Date: Fri, 11 Mar 2005 01:02:02 +0000 (GMT)
From: Kevin Blanchard <kb84oxon (at) yahoo (dot) co (dot) uk>
Subject: Head Boy

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?