Date: Sun, 12 May 2002 16:43:35 +0100 (BST)
From: "[iso-8859-1] nder pants" <nderpants@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: The Mastery of Table-Turning, Chapter Twenty [Gay - Authoritarian]

THE MASTERY OF TABLE-TURNING

[Suffering the most appalling and humiliating indignities at the hands of a
bunch of his sixth-form tutor group, Alan Watson has been forced to pose in
the nude for a budding young artist. Refusing to acknowledge that such
abuse of his role as their schoolmaster and mentor is a source of deep-down
secret pleasure to him, he has only just learnt to acknowledge his latent
homosexuality, and blossoming love for eighteen-year-old student, Richard
Mayhew.]

CHAPTER TWENTY - "Getting a Buzz"



I picked up the telephone with more than a degree of trepidation.

"Alan?"

It was a woman's voice.

"Rosemary?" I enquired tentatively.

"No, it's Angela. Angela Mayhew. Look, Alan, I hope you'll forgive me
'phoning like this, but I've had the most wonderful brainwave. Well, I
think it's a brainwave anyway. It's the most colossal cheek really, I know,
but I couldn't help remembering what you said on Sunday about the Lakes,
and it all seemed to fall into place somehow."

"Sorry?" I wasn't with her at all.

"Look, now you really must say if you think I'm imposing too far on our
friendship. I mean, I don't want you to feel in the least obliged. I mean
it, Alan. You must feel free to say no, but when you said how much you
liked the area I thought that perhaps you might be keen.

"Angela, what are you talking about?" I smiled. Normally she was the most
forthright of women.

"I mean, it's not as if I'm asking you to baby sit, is it? After all, he is
a man now. I just thought that, since you get on so well together, and he
has so much respect for you, that you might enjoy yourself. I know he
would. Of course you might feel you see enough of each other in term time
and the very thought of being foisted together for a whole week fills you
with abhorrence . . . ."

My heart started pounding. I was being asked if I should like to spend
half-term with Richard at their cottage in the Lake District. I was
speechless with delight at such a prospect. And then my conscience kicked
in.

"Of course, I'm ashamed to admit to a selfish motive as well," she
continued. "I couldn't help thinking that a week up there with you might
very well give him something to think about other than "you know who"!"

She was referring to his supposed besotted romantic attachment which I had
allowed her to assume. I did know who. Angela didn't. Little did she
imagine that her son would be spending the week up there with "I knew who"
rather than just thinking about it. I shivered guiltily.

"So be honest, Alan. Does the prospect of a week in the Lakes in the
company of my baby boy appal?"

My heart sang.

"Not in the slightest, Angela." I managed to get out past the tightening
obstruction of joy in my throat.

"Why, that's wonderful. I know Richard'll be thrilled. He loves it up
there. In fact, it's because of him that we kept it, if truth be told. He
really is so very fond of you, and we both feel that you are so good for
him. If anybody can help him through this first romance, Alan, I know that
you can."

Having put the receiver down, I stood transfixed. My heart was beating
faster. I could feel it pumping in my chest and throat. Was it all so very
wrong, I asked myself. Should I have made up an excuse not to go? Jiminy
Cricket was working overtime.

The ringing of the doorbell startled me out of my reveries, and I pulled on
my short gown and tentatively opened it to admit Whispering Tim.

"I forgot my key," he said as he brushed past me, and I closed the door
behind him.

"So, how did the first sitting go, Big Boy?" he asked conversationally as
he undressed me and hung the robe on the door handle. He walked ahead of me
to the sitting room.

"I've seen the pictures he took. He sent them to me with an e-mail. I
particularly like the one of you turning away as you step out of your
little itsy-bitsy briefs, showing your fit naked arse. And the one where
you're reaching up to catch the forward pass of the rugby ball with all
your clean-plucked wedding tackle swinging on display!"

I gaped.

"Jason assured me that he had not taken a photograph on those occasions. He
told me the flash had accidentally gone off," I began in outrage.

"Well, of course he said that. He didn't want to get old man Bamforth
suspicious now, did he?"

"Nor did I know he was going to be capable of sending them to all and
sundry over the internet," I added in alarm.

"He won't - as long as you keep to your part of the bargain, and remember
that you have to do just whatever we tell you."

I grew more subservient.

"For the moment, the only folk to see them are Geoff, Phil and Dave, oh and
Jason's kid brother of course," he explained.

"No!" I started. "Not him! He's in my fourth form group."

"'Fraid so, Big Boy. That was the price he insisted upon for lending his
big bro' the digicam in the first place. It appears he's got a bit of a
crush on you."

I groaned.

"Talking of which, do you want Lover Boy to have a set too?"

I blushed. It was useless to pretend I didn't know who he meant.

"Well? Do you, or do you not?"

I was in a dreadful quandary. I wanted to share the experience with
Richard, but did not care to admit it to Tim Robey.

"It's up to you, Sir," I murmured.

"No, it's up to you," he said with a penetrating look. He was playing with
me, wanting me to admit my true feelings.

"It would be very embarrassing for me," I countered.

"Is that a yes, then?" he persisted determined to get a direct answer out
of me..

"Yes, Sir," I almost whispered, staring at the floor.

"I thought that's what you'd want, so I've already sent them," he
chuckled. "Come here."

He held out his cupped hand. Respectfully I moved forward and laid my
genitals in his palm. From his pocket he produced a different silver ring
with a sort of silver egg welded to it.

"This is your new ring," he said. "Isn't it nice and shiny?"

It was thicker, broader, more like a band or collar than a ring and it was
hinged too, snapping shut at this swollen protrusion that was the size of a
small pullet egg, or perhaps an over-large testicle. Taking hold of me, he
placed it carefully round both penis and scrotum, ensuring it fitted right
at the root near my pubic bone, and that the entire scrotum was well pulled
down into it. Snapping it shut, he produced a little Allen key and fumbled
with the tiny hexagonal screw fastening. As he tightened it, he told me
there was no way I could remove it myself, but that each of my masters
would be given a special Allen key that fitted for emergencies. I asked
what the third testicle was for and indeed it seemed a good description for
it in its situation. It lay pressing into the fork of my legs immediately
behind and under the scrotal sac. The broadness of the band together with
the supplementary protruberance had the additional effect of making my
manhood stand even further from my body. I dully recognised that I would be
still more dreadfully self-conscious of an exaggerated bulge in my
trousers.

"Aha! The third testicle. I like that," mused Tim with a sardonic
grin. "Yes, I hadn't thought of it in quite that way, but, in fact, that's
an extremely apposite name for it. It is actually an extremely ingenious
and sophisticated little radio-controlled motor. Allow me to demonstrate,
and everything will become much clearer."

So saying he produced his mobile 'phone from his belt.

"It works on the lines of a pager, you see. I just tap in its number and it
responds."

Tim tapped in six figures and waited, studying me closely. My mind was
working feverishly. What was in store for me now, I wondered fearfully?
Suddenly, the little egg like structure began to vibrate almost soundlessly
behind my balls. The whole constriction began to pulsate. Not in the
slightest painful, as I had feared, there was something almost
stimulatingly erotic about the sensation. And then it hit me. Far from
flaccid, as I had just been manipulated into the contraption by Tim, the
effect the vibrating was having on me was giving me an erection. The
buzzing sensation under my scrotum and pressing onto the very sensitive
lump high in the fork of my legs which I have always assumed to be my
prostate, and which I think is called in the medical profession the
perineum, began to excite a reaction within the very roots of my
reproductive system that gave rise to alarm. It was now within my masters'
power to electronically stimulate me to the point of ejaculation at their
whim. They had merely to dial my number to ensure I should "come" on
demand.

In wide-eyed disbelief and dismay, I watched my penis reach its fully
hardened state, embellished almost obscenely by the constricting collar at
its base. My plump balls glowed crimson in their wrinkly velvet bulbous
shaven sac. The teasing, tickling, tantalizing sensation was far from
unpleasant. I shivered and fought to suppress a whimper of delight. Tim
studied the whole effect with an almost enigmatically Machiavellian
smile. The point of no return was reached. I shuddered and
erupted. Gasping, as hot semen shot in arcs from my engorged weapon, I
groaned at the fearsome realization of how completely under their control I
was. Tim asked why I appeared to be so glum. I explained.

"That's a load of bollocks!" he said gruffly, as he put the phone away and
the buzzing sensation instantly stopped. "You love the control we have over
you. It's the biggest turn-on you've ever had."

I looked away. He knew that about me as well. I was too ashamed to
acknowledge it to myself, let alone to him. But a secret thrill ran through
me at the prospect ahead.

"And because you like it so much, I'll give you a buzz at
midnight. Meanwhile, bathroom, now!"

I quickly went there, with him following. my mind desperately wondering
what he wanted of me now.

"Get in," he gestured towards the bath.

I did so,

"Kneel down,"

Again I obeyed implicitly.

"Head down and eyes closed."

I began to tremble. As I heard the sound of his zipper, I knew what was
happening and my heart raced. The first hot stream hit my testicles, and I
leapt. Then it moved up my stomach and chest to play on my face and soak my
hair. It ran down my neck and over my back. The heat of his urine was the
biggest surprise; the quantity was the next biggest. Eventually, the force
of the flow reduced to a trickle, and then the last few droplets were
splashed across my lips. I heard him fumble with his clothing, and the
zipper closing.

"You may open your eyes now and thank me."

His voice was quite thick, revealing that he had been as excited by this
act as I.

I did as I was bade. I blinked furiously as a drop of urine stung my eye.

"I shall leave you now. You may shower."

I thanked him again, and, raising my dripping sullied form from my position
of grovelling subservience, I reached for the shower tap.

Tears choked me briefly during that long shower. A wave of self-hate swept
over me. Somehow, the revelation that they knew that I knew I was enjoying
it seemed wrong.

* * *

As I lay in bed, various thoughts churning through my head, I was only
vaguely aware of the hall clock chiming midnight, when my new cock ring
started to vibrate. Master Tim was being true to his word. He had said he
would give me a buzz at midnight.

Almost instantly I was ramrod stiff. The insidious persistence of the
titillating tremors that ran through the entire highly sensitive area
caused me to groan and writhe in animal lust. Turning on the light, I
kicked back the duvet and looked down at my naked body. My cock was so very
hard and distended; the skin stretched so tight, it appeared to glisten. It
also seemed to have taken on a life of its own, pumping and jerking and
flailing in frustrated allure. My fingers were drawn to it as though by
magnetic force. I longed to touch it, to caress it, to stroke, to pump, to
drive, to thrust, to impel! I turned upon my stomach and began to rut the
mattress madly in an uncontrollable bestial passion of frenzy. Grunts and
groans of shocking primordial depravity escaped from deep down within
me. My swollen cock ached and throbbed; my balls churned violently. The
incessant buzz of the vibrator stimulated me to explosive heights of
debauched sexual indulgence. I thrust my hips deep into the bed in a
fearful, frantic fever. Rolling onto my back again, clasping my sorely
tormented and swollen appendages, and moaning as pressing heels and head
into the mattress I raised my entire naked form from off the bed, I thrust
maniacally at the ceiling.

Such was the force of my buttock-clenching orgasm, I could have sworn I
actually heard bullets of steaming hot semen bursting from the mouth of my
fiercely bucking penis, much as one might hear from the muzzle of a gun. I
lay still at last, panting, drenched in the sweat of my fevered fumblings,
anointed in my own masturbatory juices, quivering from the unremitting
vibratory euphoric sensation still vainly attempting to gird my loins with
renewed vigour. Finally ceasing, I lay, spent in every meaning of the word,
and contemplated what this ultimate control over me really meant. I did not
dare to dwell on the many ramifications, but they gathered like a storm and
hung over me as I drifted off into an uncomfortable sleep of the exhausted.



* * *

My waking erection persisted throughout my morning ablutions (I was reduced
to the necessity of pissing in the bath again, so intense was my hard-on)
and it refused to subside throughout breakfast either. Throbbing and
pulsating like some strangely alien form, my priapus had even succeeded in
taking on an unnaturally bloated shape and bluish hue. I began to fear
foolishly that the ring was too tight and that I was in imminent danger of
blood-poisoning. As I clambered into my tiny red underpants - the ones
Rosemary had saucily bought me - there was no way I could get my appendages
in. I had to lodge the elastic waistband behind the so-called third
testicle, the silver egg of my newly vibrant collar of servitude. My cock
reared up immediately behind my flies, standing out obscenely as though
determined to draw attention to itself and its pulsating tumescence. It was
almost as if I were being kept intentionally by my masters in a perpetual
state on the very edge of an achingly exploding orgasm.

Fortunately, it had subsided somewhat by the time I arrived at school, and
I was able to insert my hand down the front of my trousers, and pull up my
underpants to enclose all but the tip of my penis before stepping out of my
car. As I approached my study I saw Richard already waiting for me in the
otherwise deserted corridor. He was uncommonly early, and I teased him
playfully.

"Couldn't sleep, Mayhew? Got a guilty conscience, boy?" I called
good-humouredly to him.

"Alan, we've got to talk. It's great news. Wonderful, in fact," he murmured
urgently, using my Christian name for the very first time in school. His
eyes were sparking almost with an inner fire. He was so very excited.

I didn't want to spoil the big moment for him by telling him I already
knew. Silently, I led him to my study and unlocked the door. As soon as we
were inside he clung to me and kissed me. I struggled free.

"No, Richard, not here! Never here," I admonished him half-heartedly.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," he said anxiously backing away with his hands held
up. "I got carried away. Oh Alan, the most wonderful thing's
happened. Mum's suggested you and I spend half-term together at our place
at Crummock Water. Isn't it fabulous?"

He looked far younger than eighteen just then, and his face was wreathed in
the most beatific smile. The look of sheer innocence gave me pause for
thought. He picked up on my momentary reticence.

"What's the matter? Don't say you've got other plans?" he said, his face
instantly a mask of pain.

"No, I said hurriedly. "No, I've nothing planned."

"Fantastic! Oh, just think. Just us. Away from everything. Able to sleep in
each other's arms, able to shower together, to eat, live, breathe, love
each other whenever we want for a whole week."

He hugged himself with glee. I smiled broadly. I had done that very same
thing last evening immediately after putting the telephone down on Angela.

* * *

One of my extra-mural jobs at school was to take the prefects through a
reading practice of the passage to be used for the lesson at morning
assembly. The school chaplain chose the readings, the head prefect arranged
a rota of readers from within their number and it was the responsibility of
each boy to seek me out and rehearse the chosen passage with me. This had
been brought about because the Head had been expressing his opinion of how
poor he thought the standard of reading aloud was nowadays, and that
establishments such as ours should be seen to be doing something about
it. It was basically a confidence-boosting exercise; that was all. Boys
found it something of an ordeal to have to stand up before the whole school
and read something out they did not altogether understand clearly, knowing
their peer group was rejoicing as one at their discomfiture.

On this particular Wednesday morning, we had a no-show. The boy was absent
from school that day, and his reserve was taking a mock-exam and
consequently was excused attendance of assembly. On these very rare
occasions, the head boy would read. He was similarly exam-bound, however,
and so I stepped into the breach and read myself.

I was in full flow, standing on the edge of the stage, with the entire
school seated in the Hall, eyes intent upon me, when I felt the first
vibration. I flinched in horror. I imagined I could hear the buzzing from
within my trousers. I squirmed involuntarily, trying to escape the intense
tickling sensation pressing in between my legs and on the back of my taut
scrotal sac. It appeared to grow more persistent still and I shifted my
position, spreading my legs a little. I was little more than half way
through the appointed passage, and with a growing sense of panic, I felt my
penis start to swell. This was horrendous. I kept flashing desperate
glances into the sea of faces in between reading phrases from the bible,
trying to make eye-contact with Tim, hoping my look of extreme and
uncomfortable anxiety would appeal to his better nature. I was alarmed to
feel my penis rear up and burst out of the waistband of my underpants. In
sheer despair, I skipped a couple of verses, not caring if the sense of the
passage was spoilt - I, for one, had lost the plot entirely.

"Here ends this morning's lesson," I managed in strangulated tones, and
promptly sat down. As I did, the vibrating stopped. I heaved a sigh of
relief.



Nervously on edge still throughout the rest of the assembly, namely prayers
from the Head followed by administrative notices and games results, I
breathed another sigh as the time came to leave the stage - the very public
platform upon which I had been telephonically ravished.

"Well read, Sir," Geoff Talbot muttered as he shuffled past me out of the
Hall. "Bet it gave you quite a buzz, reading that this morning," he
sniggered.

A quick burst between the unsuspecting thighs as I drank my tea during
mid-morning break, nearly causing me to spill it all down myself, gave me
prior warning of what lay in store for me. It had obviously been
predetermined that I was to meet my Waterloo during the double period of
upper sixth-form English which followed. Like a condemned man, solemnly and
inevitably marching towards his place of execution, I headed for my room,
having briefly made a detour to the male staff toilets to procure a wad of
absorbent toilet tissue which I had stuffed down my underpants. If I was to
be made to come ignominiously in front of them all, I was damned if I was
going to give them the gloating satisfaction of seeing the lurid
after-effects soaking through the front of my trousers.

My lesson plan was already out of the window. I knew I could not perch
enigmatically on the front of my desk talking at length on Shakespeare's
characterization of Antony and his infatuation with the much younger
Cleopatra, whilst my cock rose from its slumbers, rudely awakened and
tempestuously stimulated to a vibrant orgasm, spewing forth its spendings
into the fork of my below the waist apparel.

"Good morning, gentlemen," I began breezily enough as I entered and made
straight for the safety of my desk. "Today we shall attempt a timed essay,
your subject being: `Demonstrate how the power of love can invalidate
questions of military and political success, from the point of view of
Enobarbus as opposed to Antony.'"

I quickly wrote the title on the board, fielded a few questions of
clarification and slid into my chair safely shielded by the edge of my
desk.

About five minutes into the essay, my ordeal began. Desperately trying to
keep my upper body still and my face expressionless, my legs writhed
lustily, and I clasped at myself in a vain effort to reduce the exciting
sensations emanating from beneath my trouser fabric.

"Sir?"

I looked up. It was Phil Marshall with his hand in the air, looking just
too smugly innocent to be true.

"Yes, Marshall. What is it?" I asked, congratulating myself on the evenness
of my voice.

"Can you come here a moment, Sir?" he asked trying to give the impression
that he was in some mental turmoil over a salient point.

"No," I blanked him, pressing feverishly down on my rampant cock, forcing
it parallel with my left thigh.

"Can I come out and show you what I want, Sir?" he persisted.

"No you may not. Let me remind you, gentlemen, this is a timed
exercise. You can ill afford to waste it," I retorted firmly.

My loins were churning with the enforced and unrelenting
stimulation. Pressing down hard on my groin, I could feel the vibration
coming up my arms. I could feel the hair bristling in my armpits, my shirt
fabric vibrating on my sensitised nipples.

"Would you like the window closed, Sir?"

I looked up and was met by Tim's apparently open gaze from the back of the
room.

"You appear to be shivering, Sir," he said, by way of clarification, with a
note of triumph in his voice.

I was aware that everyone in the room was now studying me closely. This was
his intention, of course.

I smiled thinly.

"No need to close it on my account, Robey. Thank you for your
consideration, though. Most commendable, if unexpected."

They looked between us, aware that something was up, but hopefully unaware
that it was my cock.

It bucked against the palm of my hand desperately struggling to control its
ardour. The exciting sensation seemed enhanced by the pressure. My teeth
took up the same rhythmic tempo of the vibrator clamped to my turgid
genitalia. I cleared my throat a little to disguise an escaped groan of
lustful desire. I moved in my chair as I clamped my buttocks firmly in an
effort to stop the involuntary flexing and tautening of my anal
sphincter. Beads of perspiration had broken out on my brow, the back of my
neck and my top lip. I could feel a trickle run down the side of my torso
from my armpit. I held my breath. I was coming.

I came.

Five times I pumped orgasmically into the wad of hastily stuffed toilet
tissue. Three or four afterwaves swept over me. Glancing down, I was
relieved to see that there were no signs of leaking through the fabric of
my trousers.

Still the buzzing went on.

After five minutes more, and the persistence of the throbbing was becoming
almost painful, I looked up at Tim.

"Robey, will you bring your mobile 'phone out to the front please?"

"Certainly, Sir," he said with a broad open smile. "There you are,
Sir. It's not switched on, Sir, if that's what you were thinking," he added
triumphantly.

I looked round the room to see broad grins on all three of Tim's fellow
conspirators. My unceasing vibrations could have been coming from any of
them.

* * *