Date: Sat, 12 Mar 2005 01:16:33 +0000 (GMT)
From: Kevin Blanchard <kb84oxon (at) yahoo (dot) co (dot) uk>
Subject: Head Boy Chapter 3:  Friday Morning

I felt most peculiar, I decided semi-consciously as I began to wake.
Almost ill.  I realised slowly that I was lying on my stomach and I never
slept on my stomach.  I moved my leg to roll over and pain exploded from my
waist to my knees, and inside my arse.  "Fuck!" I shrieked hoarsely,
enflaming my throat anew whilst I opened my eyes in the blinding
mid-morning light.  And then I remembered.

They'd beaten me.  Jason Davies had stuffed my underpants into my mouth and
taken turns with Henry Marcus whipping me with my belt as John Stroud and
David Jevons held my wrists and ankles.  I'd screamed myself nearly
voiceless through the cotton gag, but they'd gone on for ages.  It had felt
like they were flaying my skin off.  Down they'd worked, the pair of them,
starting at the gentle slope where my buttocks formed at the bottom of my
back, slowly whipping down to just above my knees.  Then back up again.
And down.  At one point, frustrated, Jason Davies had ripped the gag out of
my mouth and asked me why they couldn't get the colour right, that my arse
didn't look as evenly brutalised as Charles Lindsay's had.  By then, my
voice was but a whisper as I explained I'd spanked him barehanded before
using my belt.  And so they'd done it to me, too, but over top of the welts
they'd made.

And when they were satisfied with the colour and its even distribution,
they took off their clothes.  They'd taken their turns with me, as we'd
agreed, Jason Davies and I.  I'd started with John Stroud in my mouth and
David Jevons behind me as I'd lain exhausted and helpless over the corner
of Charles Lindsay's bed.  I remembered Jason Davies asking me whether I'd
used lubrication when raping Charles Lindsay's virgin arse, and warning me
with unthinkable consequences against lying.  Yes, yes, I swore, I'd used
Peter Courtney's skin lotion.  And so Jason Davies had sent for it, sending
a half-dressed Henry Marcus down to my room to collect it from the dozy
Peter Courtney without explanation.  And they'd fucked me in both holes at
once, each taking his turn until he felt an orgasm approach, then stopping
and pulling out for another to take his place.  Hours they'd used me until
I was long past into delirium.  They'd laughed at my cock as it grew
beneath me, the cock that had got me into all this trouble to begin with.
Laughed at it and me and called me a fairy...and it's true, I had been a
fairy even before fucking Charles Lindsay, but always butch, always
fancying myself a top.

And so they'd fucked me.  I got to know their bodies quite well.  John
Stroud and David Jevons were similarly unremarkable, the average build of
the average public school Sixth Former engaged on average in average sport,
lean but undeveloped, with average body hair and average cocks.  Henry
Marcus was the thick, broad, stocky rugger captain with a proportionate
cock and thick brown hair all over his body.  And of them all, Jason Davies
was most like me...thin, bookish, but tallest of the school at 6'4", taller
even than the masters and tutors, and with blond hair and not reddish like
mine.  And his cock was my cock's elder brother.  Incredibly long, even on
his taller frame, and thick.  Longer and thicker than mine, but not so much
longer and thicker that mine might not grow to his size.  He wouldn't fuck
me until each of the others had had a go, but whether to spare me or ensure
the tightness of my hole for them I'll never know.

And they wouldn't allow me the relief of an orgasm, not theirs or mine.
I'd often come near the edge as one of them rutted inside me, as another of
them battered my nose with his crotch and chin with his balls, and one of
the others standing off watching for his turn would notice and say
something and the one fucking me would reach under and tug on my balls.
They'd gone on and on, rotating in and out, stingily hoarding their cum and
delighting in my torment.  My lips had swollen grotesquely and my throat
felt afire, as did my arse, and my face was lightly abraded from their wiry
pubic hair.

And so, on and on it had gone until at last, at long last, they'd started
cumming inside me.  I don't remember who came where, or whether each came
more than once; I remember only the wash of relief as at last it seemed to
be nearing an end.  And I suckled and swallowed for their cum, and milked
their erupting cocks with my arse, desperate simply for it to be over.  And
then Henry Marcus, clad only in his Y-fronts, had hauled me over his
shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carried me off to my room, semen
running down my legs from my abused hole, and thrown me face down into my
bed and tossed Peter Courtney's skin lotion down beside me.

The memory of the night flooded my brain, filling every crevice, or at
least every crevice that would make room for it; every crevice that wasn't
stubbornly occupied with the pain that glowed down my ass and inside it and
that burned in my throat and across my chapped, swollen lips.  And I
remembered the bargain that had been struck, theoretically to spare me from
worse punishment: I'd be the service boy for every head of house and
monitor in school, under whatever limits Jason Davies had the grace to
specify.  I groaned and raised my head to see Peter Courtney gone.  A note
lay on my night table, and I reached tentatively for it, afraid of what
lingering pain the motion might arouse.

"Blanchard," it began, "You're excused from all school activities today.
I've called a meeting of the heads and monitors for noon tomorrow, where I
shall announce the terms of our bargain.  You're to be there promptly, and
you have until that time to mend yourself from last night.  I'm sure no
reminder is necessary of the consequences of your withdrawal from our
agreement, especially if you should inform any members of faculty.  Enjoy
what is your final day at liberty.  Jason Davies."

And I collapsed back into the bed, balling the note up in my fist.  The
pain ebbed and flowed over my body and I wondered what had happened to
Charles Lindsay, where he was, whether he felt as I did, and what he would
be doing about it once he'd had his turn at me.