THE MASTERY OF TABLE-TURNING
[Now also an object of derision with his fourth-form thanks to the circulation of a graphic snap of him in his abbreviated running gear, schoolmaster Alan Watson, already subjected to ever-growing humiliation at the hands of his sixth-form mentors, has been fitted with a portentous symbol of ownership which cannot be removed. The unfortunate man is condemned to wear a cock ring.]
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - Another Close Shave
Forced to assume an academic stoop for the rest of the day in order to preserve my modesty, only too conscious always of the swollen blood pudding into which my reproductive equipment had been turned, vulnerably ill-concealed as it was behind a single layer of fabric, my teaching must have appeared somewhat lack-lustre that afternoon. It seemed endless to me, so in retrospect I feel sorry for those I taught.
The ring had the effect of bunching everything upward and forward simultaneously. I silently cursed - not for the first time - my overly generous proportions in this embarrassing quarter. Driving home, the damned thing reared up obscenely, rubbing itself on the steering wheel. It looked as if I had one of the Pyramids of Giza in my trousers.
Once back home, I stripped off and studied myself carefully and critically. There was a purplish tinge to it and a definite bloated look. The overall effect of the steel ring being worn there made me look like some barbaric tribesman undertaking a sort of rites of passage initiation. I shuddered at the thought of having to wear this very physical badge of ownership. I hastily ran through my mind the problems it would cause. Any emergency visit to the doctor or, worse, being admitted to hospital would be fraught with terror for fear of it being discovered. I smiled bleakly as I recalled my mother's old entreaties to ensure that as a boy I had clean underwear on "in case you get knocked down by a lorry". I think I should be far less embarrassed being caught with a pair of lightly-soiled Y-fronts rather than a steel cock ring round my genitals.
I took the bathrobe from its carrier and studied the length of it with a mixture of horror and despair. It had been reduced to the same length as a jacket. I slipped it on, tugging it down at the front. As I did so, much to my dismay, the creases where my buttocks join my thighs could be clearly seen. Stepping out to pick up the milk from the doorstep would be, from now on, an obscene act. The act of sitting down in it immediately bared my entire bottom, I discovered in alarm, whilst the front flaps gaped open allowing my ringed genitalia to thrust itself immediately through the gap as if eager for attention. The only way to be decent was to sit askew, knees firmly held together and with one hand holding the garment hem together at the front.
This was all I was permitted to wear, no matter who called. My heart began to beat ominously and quite painfully in my chest. I could feel a sort of heartburn from it in the back of my throat. That I had now plumbed the very depths of degradation, there seemed little doubt. And yet I could not deny an annoying little spark of conscience which kept persistently tapping for attention and chirruping "and aren't you getting one hell of a kick out of all this?" Down, Jiminy, I thought. Self-analysis was the very last field in which I wanted to stray just now.
Naked again, I set about making my evening meal. I jumped, startled, as the 'phone rang and answered with a degree of trepidation, expecting it to be one of my masters. It was yet another double-glazing firm salesman and, as usual, he got short shrift from me. The call had reminded me, however, of some as yet uncompleted orders and I left my meal to cook as I went and gathered the equipment needed in readiness for my unknown barber visitor to ensure my pubic region was once more smooth as a baby's.
Conscious of the weight of the ring, and the increased size and altered placement of my appendages, I felt more obscenely naked than I had done before being made to wear it. It was an extraordinarily odd sensation. It somehow added an extra awareness to my naked body as a whole, and my sexual organs in particular. I couldn't help being drawn to glance at my package throughout my meal as it lay emphasised, somehow, bunched and looking much like a plucked, dressed and trussed raw chicken in my lap. Periodically it stirred in my lap as though with a life of its own, and my testicles would move involuntarily as if seeking a more comfortable spot in which to snooze. What was wrong with me? I was staring at my genitals with an almost hypnotic fascination. I had never studied them closely before, even shy of their exposure when alone. Like an inquisitive child, it reared up over the edge of the sink to watch me washing up, and got splashed for its pains. Urinating created a new sensation, and demanded a firm hand to control the aim.
The doorbell sounded like the crack of doom. Wrapping the obscenely abbreviated robe round my form, it was with a heavy heart I opened the door to admit my tormentor. Imagine, then, my amazement upon seeing Richard Mayhew standing there, grinning from ear to ear.
"Guess what? I'm here under strict orders to give you a shave. And, if it doesn't pass muster, then my pubic hair must be sacrificed as well."
As I shut the door behind him, he reached up and as he kissed me deeply, he slipped the robe off my shoulders. Unprotesting, I stood there and let it fall to the floor before returning his embrace. As I held him close to me, he fought to unfasten and remove his own clothing feverishly, desperate to be as naked as I. We clasped each other close, panting with our desire. I thrilled as his cock jousted with mine. He hopped slightly, and I steadied him, as he fought to be free of his socks even, fiercely determined that not one stitch should come between us. He ran his hands all over me, and I clung to him, my eyes screwed up, my breath held, in sheer, undiluted bliss.
"Just a minute . . . what have we here?" he began and pushed me away slightly to look down at what lay between us. "What on earth . . . ???"
He had discovered my cock ring. I told him Tim Robey had fitted me with it just after he had left my study that lunchtime, that I had to wear it much as a dog must wear an identity disc. Richard made some joke about that being round its neck, though - not round its cock - and was I going to have to drop my keks every time they wanted to check my identity. I grinned ruefully and admitted I thought that was the sort of thing they had in mind for me. He growled wolfishly and fondled me hungrily. He'd never seen one and wanted to know what it was for and what it felt like, and whether it hurt. He finally declared that he liked it, that it suited me and made me really rather exotic.
"It's fantastic, you know. It really makes you look as though you're hung like a horse," he said. I winced. He thought he was complimenting me. He didn't know of my life-time of hang-ups about my size.
Our ardour was intensifying quite quickly - mine in particular. My penis was almost painfully hard and looked glossy and stretched.
"My god, it's hot to touch," Richard purred into my ear in surprise as he handled it.
I began to buck, and shockwaves ran through my entire reproductive system as his fingertips lightly caressed and explored its length. I groaned.
"What is it?" he asked solicitously.
"I'm going to ejaculate," I moaned, my cock taking on a life of its own, crimson now, and still swelling visibly.
"What, already?" Richard asked in surprise.
"It's the ring," I muttered. "It's so tight. The effect is amazing. so intense. It's really aching now! Throbbing hard!"
I was feeling light-headed and weak-kneed. In a frenzy of uncontrollable shaking, my teeth chattering, I shot streams of sperm across my hall to festoon the back of my front door. I grunted and groaned as my distended and engorged weapon continued to fire, but it had run out of ammunition.
"Wow!" gasped Richard, lost for further words.
"Wow," I echoed weakly, similarly bereft.
He helped me through to the sitting room and sat me on the sofa. He then knelt beside me and lifted my legs up onto the arm. My angrily inflamed penis still writhed in its ring of steel, and he leant forward to gently take it in his lips and nuzzled it gently, bathing its heat with his comparatively cooling mouth. I lay there murmuring sweet nothings and fondling his head, combing my fingers through his hair. There was something so very thrilling about this forbidden affair I thought, as I felt my balls still churning in their distended sac. I swivelled round and with my other hand reached for Richard's splendid young manhood. He groaned lustily and longingly as I brushed the tip of it with my searching fingers, and he wriggled his bottom on the floor to bring himself within my reach, but without letting my rampant penis escape the confines of his mouth.
In a veritable paradise of emotions I lay recumbent, feasting my eyes on this Adonis laid bare before me. I ran my fingers down a smooth and splendid flank much as one would when assessing bloodstock in thoroughbred racing stables. He had a broad, well-proportioned back, his skin was lustrous and glowing with good health. Though there was a definite bloom of youthfulness about the frame, this was undoubtedly the mature and ripe body of a man in all his magnificence. I thrilled at the touch and rejoiced at the embrace. I was a hedonist, intoxicated on a heady and miasmic brew of romance.
The pulsating and throbbing pain in my penis, now reduced to a dull ache and made more bearable by Richard's oral ministrations, grew less as my erection subsided, the ring-trapped blood finally finding capillaries back up which it could slowly disperse.
"You taste wonderful, Alan. Has anybody ever told you that?" he whispered throatily, clambering up onto the couch, partly alongside me, partly on top of me, hugging me tightly and teasingly rutting into my clenched fingers with his excited and splendid organ. There we lay, flesh to flesh; bare skin to bare skin. Naked and unashamed.
He froze. His apparatus continued to twitch.
"I'm going to come too," he uttered breathlessly, and began to pump with a frenzy into my tightening fist.
It came pouring out of him, a heady mixture of youthful exuberance and the essence of his very lifeforce. My hand was anointed, and I felt very humble to be holding in it such an expression of his love.
We lay in blissful sticky silence, listening to the easing of our post-coital breathing steadying to a contented normality.
"Oooooooohhhhh, this is so wonderful!" he mumbled into my ear, and then gently gnawed at my lobe. "Can I leave home and move in here; be your live-in lover?"
I laughed a trifle uneasily. Jiminy Cricket was raising his interfering little head again.
Here I was, a schoolmaster at one of England's many reputable minor public schools, lying naked in the arms of one of my equally naked eighteen-year-old charges. We had just finished completing what the law of the land would deem an act of gross indecency upon each other and were now luxuriating in the after effects. The Sunday tabloids would have a field day. It would matter not a jot that we were both of legal age and that the act had been committed in private. Schoolmasters just didn't do things like that with their pupils. I'd be regarded as little better than a paedophile. I'd be pilloried out of the profession, and, more than likely, Richard would be expelled. I hugged him to me tighter, wanting to protect him, wanting to prolong this intimacy, afraid of having him snatched from me.
"We're both very sticky," Richard purred contentedly. "I came in buckets!" he giggled. "Let's have a shower together and then we can get down to what I came for - to give you a shave down here."
He groped me playfully and I pulled him closer to me. I didn't want this moment of serene intimacy to end. I could have lain there holding him to me all night.
"You're all prickly round your willy," he sniggered, and his fingers began to explore between my legs.
I froze as he touched my anus. He sensed this and broke the mood.
"Watty's got a prickly botty," he gurgled throatily, and we both burst into laughter.
Eventually he led me by the hand to the bathroom and we both stood under the shower. I digested the beauty of his nakedness. I had seen it before, of course - we had even shared a bath - but we had not been alone. We had been supervised, ordered, debased. It had been an ordeal for both of us. This moment of shared intimacy had a uniquely piquant air of unadulterated rapture. He was quite simply gorgeous, and as the shower droplets cascaded upon his masculine magnificence, tears of joy ran down my face mingling with the shower water. I had forgotten my own body, my own hang-ups about my nakedness. I was glorying in his splendour and majesty. Slowly, we soaped each other's bodies, luxuriating in each other's touch. As I have said before, I had always imagined, previous to this, that I shied from such closeness, coming as I did from a very non-tactile family. I was almost purring like a kitten as Richard gently massaged foamy soap all over my torso. I groaned lasciviously as he teased my nipples with his tongue. Our cocks were jousting again long before our hands or soap had strayed that far down. The unaccustomed fullness of mine attracted much attention and soon Richard knelt, ostensibly to soap my thighs, and began to suckle there. I threw my head back in delight, the needles of water pounding onto my upturned face, my eyes screwed up in a seventh heaven of orgiastic delight. I groaned orgasmically as I pumped my seed into his anxious mouth.
He swallowed every drop, then stood and deeply kissed me, forcing his tongue into my mouth, giving me a taste of what I had just given him. I was trembling with spent lust. We clung to each other in the steamy shower as it rained down upon us. Time stood still. At long last, I pushed him away and slowly turned him from me, then began to soap his wonderful smooth back. I soaped the tufts of hair under his arms as he held them up for me to do so. I ran my palms round onto his chest and teased his nipples to firmness. He quivered with excitement as he laid his back against me. Inadvertently my still firm penis pressed between the cheeks of his buttocks. Ashamed, I quickly knelt. I began to soap his splendid thighs. I even soaped his creamy buttocks, a small red pimple on the left one proclaiming his mortality. I leant forward and kissed it gratefully. It was proof that he was real, mine, here, now - and not an unobtainable dream of perfection.
"Don't forget the crack," he said softly.
I paused in mid stroke. Very tentatively, and strongly fighting a feeling of distaste for such intimacies with the `toilet' region of one's anatomy, I overcame my natural inclinations and ran a soap filled palm across the breach, surprised to find a luxuriant growth of hair nestling deep in there.
"Oh, touch me there again, Alan," he groaned. "That was so good!"
My finickiness now subdued, I ventured there more boldly, and was rewarded by the vibration of his entire body which told me he had taken himself in hand and was masturbating vigorously, excited by my touch. I took hold of his thighs and turned him towards me. I reached out and stilled his pumping hand, opening my mouth and taking his swollen head between my lips. It tasted of soap and cleanliness. I slipped one hand between his legs, my fingers probing through his hairy fork behind his balls. Slowly my index finger crept toward his anal bud and as I touched it, he thrust forward into my mouth emitting an animalistic grunt. Hot semen shot to the back of my throat. It tasted saltily wonderful. I clasped at his buttocks tightly, my fingernails digging in, anxious to keep him there, his gorgeous cock plunged in my eager mouth.
After what must have been one of the longest and most thorough showers of my entire lifetime, we both stepped out, our fingers wrinkled and overly pink. I stood with rivulets of fast cooling water running down me, bejewelling my chest hair, as I fondly enveloped my boy in the towel and dried his superlative body. He smelt wonderful. I had to keep stripping the towel away to smother his flesh in kisses and nibbles. His luxuriant, glossy pubic hair was as soft and springy as spun silk, and I buried my face in it above his cock and combed it with my lips. He stiffened perceptibly. So did I.
"No more, Alan. Not now," he gently remonstrated, bending forward to push me away. "It's time for your shave, remember?"
Obediently, I rose and fetched my equipment for the demeaning ritual about to be performed upon me. It had been decreed by my tormentors that I was not to be permitted hair-growth upon my bottom, in between my legs, or around my genitals. The first time I had been publicly shaved with all four of my masters present to witness my discomfort. I had been stripped naked by them in front of Richard, and forcibly masturbated. Then Richard had been called upon to shave me whilst they held me. finally we had been forced to suck each other off. I was obliged to recognise that, although thrilled at what had been forced upon me on that memorable first occasion, I was far more excited at the prospect now with just the two of us. Besides which, after our declaration of love for each other, we were much more comfortable together, and alone.
I stood with my legs apart, bent forward with my hands on my knees, as Richard knelt behind me applying lather to my cheeks, carefully applying it in between my legs and round my anus as well. I caught myself marvelling at the insouciance with which I stood in such a degrading manner letting a pupil shave my most intimate and private part. It was quite unbelievable, the change that was coming over me. I caught myself almost rejoicing at the hot flush of intense shame I felt as I stood, red faced and exposing my arsehole. With confident smooth strokes of the razor, and little for me to do apart from pulling my cheeks apart to facilitate the shaving of the deep crevice in between and round the anal bud in particular, he was quickly finished and proclaiming himself satisfied with the result.
"Remember, my own pubic hair is on the line here if I don't make a good job," he said ruefully as he patted and stroked my newly-shaved bottom.
"I'd sacrifice my chest hair - no, all my body hair - before I'd let them take yours," I replied ardently. We kissed and hugged, then he arranged me on my back, knees far apart.
To enable him to reach the tricky part behind my scrotum and between my legs, Richard decided it would be easiest if he straddled my chest, or head in actual fact, with his knees, then leaning forward down my body, he would hold my legs up in the air behind his arm pits to gain access satisfactorily. It worked quite well. An added attraction for me was that it brought his scrotum within nuzzling reach of my mouth. Teasingly I tickled his sac with my tongue. He jumped.
"Stop it, Alan. I don't want to cut you," he reprimanded me with a smart tap.
He was the master now, I thought, and was immediately astonished to discover I revelled in the realization.