Date: Mon, 29 Apr 2002 11:53:34 +0100 (BST)
From: nder pants <nderpants@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: The Mastery of Table-Turning (Chapter Twelve) [Gay - Authoritarian]

  THE MASTERY OF TABLE-TURNING


[THE STORY SO FAR - Publicly exposed in every meaning
of the word, held up to embarrassing ridicule, Alan
Watson, a thirty-year-old schoolmaster, had just
suffered the ultimate in degradation having been
graphically exposed in a pair of swimming trunks
turned `see-thru' by water. Deprived of all his
clothing, the mortified young man has had to make his
way home as best he could in this humiliating
condition under the unwavering scrutiny of the public
at large and his pupils in particular, who draw added
enjoyment from the degradation of the master they love
to master.]

CHAPTER TWELVE  -  Smooth as Silk


With an air of total resignation I shucked the now
dried and no longer translucent trunks off my legs and
handed them over to my Master.

"It is very rude to have a limp cock in front of your
Masters. Get it hard at once."

"Look, please," I said, "I've had enough traumas
already . . ."

"Come here right now, or pay the consequences," Tim
said quite harshly, holding out his cupped hand in the
manner to which I had grown accustomed and to which I
knew also brooked no argument..

I sighed heavily as I moved forward to lay my scrotum
in the palm of his hand, and flinched guiltily as I
felt the fingers of his other hand close round the
shaft of my already engorging penis.

Tim took hold of my bare arm and propelled me, still
manipulating my excited penis, into the lounge where
they all sat grinning at me. Richard was also there,
but not grinning. He stared in a sort of lustful
anguish at me as I was forcibly masturbated in front
of them all. I was closely questioned as to how I had
fared upon discovering my clothing gone from the
changing room at the swimming pool, and forced to
relate every demeaning detail of my ordeal up until I
arrived home. All the while I was pummelled and pumped
as they feasted with delighted satisfaction upon every
morsel of my misery and mortification.

I must make clear that a video record was being made
almost perpetually of all my degradations. I was made
constantly aware that copies of my exploits so far
would be made available to various people and indeed
authorities, or perhaps even made available on the
internet, if I failed to comply with further orders or
instructions. I had no choice but to go along with
everything I was made to do until they grew tired of
me and their total control over me lost its novelty. I
cannot overstress the feelings of absolute and utter
humiliation I experienced standing there naked in
front of my senior students, their being all fully
clothed adding enormously to my angst, as they
intently watched me succumb to the most basic and
primeval animalistic urges of an enforced orgasm.

As I shuddered and panted with the force of my orgasm
and then was forced to bend to the task of licking up
all my spendings, I listened as they discussed my body
quite intimately.

"You know, he really has quite a good body," Tim said
with almost a tone of surprise. "The cock we had
already imagined to be bigger than the norm from the
bulge in his trousers, so that wasn't really a
surprise when we first saw it and held it, but now we
discover that his chest is quite impressive too."

They went on to discuss my attributes in alarming
detail, touching me intimately as various body parts
came in for mention. My scrotum was hefted as the size
and weight of my testicles was speculated upon. My
nipples were pulled and twisted as my pectorals were
pushed and pummelled and my chest hair teased and
stroked. My buttocks were pressed together and prised
apart, fingers raking through what they called the
"peach fuzz" that adorned them. They took great
delight in exposing my anus to public view and prying
fingers, forcing me to bend double and humiliating me
further by demanding I pull my cheeks apart and turn
to show each one my sphincter with which I was ordered
to "wink" at them. This caused much raucous hilarity
and mirth; then I was spanked playfully as my flanks
were squeezed, groped and smacked. In my naiveté, that
did not seem as threatening as it was later to prove.
I was far more concerned about the revelation of my
glans. Most shaming of all seemed to be having my
foreskin pulled back exposing that which was most
intimate and usually unseen, even by me, except in
moments of uncontrollable excitement. The handling
served only to emphasize my sense of vulnerable
nakedness.

As I stood obediently beside Tim while he fondled my
erection and grazed the hair of my buttocks, I
flinched as he ran his hand up my chest and suddenly
tugged on a handful of hair there. I could not prevent
a moan of pain escaping.

"He's too fucking hairy. Like the last of the great
apes," he announced of a sudden.

I am not a particularly hairy person in actual fact,
sporting a fairly liberal covering across my chest and
round my nipples which then tapers to a narrow band to
my navel. At that point it seems to get a little more
exuberant as it descends beneath the waistband to
spread more vigorously and liberally coat my pubic
area. I have a reasonable amount on both my legs and
arms, but am not at all bear-like. My back is almost
smooth with only the very slightest dusting on my
shoulders and buttocks though sprouting in generous
tufts between my legs and cheeks. The very fact that I
have had to describe myself in such intimate detail to
you, my reader, is in itself alarmingly humbling. I
can almost feel your eyes poring over my naked body.

But Tim was not to be satisfied.

"I think Big Boy here needs a shave."

This was met with hoots of derisive laughter. I felt
my heart stop.

"And I think Richard's the man for the job!"

My heart pounded, and my cock jerked involuntarily in
Tim's hand.

"You like that idea, don't you, Big Boy?" Tim asked
with a grin and a playful wank on my reproductive
equipment. I shuddered with a frisson of excitement
mingled with a pang of shame that my desire had been
so transparently obvious.

He repeated the question. I was forced to answer. They
all crowed in delight as I had to confess that I did
like the idea of Richard shaving me. It was a
Damascene moment and they recognised it as such.
Richard looked at me with a mixture of astonishment
and disbelief. A glance at the rigidity of my penis
reassured him that he had not mistaken what lay behind
my admission.

The moment was broken as interrogation began in order
to assemble the necessary instruments for my impending
depilation. Whilst normally a wet-shaver, I did
possess an electric razor with a clipper attachment,
useful for trimming the neck and sideboards, which was
pounced upon as a useful accessory over and above
scissors. Towels were laid down on the carpet, a bowl
of water carried through together with the assembled
instruments and an aerosol of shaving foam.

"How do you think Dick, our dick-barber, ought to be
dressed for his task?" Tim asked suddenly.

"Bollock naked!" Geoff Talbot volunteered.

Everyone was in agreement, and they immediately set
about rendering Richard as naked as I was. His erect
penis smacked noisily against his belly as his
trousers were dragged down, giving rise to risible
remarks at his embarrassed expense.

Gingerly he took hold of the tip of my penis and I
shuddered uncontrollably at the electricity of his
touch. My teeth chattered in my head. I hungrily raked
his fine naked body with my eyes. My cock was ramrod
stiff and bucked out of his fingers. He grasped me
more firmly, pulling it down and out of the way as he
began to shear back with scissors at the forest of
profusion that effervesced from above it to form the
rope-like twist of fur that rose to my navel.

I watched in an almost detached manner as curly locks
fell from my loins. The clippers on my shaver were put
to use next. Moving on to pastures new, Richard
scissored and clipped with painstaking care. He
caressed my scrotum, stretching and tautening the skin
before depilating it with scrupulous meticulousness.
He laved the whole area as though baptising it,
smoothing the foam on as though it were the finest
scented unction with which he anointed me. The whole
process was a silence-inducing act of worship,
combining an almost religious fervour with a
heightened form of eroticism. Not one young man sat
there observing without a throbbing erection that they
fingered through the fabric of their trousers.

Devoid of hair, I was studied intently.

"It looks bigger than ever," Phil Marshall murmured in
disbelief after a moment.

It looked obscene, I thought. Like a newly-plucked
chicken, only rampant and quivering.

"Now his arse," Tim said, rubbing his hands in
anticipation, and met with murmurs of amused
anticipatory agreement.

My bottom was washed for me -  something that hadn't
happened to me since I grew out of nappies, the
shaving foam applied and then shaved off. I then had
to assume various wholly degrading positions, bent
double, or on my back with my splayed legs up in the
air, so that my whole nether region could be stripped
of every whisker. I was liberally talc'd and then
closely inspected. Hands explored me, stroking the
newly-bared areas. I was most intimately violated.
Since achieving manhood these regions of my anatomy
had been hirsute. To be deprived of that masculine
coat was almost like having had my manhood stripped
away. I had been emasculated, reduced to insignificant
boyhood. No longer the master, I was now the boy.

I trembled uncontrollably - almost as though inflicted
with an ague  -  at their touch as they pawed my
extremities. All thought of shaving other areas
appeared to have been forgotten, however, and I felt
much relief as that fact dawned upon me. The
sensation, however, was extraordinary. Somehow my
state of nakedness seemed intensified. The very air on
my newly-exposed skin felt different, cooler. I was
more aware of this part of me than I had ever thought
possible. My size and shape was alarmingly emphasized
by this baldness; my vulnerability was increased
manifold.

"Well, Dick the prick, I must admit you've made a good
job of it," Tim said at last. "I think he deserves a
drink, don't you, Big Boy?"

"Yes, Sir," I agreed, mentally running through the
rather meagre contents of my drinks cupboard. "What
would you like, Richard? I don't think I have any
beer, I'm afraid."

"Oh no, nothing like that, Big Boy," Tim interrupted.
"He wants milk. Your milk!" and, so saying, he fed my
rock hard penis into Richard's all-too-eager mouth.

He started sucking hungrily straight away, as though
frightened that it might be taken away from him again.

I find it difficult to express the mixture of emotions
that coursed through me as I underwent this
undignified assault. My lustful side was overwhelmed
and yet at the same time appalled. I had never been
sucked off in my life before the other evening when
Richard and I had been forced to commit such an act
upon each other. The sensation was astonishingly
exquisite, but also fraught with multifarious doubts
and fears as to what enjoyment of this unnatural
performance actually meant with regard to one's innate
sexuality. The fact that Richard was being forced to
suck my penis now excited me enormously. Would the
feeling have been the same if some other mouth were
swallowing me? I doubted it. Waves of sheer ecstasy
enveloped me and I found myself whimpering with
pre-orgasmic pleasure as his tongue teased a reaction
from me. I was unable to breathe properly. My body
writhed, my head thrown back in bestial delight. I
caressed his head, his ears, sensuously as guttural
noises escaped from my throat. My legs trembled and
grew weak. My heart beat a tattoo upon my rib-cage. My
temples pulsed to the same hypnotic, exotic, erotic
rhythm. I was light-headed. Not enough blood was
reaching my brain; it was all engorged in the
newly-shorn, shiny, spit-slicked weapon trying to bury
its head down the very back of Richard Mayhew's
throat.

With a primeval groan, such as might be heard in a
maternity unit's birthing suite, I came copiously in
Richard's mouth. Immediately my elation turned to
flesh-crawling shame that I had been reduced to an
object of amusement, forced to reveal my most base and
carnal desires before their unwavering gaze. My naked
smooth buttocks clenched again and again as I pumped
the last of my spendings into Richard's hot wet mouth.
Animalistic pantings were escaping from my open mouth.
Beads of sweat dropped from my chin onto my chest. I
whimpered and sighed, my orgasm complete.

*			*			*

The following morning, it being a Saturday, I lay in
bed rigid, both in fear and sexual excitement, at the
remembrance of the humiliating traumas I had
experienced during the past week. Tentatively I ran my
fingers over the silky smooth surface of my excited
penis rearing up as though venturing to bury its head
in my similarly hairless navel. It's sensitivity
appeared to be much enhanced and accentuated by the
loss of hair and I shivered at the thrill of my own
touch. Guiltily, I dragged my fingers away with
difficulty. A new spark of self-awareness had been
kindled within me and I was more than a little alarmed
by what it had revealed. In fact, I was not sure I was
prepared to acknowledge the revelation. Squirming
slightly with discomfort under the bedcovers, I was
suddenly appalled to realise how stimulating I found
rubbing my newly-smooth buttock cheeks against the
sheets. I froze, like a caught-out, sinful schoolboy.

I could lay-a-bed no longer. Throwing back the covers,
I bounded up, my erect penis bouncing and bobbing,
taunting me, mocking me. The total lack of hair laid
emphasis to its exposure, I discovered as I studied my
nude reflection in the wardrobe mirror - even to its
size somehow. I looked towards my chest of drawers.
The temptation to cover my enforced nakedness with
clothes swept over me. I began to argue that no
self-respecting teenager would be up at this hour on a
Saturday, so the risk of being caught by one of them
dressed in my own home was extremely unlikely. Then I
reasoned that with my recent luck I would be caught
and the realisation that the subsequent revelation of
my unnatural acts and practices as threatened by my
young masters would have - not only upon my own life
and career, but also on the life of a pupil I held
most dear  -  I dared not succumb. All forms of
clothing were expressly forbidden. Recognising this, I
heaved a sigh and walked naked to the bathroom.

Attempting the `Telegraph' crossword in the nude is as
unsettling as it is distracting, somehow. I felt most
dreadfully self-conscious. My plucked genitalia lay
before me in my lap like some great albatross
balefully glaring at me in accusatory fashion, blaming
me for some imagined wrongdoing. My obscenely naked
penis refused to soften and lie down. It was
determined to draw attention to itself in a most
exasperating manner. It had taken on a life of its
own. It had taken over part of my brain. Base thoughts
were trawled before my eyes, uncalled for. And as
these unsought imaginings popped up, so did my
restless cock. I groaned in impatience, but even that
appeared to take on a lascivious tone.

As it stretched and strained, my foreskin
involuntarily rolled right back, and my crimson glossy
glans quivered unequivocally seeking to draw attention
to itself and its needs. It forced me to recall
Richard's sucking on it the previous night. It
reminded me how pleasurable the sensation had been. It
insisted I acknowledge how I craved a repeat
experience. It demanded I attend to its relief
instantly.

I stared in almost disbelief as I watched myself
masturbate in broad daylight, stark naked in my living
room. I was aghast. These were the hurried, almost
guilty actions snatched between the bedclothes or in
the shower - private moments of which one was not
proud. But here I was openly handling myself, legs
splayed, thrusting into my pumping fist, gratifying my
baser urges and thrilling at the moment. It was all
exceedingly worrying. What on earth was happening to
me? But, just then, all my worrying had to be put on
"hold" as my instincts gave way to a golden moment of
sheer ecstasy.

   *			*			*

"Good morning, Alan. No nude rugby today then?"

I looked round to see Angela Mayhew standing behind me
with her supermarket trolley half full. I grinned
ruefully.

"We had Donald's mother and father over for dinner
last night, and I showed them the tape," Angela went
on. "His mother was very complimentary about you. She
said what a good body you had when you were stripped
down. We had to replay that sequence of you running
for touch with your clothes dissolving three times for
her, and in slow motion too. She said how much more
interesting rugby would be to watch if it were all in
the nude. Donald said it would give a whole new
meaning to high and low tackle!"

I know I was blushing, and her dancing eyes told me
she was enjoying teasing me.

"I believe you took Richard and some of the other boys
swimming after your lesson last night," Angela
continued. "That was good of you. You're a very
thoughtful man, Alan."

"It wasn't my idea," I started, reddening still more
as I recalled the shaming exposure I had undergone at
their expense.

"Still, it was good of you to give up your own time
like that."

She paused, smiling at me.

"Did you get the chance to find out if there is
anything bothering Richard?" she enquired tentatively.

"Erm, no, 'fraid not," I mumbled, avoiding catching
her eye.

"If you do get a moment or two to do a little probing
on him, I'd be very grateful."

I gulped as the vision of my penis probing down his
throat came instantly to mind.

"He has tremendous respect for you. I don't know if
you know that."

I wondered what she would think if she knew her son
had declared he loved me.

"I'm certain he would reveal all, if you gently asked
him."

I knew that he had! I coughed to cover my confusion.

"I'll see what I can do," I said.

"Whatever you can come up with will be much
appreciated." She grasped my hand warmly, the first
flesh to press it since my rampant penis earlier.
"Now, what are your plans for lunch tomorrow? I've got
a lovely leg of baby spring lamb. You are more than
welcome - you know that. Just drop in to eat, if you
feel like it  -  no need to stay if you have things to
do."

I thanked her and promised to telephone in the
morning. Perhaps the cooling off period of a weekend
apart would be the best prescription for Richard's
condition. I had still to acknowledge that I might be
in need of a dose of preventative medicine myself.

In the next aisle I careened into my elderly next-door
neighbour, Mrs Wilkinson, shopping with her
middle-aged daughter.

"Ooh, Mr Watson, I can't get the picture out of my
mind of you standing there on my doorstep in just your
little white bathing trunks. It gave me quite a turn,
I can tell you. I told our Dottie all about it, didn't
I, dear?" Her daughter nodded in wide-eyed wonderment
as she ran her eyes up and down me, trying to strip
away my clothing and create an image of me in her
mind. "I thought it was your underwear at first," the
old lady continued. "I thought you'd been mugged and
that they'd stripped you right down to those little
tiny panty-like things. You looked so very
embarrassed."

I had been intensely embarrassed; I was almost as
intensely embarrassed now, aware that passing shoppers
who had caught part of Mrs Wilkinson's dialogue -
delivered, as do most deaf people, several decibels
above the norm - stopped and stared, mentally
undressing me as I stood like a hypnotised rabbit,
unable to move. Other trolley-pushers who had
obviously heard part of the tale whilst standing in
neighbouring aisles came to gawp.

"So what had actually happened?" she enquired of me.
"How did you come to lose all your clothes?"

More bystanders gathered. Shopping virtually came to a
halt, and for the benefit of Mrs Wilkinson, her
daughter Dottie and a growing audience, I was forced
to give every detail of my mortifying ordeal at the
Baths to satiate their vicarious appetites.

My appetite for shopping had swiftly deserted me and
as I progressed only too aware of the nudges and
smirks as my tale was retold and embroidered upon, and
for all I knew, some might well have been witnesses of
the whole incident, I decided it would be more
discreet to curtail my visit.

Trundling my trolley across the car park, a brisk
breeze whipping playfully at my trouser legs, I was
alerted to the sensation of cool air on my hairless
nether regions. Was it just a simple shave that had
made me so much more aware of my body, or had
something far more meaningful been awoken in me? And
if so, by whom? Richard Mayhew? A tautening in my
chest echoed a tautening of my reproductive equipment.

*			*			*