hand up.
"Yes Farnworth, you may read Lady Macbeth, seeing as you're so anxious."
His classmates laughed and jeered. They were onside again.
"No, Sir, not that. I wanted to ask why my photograph was libellous."
"I'm sure my solicitor will be only too happy to acquaint you with that, should you wish to pursue the matter further. Will you start reading from the beginning of the scene, please? Enter Lady Macbeth reading a letter."
I was, of course, intensely embarrassed and doing my very best to avoid my fourth-form set seeing the fact that they had got to me. As I sat, incidentally trapping my scrotum beneath me, and swiftly adjusting my position accordingly, I silently cursed my masters. That I had been forced to parade myself through town so scantily clad on Saturday, that even now I was "going commando", my balls hanging free and missing the support of my ample briefs, was down to them - Tim Robey in particular. The instigator. I fell to wondering why he was deriving such pleasure in his power over me. What had I ever done to him to deserve this? That I chose to ignore the thrill that ran through me as I pored over the humiliations heaped upon me by this boy and his cohorts is something I was not prepared to acknowledge in myself at that time. What it signified was, in itself, something I was more than happy to leave on the back burner.
Between teaching periods, Dave Newman stopped me in the corridor and asked if he could see me in my study for a moment. His demeanour was entirely respectful, though there was a steely look in his eye. It was as I had suspected. I was immediately ordered to drop my trousers for him to see if I had obeyed the no underwear ruling for the day. He took his duties further by holding out his cupped hand, and I had to shuffle round my desk, my trousers round my ankles, my shirt tails gathered up to my armpits, in order to lay my genitals in his open palm as an obvious act of submission.
"Good boy," he said, giving them a gentle, almost affectionate, squeeze before permitting me to dress again and continue to my next lesson.
"Thank you very much, Sir," he called back to me as I let him out of my study, to all intents and purposes, from what had been a perfectly ordinary master-pupil encounter. He had also taken with him a supermarket carrier bag containing my bathrobe which I had been instructed to take to school for "modification".
At break, I had barely entered the Masters' Common Room when the Headmaster's secretary tugged my gown and asked if I could "pop by".
Derek Bamforth, the art master was with the head and we acknowledged each other with a brief nod as I gave my full attention to what the big man was saying. Apparently one of the sixth form artists who had been promised an art scholarship at university had expressed a desire to paint a picture especially for the alma mater he was about to leave the following summer, reflecting memorable school events. The concept he had in mind was that these cameos of life should act as a border to the main oeuvre, a life-study of me, naked and clutching a rugby ball. I was adamant in my refusal, despite wheedles and appeals from both the Headmaster and Bamforth. It was an incident I, for one, hoped to live down as quickly as possible, I explained. I had no wish that it live forever in posterity like an albatross round my neck. The bell cut through any further appeals and with a firm: "I'm sorry, Headmaster, but it is out of the question," I turned and headed towards the Common Room to grab a hasty cup of tea before lessons began again, dismissing the matter further from my head.
It was the double lesson with my own group next. My heart fluttered as I entered the room. I caught my breath as Richard's eyes and mine met. Was he hard, I wondered?
I was, and embarrassingly so without underpants to contain it. I carried my textbooks low to conceal the fact, and went to sit behind my desk instead of, as was more usual, upon the front edge of it.
"I saw you coming out of the Head's study just now, Sir," Tim Robey called out. "Have you been a bad boy?"
There was some good-hearted and teasing banter from the rest.
"Ooh, Sir. You didn't get the cane, did you?"
"On your bare backside, Sir?" Geoff Talbot wanted to know.
I smiled evenly.
"I'm surprised you need to ask, gentlemen," I countered. "I feel certain there are several of you here who would vouchsafe from personal experience that it would be virtually impossible for me to be sitting here comfortably had I just enjoyed such a session as you so graphically envisaged with our esteemed Headmaster."
And as I said that, the scales fell from my eyes. Instantly, I recalled a vivid picture of Robey as a fifth-year student, trousers crumpled round his ankles, being slippered by Jarvis, the deputy head, and me acting as witness whilst the poor lad was sporting a mortifyingly unconcealable erection . Straightening up again, having taken his punishment, as he had stood, his scarlet penis had thrust itself through both the fly hole of his underwear and the gap in his shirt tails attracting Jarvis's attention and earning the bitingly caustic and unhelpful remark : "Put it away immediately, you disgusting little boy."
I remember having thought it unforgivable to draw attention to what was, after all, a spontaneous and uncontrollable reaction on his part. I also recollect the murderous look the mortified boy had shot at us both as he scrambled back into his clothing, his condition still painfully obvious even through his trousers, a small wet spot appearing darkly on the school grey fabric. Jarvis had left at the end of that term for another appointment elsewhere. Was I suffering now as a sort of pay-back, I wondered?
Tim looked at me in much the same way now, two years on, uncertain whether I was referring to that episode in which we had both featured. A nervous smile flickered across my face, lightening the tension, I hoped, and I opened my text-book. Further into the lesson, and now well into my stride, I rose to write some Chaucerian English on the board to see already written upon it "going commando - without underwear". A small arrow was drawn beneath the phrase. I calculated that this must have been pointing at my head as I sat at my desk below the board. Without reacting, I wiped it out and wrote up my phrase, seamlessly continuing my lesson - or so I hoped.
After lunch, Derek Bamforth came to my study where I was trying to catch up on some marking I had put off from doing over the weekend. I remained adamant in spite of his further entreaties to pose for his star artist and welcomed the interruption of a timid knock at my door. My shouted response admitted Richard to the room.
"Ah, Mayhew, is it that time already? Come in, come in. I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me, Mr Bamforth. I'm already running late for Mayhew's appointment.
Bamforth left murmuring hopes that I might reconsider the matter, I responding that it was a hopeless case. Richard looked puzzled.
"I didn't have an appointment," he said, shrugging.
"I know you didn't, but Mr Bamforth didn't know that, and I wanted rid."
My red traffic light was on, I was round the desk and my key was in the door and locked in an instant, before we turned and embraced. Immediately he plunged his hot mouth over mine. I pulled free.
"No, Richard, not here," I gasped breathlessly, "We mustn't. I can't. It seems wrong somehow. Our rôles are so very different here. It is important they remain so."
My protests were futile. He silenced each of them with another kiss. He too was my master; my gentle master. Suddenly, he pulled away from me to look me in the eye, whilst still holding me in an embrace.
"By the way," he said. "Going commando. On the board this morning. Was that for your benefit, or something left over from a previous lesson?"
I avoided his gaze, blinking frequently and looking down.
"You're blushing," he taunted, and I felt him slip his hands down the back of my trousers.
"Stop it!"
I squirmed as he grasped handfuls of my bare buttocks. I explained that it had been my latest order, and he growled roguishly as he groped me mercilessly.
"Richard, stop it, I say! Now!"
"Or else what?" he whispered with a cheeky grin as he moved his left arm round to the front and felt for my naked and fast growing cock.
"Or else I cancel our next private lesson!"
He took both hands out of my trousers and stood contritely in front of me. I reached out and cupped his cheek.
"Not in school, Richard," I said softly. "We must curb our impulses. It's too dangerous. For both of us."
With a resigned nod, he gave me a sad little grin. He told me how much he had enjoyed our Sunday together and the long 'phone-call of the night before, and eventually, reluctantly, we parted.
"Thank you, Sir," he called brusquely over his shoulder as I let him out of my study.
Such was the studied insouciance with which he went on his way, I almost felt hurt that he should find parting so apparently easy.
"Have you a moment, Sir?"
I turned to see Tim Robey and Geoff Talbot approaching from the other direction.
"I suppose so," I began reluctantly.
"We need to borrow your jacket," Geoff said as he began to help me out of it once the door was closed and the red light on again.
He explained that they needed it to estimate the length I was to be permitted to have my robe. Slipping it off my shoulders, he bundled it over his arm and left the room. Robey took over and began to unfasten my trousers.
"Newman's already checked me," I said laying my hands on his to restrain him.
"Take your hands away," he spat at me venomously. "How dare you try to stop me!"
"Sorry, Sir," I mumbled apologetically.
"Hands on your head immediately!"
I assumed the demeaning position as my pupil once more set about undoing my trouser fastenings. They quickly slithered down and pooled around my feet. Without pause be began to unbutton my shirt.
"You refer to each of us to the other always as Master Newman, or whatever - never just our surnames. Is that clear?" he snapped at me.
"Yes, Sir," I responded meekly.
"So, you appear to enjoy going commando," he leered at me, as he hefted my penis in his hand and studied my expression of discomfort. "Throwing a bit of a boner, aren't you, Big Boy?"
I did not dare to tell him that I had not gone down from my fondling encounter with Richard moments ago.
"That's what I like to see. And I've got a little present here for you that'll help you to make the most of your assets at all times."
He produced what appeared to be a steel ring of the type I had seen inserted in bulls' noses.
"Thank you, Sir," I said a little blankly.
"You know what it is, don't you?"
I admitted I didn't.
"It's a cock ring."
I was mystified.
"From now on, you shall wear it as a symbol of our ownership of you," he explained.
I looked at the ring and wondered how on earth I could keep it on. The boys had certainly appeared to have an inflated idea of my dimensions, constantly referring to me as "Big Boy", but the diameter of the hard metal ring he held up for me to see far exceeded that of my manhood.
"Now let's be completely clear about this. I am going to put it on now, and it does not come off again without our express permission. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir," I murmured, thinking there was no way I was going to be able to keep that on unless I had a raging erection upon which to hang it.
He knelt before me, and I shuddered as he brushed the back of his hand against my pubic area.
"Hmmph. Stubbly. We've got a five o'clock shadow down here. Time for another shave, I think. I must get somebody round tonight, I think. Make sure everything is laid out ready for whoever it is who arrives."
"Yes, Sir," I murmured meekly again.
I leapt as he took hold of my scrotum.
"Steady!" he ordered.
He was trying to separate my testicles and force one through the ring.
"What are you doing, Sir?" I asked, agitated.
"Putting on your cock ring. I've just told you!"
I decided that discretion was better rather than reveal too much of my ignorance.
I winced and writhed a little, as Whispering Tim forced my second testicle through the aperture. It looked like a ball ring to me - not a cock ring. However, then he took hold of my far from flaccid cock and, bending it back on itself quite painfully, pulled on the foreskin and pinched the acorn head to try and push it through the ring now filled with the neck of my scrotum. Grabbing hold, he yanked the whole stalk through. It was quite red and swollen, and as he stood to inspect the effect of his handiwork. I was alarmed to note that it stood out at a ninety degree angle from my body, and quite obviously in an excited condition. I was conscious of a pulsing sensation in it, and as I watched it reddened and swelled further.
"It's too tight, Sir," I said at last. "It's restricting the blood-flow."
"That, Big Boy, is the whole idea. You'll never be properly soft again, most likely. Always excited to see us, and keen to live up to your name. Eh, Big Boy?" he grinned.
Permission was granted for me to dress again. I hauled up my trousers thankfully, all too conscious of school life just on the other side of my door, and was appalled to note that my penis still stuck out like a Douglas fir on a promontory. To make matters worse, my scrotal sac had gathered tautly behind the root of my phallus, my testicles had enlarged and were now carried high up under it, giving unwonted further prominence to an area of which I was, at best, sensitive of having attention drawn to. Had I adorned it with a selection from Blackpool Illuminations I doubt if I could have added to the curiosity and fascination its bulging and pulsating distortion would draw.
"I can't go out of here like this!" I wailed, gesturing at my ballooning tumescence.
"You'll have to have a wank then. Oh, and apparently when you come with a ring on, it's quite something else, so I'm told. From what I've heard, you'll thank me for it."
Just then the bell went signifying the start of afternoon school. Tim grinned.
"Would you like me to take the afternoon register for you, Sir?" he offered.
I gratefully accepted the gesture, thankful of an extra five minutes or so for my erection to subside.
"I'll tell them something came up which prevented you from doing it yourself," he winked and left the room with my register.
I sat behind my desk and willed myself limp. It was a battle of wills, and I felt it buck in its new shiny metal harness.