Date: Mon, 21 Mar 2005 06:06:52 +0000 (GMT) From: Kevin Blanchard <kb84oxon (at) yahoo (dot) co (dot) uk> Subject: Head Boy, Chapter 5: Friday Evening Prolegomenon Many have asked whether this story is true and whether they've guessed correctly at where it seems to take place. To answer all at once: some paragraphs of the first chapter are true, and the rest is merely what might have resulted in an erotic parallel universe. The school is structured similarly to my alma mater; if you've guessed which it is, kudos, but the veil is very thin. The names of characters not close to me have been corrupted, though not beyond recognition. This story is both an encyphered message intelligible to those for whom it's intended and an erotic tale I enjoy spinning--and which I hope you continue to enjoy reading. I reply to all who write, and I again thank those who already have done. I'm especially flattered by those who have written to compliment my prose. I'm grateful to those who feel, as I do, that writing need not be bad simply because it's naughty. Chapter 5: Friday Evening Still naked, I was led by Peter Courtney into the tosh across the corridor from my room. I walked with a peculiar gait as my abused arse and legs stung with every step. He'd fucked me. Moreover, he'd made me beg him to fuck me, and we'd both told Jason Davies that I had. And Jason Davies had seen Peter Courtney fucking me dry. I didn't know and didn't want to speculate how Jason Davies would use these trivia against me for his own purposes, or in announcing on Saturday afternoon the bargain he and I had agreed on Thursday night. Peter Courtney stood outside the WC cubicle, propping the door open and peering in to watch my every move as I relieved myself. I'd had nothing to eat or drink since supper the day before--well, nothing to eat or drink except the semen of the four Sixth Formers who'd used me in Charles Lindsay's bedroom after I'd begged to service them rather than be beaten. Peter Courtney had been appointed my overseer. I didn't know which was worse, being left in the daily custody of my roommate, whom I'd treated so contemptuously over two years for being an obvious queer, or having the sadist Jason Davies assume direct supervision himself. Peter Courtney next led me into the shower room, where he took off the shorts he'd hastily pulled on after dismounting my arse. He ordered me into a cubicle as he took out my toilet kit from the cupboard on the shower room wall and dropped his shorts and glasses in its place. He then pushed in beside me, both of us naked and cramped in the 4' square closet. Incredibly, I felt my cock begin to stir as Peter Courtney's smooth, pale skin brushed mine. He opened the taps and the burst of icy water made me jump. He pressed me into the stream before it began to warm and held me in place. "I can do this myself, Peter," I complained. "You heard Jason. He told me to shower you. Besides, I've got to make sure you don't wank. That's my arse on the line, and after seeing what they've done to you, I'm not putting my arse in your hands, that's for sure." He opened my shower kit and produced my soap. He placed the kit on the ledge and began lathering his hands. "There's a wash cloth in there," I said. "Shut it." He began to rub the front of my chest with his soapy hands. I watched Peter Courtney's face as his watched his hands on my skin. He massaged the lather into my chest and he seemed fascinated with my nipples. They must have been particularly dirty, as his fingertips continually returned to them. My cock continued to respond to him touching my chest. I looked over at his down-turned face and realised that, without his glasses, Peter Courtney wasn't quite as nerdy. In fact, he was almost attractive, though his blond hair was darkening to a light brown as the water soaked it. I stood passively against the wall, the cold tile soothing my bruised buttocks and thighs, as Peter Courtney cleaned, occasionally gathering more lather from my soap. He looked up from his work and noticed me staring at his face, watching his concentration. He blushed. I reached to the ledge and took my soap, and began wiping it over his chest as the water sprayed down onto us. "Stop," he ordered and pushed my hands away. He pulled the soap back from my grasp. "It's too late, Kevin." He stared at me and then grabbed my shoulder with his free hand and roughly spun me around. "Why did you have to be such a fucking ass? Why couldn't you have just been decent to me?" He pushed me into the wall and began to wash my back. The moment was gone. No more lingering touches. Very business-like, he ran his hands over my back and down my sides and under my arms. I looked over my shoulder as he knelt to reach my legs, wrapping his hands around them, feeling the smoothness of my shins and calves. Even Peter Courtney had hair on his legs, but not me. Not yet, if ever. I watched as him as he glided his slippery hands over the backs of my thighs and up towards his buttocks. Again, his fingers began to linger as they traced the welts Jason Davies and Henry Marcus had left behind with my belt, welts that had just begun to fade into the general patina of angrily discoloured flesh on my back side. My cock had fully hardened now, pressed up firmly between my body and the cool tile. His fingers slipped between my buttocks. I could still feeling the ebbing fire from his dry and vigorous fucking, which had only ended ten or fifteen minutes earlier. But I could also feel rising lust. Lust from my cock, which had gone neglected for over twenty-four hours. I usually masturbated at least twice a day, but not this day. Not as I'd lain immobile in my bed. I hadn't cum since I'd fucked Charles Lindsay's arse on Thursday afternoon. And since then, I'd been used by the four senior boys--used ruthlessly and teasingly, as they'd purposefully moved me towards orgasm and then denied me. And been fucked by Peter Courtney, though that had been an ordeal of torment utterly divorced from any erotic feelings on my part. And now I was being tenderly bathed in the warm water. I spread my legs and bent slightly, opening my arse for Peter Courtney's fingers. I still looked down at him over my shoulder, watching for his reaction. He ignored me gaze, his eyes focusing on my arse, entranced as his fingers moved nearer to my hole. I closed my eyes and sighed as he slipped one inside me. I winced but offered no protest. Smooth, slick, and warm, it moved inside me; it almost soothed the fire that smouldered. I did gasp as two more roughly and unexpectedly entered alongside the first. I opened my eyes to see Peter Courtney smirking up at me. "You're turning into quite the bitch on heat, aren't you, Kevin?" he asked softly. His other hand moved between my legs, coarsely fondling my genitals. He instantly detected my erection, and the balls that were beginning to draw up towards my body. He jumped up from his knees--well, as much as one can jump up in a wet shower--and pressed into my back. I could feel his cock, erect again, wedge into my buttocks. "You want it again, don't you? You little slut. You want me to fuck you again." I pressed back into Peter Courtney's groin. I hated myself. I hated wanting to be fucked by this fairy, with his inferior cock and slightly effeminate manner. But I did. I did want to be fucked. I could feel the tension in my balls as they craved relief. I could feel the painful stiffness in my cock. I could even feel the waning, dull ache of pain in my lower body after the warm water and Peter Courtney's ministrations had loosened the muscles. And so I confessed. "Yeah, I want you to fuck me again, Peter. Please? Please fuck me," I begged without being asked. I didn't care. Not at that moment. I didn't care whether anyone else might have walked into the shower room. I didn't care whether I might be over heard. At that moment, all I wanted was to have cock rutting inside me. Even Peter Courtney's little 5" cock. I wanted to drag my dick along the cool, wet tile wall as I was pounded into. And Peter Courtney quickly obliged. In a stroke, he buried himself inside me, but this time I had the soap he'd fingered into me and the water that cascaded over us for lubrication. And he wrapped his arms around my chest and clung to me, resting his head on my shoulder, as his hips bucked back and forth. And I clenched my hole tightly around his shaft, thankful for the feeling it gave me. Each drive forwards slapped his groin against my buttocks, and drove my hips upwards against the tile. As Peter Courtney fucked me, I fucked the wall. And I felt myself being drawn to the edge. And then Peter Courtney grabbed my hips and pulled me away from the wall. He pushed me forwards at the waist, gaining greater leverage from behind as he clamped his fists onto my shoulders and drove mightily into me with each thrust, but depriving me of the delicious friction of the wall. I groaned in frustration and reached for my cock with my hand, but nearly toppled over with the force of Peter Courtney's next thrust. I hastily grabbed for the wall to regain my balance as he maintained his forceful pace whilst minutes passed. And then Peter Courtney exploded again inside me. "Oh, fuck, Kevin. Oh, fuck, that was even better than the first time," he mumbled as he fell down onto my back, relishing his second-ever fuck. His cock twitched inside me as it unloaded his spunk into my bowels. And I nearly cried with frustration. My cock still throbbed painfully in front of me, unsatisfied. My balls, drawn tightly against my body, eager to release their cargo. I realised Peter Courtney was kissing my neck, rather as I had done to Charles Lindsay before fucking him. Peter Courtney's breath was ragged but slowly returning to normal as he hung over me and I clung to tile walls so we wouldn't tumble into the floor. "Fuck, Kevin," he repeated. Then he raised his chest from my back and looked down at me, and I turned my face over my shoulder again. "Christ," he said almost sadly. "Why did you have to be such an ass all these years?" He yanked his cock out of my hole, making mine twitch and eliciting a soft yelp from my throat. He looked at me as contemptuously as I'd often regarded him as he rinsed himself off. Then he smirked. "But then maybe the sex wouldn't be as good if I didn't hate you as much." And then he slapped my wet buttocks and pulled me back up into the cooling water.