THE MASTERY OF TABLE-TURNING
[Having returned to the Bickerstaffes', the scene of his fancy dress fiasco the previous night, Alan Watson has been invited to attend an "eating up all the left-overs" luncheon party. Somewhat alarmed at having to fend off the alcohol-inflamed attentions of his handsome and hereto apparently heterosexual host, he is also faced with having to take a dip with his young masters in a spa bath dressed in the trunks that become transparent with water.]
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE - Roger, Over and Out
Compelled as I was to strip myself naked under the uncomfortably unwavering alcoholic gaze of Roger Bickerstaffe, I swiftly pulled on the swimming trunks I knew were bound to become translucent the moment I stepped into the spa bath.
With an awful air of inevitability, I walked like the proverbial condemned man back to the terrace. A low cheer from the student occupants of the spa heralded my arrival. Self-consciously, I walked past the other fully-clothed adults towards the bath. I already felt naked - aware of the over-sized bulge accentuated by the ring, a positive magnet to the eye.
"You look very dishy, Alan, my dear," Louise purred in my ear as she handed me a large fluffy towel. "I just love men with hairy chests."
I blushed, and she smiled coyly at me as I walked on to meet my nemesis.
I stepped in to the fast bubbling water and sat down in between Tim and Greg who shifted to make room for me. Suddenly, the air currents died and the water current ebbed to calm. Greg, in charge of the controls, leant forward and peered down into it.
"Bugger me! You're right! It's just as if he were stark bollock naked! And whats more, hes shaved as well!" he exclaimed with an excited whoop.
Glancing down, I could clearly see that my genitals showing almost clearly through the sodden fabric of the swimsuit were the object of his excited attention. My hands flew to my groin.
"Ah, ah, ah, ah!" Tim reproached me like a naughty child. "Hands off cocks."
They roared with laughter.
"You seem to be having a good time. What's the joke?" Louise said, approaching.
Greg turned on the power again and bubbles surged to cover my shame.
"Just something rather rude about us all breaking wind and saving on electricity, Mrs Bickerstaffe," Geoff Talbot lied effortlessly with a twinkle in his eye and a chuckle in his voice.
"In other words, exactly the sort of bawdy humour I have learnt to expect from you, Geoffrey," she smiled sardonically, but with affection, at him.
"Oh my gawd! Dad's pissed again!" groaned Greg.
We all turned to look in time to see Roger Bickerstaffe, now stark naked, making his way out of the house past his astonished guests, and along the terrace towards us.
An embarrassed silence fell upon the light-hearted social chit-chat. Louise marched briskly up to him and, in a rather brittle light tone as she thrust a towel at his exposed midriff, chided him good-humouredly.
"Darling, don't you think you're taking this back-to-nature thing just a bit too far? Why don't you put something on? We don't want to frighten the animals, do we?"
There was a polite ripple of uncomfortable but supportive laughter from some of the guests, standing in small groups as unwilling observers.
Roger took the towel from her and flung it down on the ground.
"I've got nothing they've not all seen before, and if they don't like it, they can all fuck off home, can't they?"
Suddenly everybody became more interested in their own feet, rather than Roger Bickerstaffe's genitals - impressive though they were.
Louise laughed like a merry stream and turned to address her guests.
"Sorry about that, everyone. More champagne! We've obviously got to drink a lot more to catch up with Roger, haven`t we?"
Roger, meanwhile, stepped up into the spa bath and forced himself between Greg and me. Immediately, his left hand groped me and took hold of my testicles and gave them a squeeze.
"So, come on, Big Boy, tell me about this cock ring you're wearing," he asked.
I froze.
He'd called me Big Boy!
"Cock ring?" Greg echoed in gleeful amazement.
Scarlet with embarrassment, I was quickly trying to reassure myself that the use of my nick-name was a completely inadvertent coincidence. There was surely no way Roger Bickerstaffe was in league with Tim Robey et al. It had been merely used in what he took to be an original and amusing reference about the size of my organ - indeed how I had earned the soubriquet in the first place, much to my chagrin.
"He's got a cock ring on ?" Greg asked again in louder tones of amused disbelief. "Hell, this I must see!" and he leant over to switch off the controls again.
The water stilled and all eyes were fixed upon my groin. The steel band could be clearly seen through the now translucent material of my white trunks. Greg crowed with laughter and his hand reached out to heft my genitals. This was more than I could cope with. I started to get out and reached hastily for my towel. Roger grabbed my shoulders to restrain me.
"Stay where you are, Alan. Greg, fucking leave him alone and turn the jets back on. I don't want Marjorie Sanderson to see my fucking hard-on!"
A quick glance at my young masters confirmed that they were as ill at ease as I at the way matters were proceeding.
"Feel that, Alan." My wrist was grasped and I suddenly felt my hand rubbed up against Roger's erection. "Now how would a cock ring suit me, do you think?"
"What's it for, though?" Greg wanted to know.
"It's supposed to give you bigger and harder boners, kiddo - not that I've ever felt the need myself," Roger explained loudly. "Shall we say, I've definitely had no complaints in that quarter anyway. What do you say, Alan?"
Again I was forced to brush my fingers across his manhood.
"Oh gawd, Father. You can be so embarrassing when you're pissed!" Greg complained.
"That middle stump of mine is nothing to be embarrassed about, lad; believe you me!" he murmured in satisfaction and, with his other hand, he grabbed his son's wrist.
Greg's and my fingers bounced off each other as we were both forced to paw Roger's stiff penis.
"Dad, stop it! This is so humiliating!"
In spite of my own embarrassment, I felt so sorry for the boy.
"Nothing humiliating in that, son. Believe you me. All right, Alan Watson here may have been further up the queue than me when cocks were being handed out, but size isn't fucking everything, is it, Alan?"
I humoured him with a sheepish grin.
"Come along, then, I'll acknowledge Alan as the winner in the biggest schlong contest, but I bet I'm the fucking second biggest. Now all get your cocks out and prove me wrong." He wrenched off the controls and the water swirled to an eddy.
"Dad, this is getting terribly boring." Greg threw apologetic looks at all of us.
"What's the matter, kiddo? Afraid you'll come out of this badly, are you?"
He leant over and grabbed hold of the waistband of his son's turquoise trunks. We sat and watched, transfixed with embarrassment. Greg grabbed at his father's wrists but was unable to prevent him yanking the garment down his thighs. Up bobbed a very impressive and obviously excited member.
"Dad!" he yelled in impotent rage at his forced exposure.
"Go on, the rest of you! Get 'em out! Show us your fucking cocks!"
Our host was growing ever more belligerent. I watched my four students shoot startled looks at each other.
"What's the matter? Are you a bunch of fucking fairies, afraid to flash your fucking cocks at each other?" he demanded angrily and with glazed basilisk stare.
I glanced round to see that the terrace was now deserted. Louise, in perfect hostess guise, had shepherded her guests inside away from the scene she had obviously foreseen being played out when first she had set eyes on her naked husband.
"I'll flash my cock at you, Mr Bickerstaffe," Geoff Talbot volunteered brightly and tore off his bottle green Speedos, throwing them across the terrace with more than an air of braggadoccio.
"Nice fat cock," Roger said admiringly, before bawling "Next!" at the top of his voice.
Dave Newman was next, closely followed by Phil Marshall. They dropped their shorts just over the edge, keeping them within easy reach. So, only Tim Robey in his capacious blue knee-length shorts remained totally covered. I still had my suit on, but, because of the texture, it was as if I had not.
All eyes were on Tim.
"Fuck the lot of you. I'm not playing," he said evenly, staring us all out.
It was as if he had thrown down the gauntlet. With a roar, as one, they seized hold of his flailing arms and legs whilst Greg and his father divested Tim of his shorts. I stared fascinated at his enormous erection.
There were four erections in that spa bath. Roger and Greg Bickerstaffe's, Tim Robey's and mine.
"And now - `we want the champion! We want the champion'!" they began to chant heartily, led loudest of all by Roger.
I lay in the bath resigned to my ignominious unveiling as my trunks were ceremoniously dragged off. I was the subject of much amused scrutiny and exploratory probings. Greg was as fascinated by the steel ring as he was by my hairlessness and, as he knelt to explore it further, his rock hard penis grazed against my shin. I could tell he liked the sensation for he came and rubbed against my leg again. Slowly I became palpably aware of Roger rhythmically bouncing against my shoulder. I glanced down to see that he was masturbating himself. Shooting him a look, I saw that he winked a bleary eye at me.
"Let's all have a wank-fest," he said with sudden enthusiasm. "First one to come is a sissy."
"Oh, Dad, you're disgusting!" Greg groaned, his increased rutting on my leg belying the tone of his protested disgust.
The nightmare was only permitted to end when everybody had come. Becoming reticence had been shown by all initially, but soon son joined father, closely followed by Geoff, Dave and Phil in that order. Tim and I stuck out, flatly refusing, until suddenly Phil Marshall wrapped his fingers round Tim's member and began pumping. Tim grabbed hold of me, Roger grabbed my right hand and wrapped my fingers round his turgid member, and so on until we had what I believe is commonly known as a circle-jerk.
"Oh god, Father, this is known as incest!" Greg cried out orgasmically as he spurted ribbons of sperm under the increasingly hedonistic rhythm of his father's right hand.
"My son's the sissy!" he trumpeted, deriding his offspring for having come first.
Tim was surprisingly second, and quickly so - firing before Greg had finished. That excited a reaction from me, and such was the intensity of feeling behind my public orgasm, I failed to keep order of the rest.
"Ugh, this water's disgusting!" Greg remarked at length after we had lain awhile, exhausted in our post-orgasmic torpor.
"Let's mix it all up a bit," Roger said, leaning out to switch on the bubble jet again.
"God, no - that's minging!" Geoff said, leaping up and stepping out, naked as he was.
"A good job there was no bird in here," Dave Newman said, trailing his fingers through the accumulated globs of milky white scum. "She'd have had a hell of a job proving a paternity suit," he added with a hearty chuckle.
Roger's action of turning the spa back on accelerated our departure from the bath. I stepped out and wrapped the towel firmly around me, and slipped back into the house to retrieve my clothing whilst the others went about drying themselves and reclaiming their swimwear.
As I slipped past the dining room door, I caught sight of Louise alone and fitfully grazing at the buffet. She had a large serving fork in her hand and was using it to force an enormous slice of cold roast pork into her already full mouth.
"Alan," she mumbled through her mouthful, "a word of advice from one who knows. Never get married. If it's against your nature, much better face the facts and settle for playing on your own side of the street," she added with a splutter and a sad meaningful little nod. "Know what I mean?"
As she said that, I hadn't got a clue, but afterwards - in bed that night - I began to think I did know, and I remember feeling a momentary pang of alarm inasmuch that I thought she knew it too.