Date: Tue, 7 May 2002 18:24:41 +0100 (BST)
From: nder pants <nderpants@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: The Mastery of Table-Turning (Chapter Eighteen) [Gay - Authoritarian]

THE MASTERY OF TABLE-TURNING


[Now also an object of derision with his fourth-form thanks to the
circulation of a graphic snap of him in his abbreviated running gear,
schoolmaster Alan Watson, already subjected to ever-growing humiliation at
the hands of his sixth-form mentors, has been fitted with a portentous
symbol of ownership which cannot be removed. The unfortunate man is
condemned to wear a cock ring.]

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - Another Close Shave

Forced to assume an academic stoop for the rest of the day in order to
preserve my modesty, only too conscious always of the swollen blood pudding
into which my reproductive equipment had been turned, vulnerably
ill-concealed as it was behind a single layer of fabric, my teaching must
have appeared somewhat lack-lustre that afternoon. It seemed endless to me,
so in retrospect I feel sorry for those I taught.

The ring had the effect of bunching everything upward and forward
simultaneously. I silently cursed - not for the first time - my overly
generous proportions in this embarrassing quarter. Driving home, the damned
thing reared up obscenely, rubbing itself on the steering wheel. It looked
as if I had one of the Pyramids of Giza in my trousers.

Once back home, I stripped off and studied myself carefully and
critically. There was a purplish tinge to it and a definite bloated
look. The overall effect of the steel ring being worn there made me look
like some barbaric tribesman undertaking a sort of rites of passage
initiation. I shuddered at the thought of having to wear this very physical
badge of ownership. I hastily ran through my mind the problems it would
cause. Any emergency visit to the doctor or, worse, being admitted to
hospital would be fraught with terror for fear of it being discovered. I
smiled bleakly as I recalled my mother's old entreaties to ensure that as a
boy I had clean underwear on "in case you get knocked down by a lorry". I
think I should be far less embarrassed being caught with a pair of
lightly-soiled Y-fronts rather than a steel cock ring round my genitals.

I took the bathrobe from its carrier and studied the length of it with a
mixture of horror and despair. It had been reduced to the same length as a
jacket. I slipped it on, tugging it down at the front. As I did so, much to
my dismay, the creases where my buttocks join my thighs could be clearly
seen. Stepping out to pick up the milk from the doorstep would be, from now
on, an obscene act. The act of sitting down in it immediately bared my
entire bottom, I discovered in alarm, whilst the front flaps gaped open
allowing my ringed genitalia to thrust itself immediately through the gap
as if eager for attention. The only way to be decent was to sit askew,
knees firmly held together and with one hand holding the garment hem
together at the front.

This was all I was permitted to wear, no matter who called. My heart began
to beat ominously and quite painfully in my chest. I could feel a sort of
heartburn from it in the back of my throat. That I had now plumbed the very
depths of degradation, there seemed little doubt. And yet I could not deny
an annoying little spark of conscience which kept persistently tapping for
attention and chirruping "and aren't you getting one hell of a kick out of
all this?" Down, Jiminy, I thought. Self-analysis was the very last field
in which I wanted to stray just now.

Naked again, I set about making my evening meal. I jumped, startled, as the
'phone rang and answered with a degree of trepidation, expecting it to be
one of my masters. It was yet another double-glazing firm salesman and, as
usual, he got short shrift from me. The call had reminded me, however, of
some as yet uncompleted orders and I left my meal to cook as I went and
gathered the equipment needed in readiness for my unknown barber visitor to
ensure my pubic region was once more smooth as a baby's.

Conscious of the weight of the ring, and the increased size and altered
placement of my appendages, I felt more obscenely naked than I had done
before being made to wear it. It was an extraordinarily odd sensation. It
somehow added an extra awareness to my naked body as a whole, and my sexual
organs in particular. I couldn't help being drawn to glance at my package
throughout my meal as it lay emphasised, somehow, bunched and looking much
like a plucked, dressed and trussed raw chicken in my lap. Periodically it
stirred in my lap as though with a life of its own, and my testicles would
move involuntarily as if seeking a more comfortable spot in which to
snooze. What was wrong with me? I was staring at my genitals with an almost
hypnotic fascination. I had never studied them closely before, even shy of
their exposure when alone. Like an inquisitive child, it reared up over the
edge of the sink to watch me washing up, and got splashed for its
pains. Urinating created a new sensation, and demanded a firm hand to
control the aim.

The doorbell sounded like the crack of doom. Wrapping the obscenely
abbreviated robe round my form, it was with a heavy heart I opened the door
to admit my tormentor. Imagine, then, my amazement upon seeing Richard
Mayhew standing there, grinning from ear to ear.

"Guess what? I'm here under strict orders to give you a shave. And, if it
doesn't pass muster, then my pubic hair must be sacrificed as well."

As I shut the door behind him, he reached up and as he kissed me deeply, he
slipped the robe off my shoulders. Unprotesting, I stood there and let it
fall to the floor before returning his embrace. As I held him close to me,
he fought to unfasten and remove his own clothing feverishly, desperate to
be as naked as I. We clasped each other close, panting with our desire. I
thrilled as his cock jousted with mine. He hopped slightly, and I steadied
him, as he fought to be free of his socks even, fiercely determined that
not one stitch should come between us. He ran his hands all over me, and I
clung to him, my eyes screwed up, my breath held, in sheer, undiluted
bliss.

"Just a minute . . . what have we here?" he began and pushed me away
slightly to look down at what lay between us. "What on earth . . . ???"

He had discovered my cock ring. I told him Tim Robey had fitted me with it
just after he had left my study that lunchtime, that I had to wear it much
as a dog must wear an identity disc. Richard made some joke about that
being round its neck, though - not round its cock - and was I going to have
to drop my keks every time they wanted to check my identity. I grinned
ruefully and admitted I thought that was the sort of thing they had in mind
for me. He growled wolfishly and fondled me hungrily. He'd never seen one
and wanted to know what it was for and what it felt like, and whether it
hurt. He finally declared that he liked it, that it suited me and made me
really rather exotic.

"It's fantastic, you know. It really makes you look as though you're hung
like a horse," he said. I winced. He thought he was complimenting me. He
didn't know of my life-time of hang-ups about my size.

Our ardour was intensifying quite quickly - mine in particular. My penis
was almost painfully hard and looked glossy and stretched.

"My god, it's hot to touch," Richard purred into my ear in surprise as he
handled it.

I began to buck, and shockwaves ran through my entire reproductive system
as his fingertips lightly caressed and explored its length. I groaned.

"What is it?" he asked solicitously.

"I'm going to ejaculate," I moaned, my cock taking on a life of its own,
crimson now, and still swelling visibly.

"What, already?" Richard asked in surprise.

"It's the ring," I muttered. "It's so tight. The effect is amazing. so
intense. It's really aching now! Throbbing hard!"

I was feeling light-headed and weak-kneed. In a frenzy of uncontrollable
shaking, my teeth chattering, I shot streams of sperm across my hall to
festoon the back of my front door. I grunted and groaned as my distended
and engorged weapon continued to fire, but it had run out of ammunition.

"Wow!" gasped Richard, lost for further words.

"Wow," I echoed weakly, similarly bereft.

He helped me through to the sitting room and sat me on the sofa. He then
knelt beside me and lifted my legs up onto the arm. My angrily inflamed
penis still writhed in its ring of steel, and he leant forward to gently
take it in his lips and nuzzled it gently, bathing its heat with his
comparatively cooling mouth. I lay there murmuring sweet nothings and
fondling his head, combing my fingers through his hair. There was something
so very thrilling about this forbidden affair I thought, as I felt my balls
still churning in their distended sac. I swivelled round and with my other
hand reached for Richard's splendid young manhood. He groaned lustily and
longingly as I brushed the tip of it with my searching fingers, and he
wriggled his bottom on the floor to bring himself within my reach, but
without letting my rampant penis escape the confines of his mouth.

In a veritable paradise of emotions I lay recumbent, feasting my eyes on
this Adonis laid bare before me. I ran my fingers down a smooth and
splendid flank much as one would when assessing bloodstock in thoroughbred
racing stables. He had a broad, well-proportioned back, his skin was
lustrous and glowing with good health. Though there was a definite bloom of
youthfulness about the frame, this was undoubtedly the mature and ripe body
of a man in all his magnificence. I thrilled at the touch and rejoiced at
the embrace. I was a hedonist, intoxicated on a heady and miasmic brew of
romance.

The pulsating and throbbing pain in my penis, now reduced to a dull ache
and made more bearable by Richard's oral ministrations, grew less as my
erection subsided, the ring-trapped blood finally finding capillaries back
up which it could slowly disperse.

"You taste wonderful, Alan. Has anybody ever told you that?" he whispered
throatily, clambering up onto the couch, partly alongside me, partly on top
of me, hugging me tightly and teasingly rutting into my clenched fingers
with his excited and splendid organ. There we lay, flesh to flesh; bare
skin to bare skin. Naked and unashamed.

He froze. His apparatus continued to twitch.

"I'm going to come too," he uttered breathlessly, and began to pump with a
frenzy into my tightening fist.

It came pouring out of him, a heady mixture of youthful exuberance and the
essence of his very lifeforce. My hand was anointed, and I felt very humble
to be holding in it such an expression of his love.

We lay in blissful sticky silence, listening to the easing of our
post-coital breathing steadying to a contented normality.

"Oooooooohhhhh, this is so wonderful!" he mumbled into my ear, and then
gently gnawed at my lobe. "Can I leave home and move in here; be your
live-in lover?"

I laughed a trifle uneasily. Jiminy Cricket was raising his interfering
little head again.

Here I was, a schoolmaster at one of England's many reputable minor public
schools, lying naked in the arms of one of my equally naked
eighteen-year-old charges. We had just finished completing what the law of
the land would deem an act of gross indecency upon each other and were now
luxuriating in the after effects. The Sunday tabloids would have a field
day. It would matter not a jot that we were both of legal age and that the
act had been committed in private. Schoolmasters just didn't do things like
that with their pupils. I'd be regarded as little better than a
paedophile. I'd be pilloried out of the profession, and, more than likely,
Richard would be expelled. I hugged him to me tighter, wanting to protect
him, wanting to prolong this intimacy, afraid of having him snatched from
me.

"We're both very sticky," Richard purred contentedly. "I came in buckets!"
he giggled. "Let's have a shower together and then we can get down to what
I came for - to give you a shave down here."

He groped me playfully and I pulled him closer to me. I didn't want this
moment of serene intimacy to end. I could have lain there holding him to me
all night.

"You're all prickly round your willy," he sniggered, and his fingers began
to explore between my legs.

I froze as he touched my anus. He sensed this and broke the mood.

"Watty's got a prickly botty," he gurgled throatily, and we both burst into
laughter.

Eventually he led me by the hand to the bathroom and we both stood under
the shower. I digested the beauty of his nakedness. I had seen it before,
of course - we had even shared a bath - but we had not been alone. We had
been supervised, ordered, debased. It had been an ordeal for both of
us. This moment of shared intimacy had a uniquely piquant air of
unadulterated rapture. He was quite simply gorgeous, and as the shower
droplets cascaded upon his masculine magnificence, tears of joy ran down my
face mingling with the shower water. I had forgotten my own body, my own
hang-ups about my nakedness. I was glorying in his splendour and
majesty. Slowly, we soaped each other's bodies, luxuriating in each other's
touch. As I have said before, I had always imagined, previous to this, that
I shied from such closeness, coming as I did from a very non-tactile
family. I was almost purring like a kitten as Richard gently massaged foamy
soap all over my torso. I groaned lasciviously as he teased my nipples with
his tongue. Our cocks were jousting again long before our hands or soap had
strayed that far down. The unaccustomed fullness of mine attracted much
attention and soon Richard knelt, ostensibly to soap my thighs, and began
to suckle there. I threw my head back in delight, the needles of water
pounding onto my upturned face, my eyes screwed up in a seventh heaven of
orgiastic delight. I groaned orgasmically as I pumped my seed into his
anxious mouth.

He swallowed every drop, then stood and deeply kissed me, forcing his
tongue into my mouth, giving me a taste of what I had just given him. I was
trembling with spent lust. We clung to each other in the steamy shower as
it rained down upon us. Time stood still. At long last, I pushed him away
and slowly turned him from me, then began to soap his wonderful smooth
back. I soaped the tufts of hair under his arms as he held them up for me
to do so. I ran my palms round onto his chest and teased his nipples to
firmness. He quivered with excitement as he laid his back against
me. Inadvertently my still firm penis pressed between the cheeks of his
buttocks. Ashamed, I quickly knelt. I began to soap his splendid thighs. I
even soaped his creamy buttocks, a small red pimple on the left one
proclaiming his mortality. I leant forward and kissed it gratefully. It was
proof that he was real, mine, here, now - and not an unobtainable dream of
perfection.

"Don't forget the crack," he said softly.

I paused in mid stroke. Very tentatively, and strongly fighting a feeling
of distaste for such intimacies with the `toilet' region of one's anatomy,
I overcame my natural inclinations and ran a soap filled palm across the
breach, surprised to find a luxuriant growth of hair nestling deep in
there.

"Oh, touch me there again, Alan," he groaned. "That was so good!"

My finickiness now subdued, I ventured there more boldly, and was rewarded
by the vibration of his entire body which told me he had taken himself in
hand and was masturbating vigorously, excited by my touch. I took hold of
his thighs and turned him towards me. I reached out and stilled his pumping
hand, opening my mouth and taking his swollen head between my lips. It
tasted of soap and cleanliness. I slipped one hand between his legs, my
fingers probing through his hairy fork behind his balls. Slowly my index
finger crept toward his anal bud and as I touched it, he thrust forward
into my mouth emitting an animalistic grunt. Hot semen shot to the back of
my throat. It tasted saltily wonderful. I clasped at his buttocks tightly,
my fingernails digging in, anxious to keep him there, his gorgeous cock
plunged in my eager mouth.

After what must have been one of the longest and most thorough showers of
my entire lifetime, we both stepped out, our fingers wrinkled and overly
pink. I stood with rivulets of fast cooling water running down me,
bejewelling my chest hair, as I fondly enveloped my boy in the towel and
dried his superlative body. He smelt wonderful. I had to keep stripping the
towel away to smother his flesh in kisses and nibbles. His luxuriant,
glossy pubic hair was as soft and springy as spun silk, and I buried my
face in it above his cock and combed it with my lips. He stiffened
perceptibly. So did I.

"No more, Alan. Not now," he gently remonstrated, bending forward to push
me away. "It's time for your shave, remember?"

Obediently, I rose and fetched my equipment for the demeaning ritual about
to be performed upon me. It had been decreed by my tormentors that I was
not to be permitted hair-growth upon my bottom, in between my legs, or
around my genitals. The first time I had been publicly shaved with all four
of my masters present to witness my discomfort. I had been stripped naked
by them in front of Richard, and forcibly masturbated. Then Richard had
been called upon to shave me whilst they held me. finally we had been
forced to suck each other off. I was obliged to recognise that, although
thrilled at what had been forced upon me on that memorable first occasion,
I was far more excited at the prospect now with just the two of us. Besides
which, after our declaration of love for each other, we were much more
comfortable together, and alone.

I stood with my legs apart, bent forward with my hands on my knees, as
Richard knelt behind me applying lather to my cheeks, carefully applying it
in between my legs and round my anus as well. I caught myself marvelling at
the insouciance with which I stood in such a degrading manner letting a
pupil shave my most intimate and private part. It was quite unbelievable,
the change that was coming over me. I caught myself almost rejoicing at the
hot flush of intense shame I felt as I stood, red faced and exposing my
arsehole. With confident smooth strokes of the razor, and little for me to
do apart from pulling my cheeks apart to facilitate the shaving of the deep
crevice in between and round the anal bud in particular, he was quickly
finished and proclaiming himself satisfied with the result.

"Remember, my own pubic hair is on the line here if I don't make a good
job," he said ruefully as he patted and stroked my newly-shaved bottom.

"I'd sacrifice my chest hair - no, all my body hair - before I'd let them
take yours," I replied ardently. We kissed and hugged, then he arranged me
on my back, knees far apart.

To enable him to reach the tricky part behind my scrotum and between my
legs, Richard decided it would be easiest if he straddled my chest, or head
in actual fact, with his knees, then leaning forward down my body, he would
hold my legs up in the air behind his arm pits to gain access
satisfactorily. It worked quite well. An added attraction for me was that
it brought his scrotum within nuzzling reach of my mouth. Teasingly I
tickled his sac with my tongue. He jumped.

"Stop it, Alan. I don't want to cut you," he reprimanded me with a smart
tap.

He was the master now, I thought, and was immediately astonished to
discover I revelled in the realization.

* * *