Date: Mon, 24 Jan 2005 16:55:57 +0000
From: jason argo <jacklloyd22@hotmail.com>
Subject: Founder's Day M/b

The Greystone bell chimed the half-hour in the quadrangle of the school as
Peter Purdy put his foot on the staircase and took a grip on the banisters
of blood-coloured mahogany.
He hadn't gone a step up before Worpleston walked by and caught hold of his
arm.
"Going anywhere special, Purdy?"

"Have to go see Head of House."

"Alleluia! What's doing?"

"Haven't a clue until I get there."

Worpleston smiled reassurance. "You'll be okay, Valentine will be in a good
mood today."

"How do you know that?"

The other boy shrugged. "It's Founder's Day. None of the tutors or tops
snarl on Founder's Day. That's a sort of tradition."
His smiled broadened into a grin. "Look, Cadbury and I have booked a
squash-court for this evening. If you look sharp you could come along and
play the best of us."

Purdy grinned with him. "Better sort-out your backslash then, Worpleston. I
know your weakness, and I don't take prisoners."

The staircase curved upward in a serpentine-fashion and Peter Purdy ran up
it all the way. At the top he paused. Feeling slightly pensive he adjusted
his tie, firmed his jacket and straightened himself up, before knocking
briskly on a solid looking oaken door.

Being summoned by Head of House wasn't to be taken too lightly. He could be
in for praise, advice or a smart telling-off - although as he's told
Worpleston, he couldn't recall doing anything particularly out of order
lately.

"Come." came a languid voice from beyond. And as the door swung open there
sat Valentine, senior student and top boy, head of the junior house at
Greystone.
Valentine was the epitome of every younger schoolboys aspirations. Good at
just about every kind of sport imaginable, and a fellow who always talked
wise when wisdom was required.
Lots of the boys in Peter Purdy's year had a thing about him that went
further than admiration, a crush they called it.
Cripes, thought Peter,  he'd even known a pang of it himself from time to
time, because quite separate from everything else Valentine was so dashed
good looking. The whole of the first year were in love with him of course,
and they said that when he punished them in private he often took down their
pants and spanked them over his knee.
No one ever complained. Who'd dare to? Who'd want to? Who'd complain about
being bare-bottom spanked by Valentine?

Valentine was certainly good looking, nearly eighteen and soon to be off to
Cambridge, lean and dark he had the face of a classical Greek statue. He was
an Adonis, with a regal kind of nose and sensuous mouth. His hair was combed
to the side, impeccably groomed, nothing out of place.
Even slouched on the couch it was easy to define that when up he stood up
he'd be tall and straight, lightly built with well muscled arms and
shoulders.

The room itself was a teenager's lair decked out with old but good quality
furniture, but it wasn't a typical teenagers room. It was pristine and tidy
and there was a smell of beeswax in the air, more to do with the young
juniors who were dragooned into doing domestic duties there than Valentine's
own endeavours, but a cosy place all the same, with a noisy little gas-fire
installed in the vicinity of a lopsided leather sofa. It was a room that
marked the status of a top boy at a better-class public school.

A rugby ball sat on a small dresser and a cricket bat stood propped in a
corner. In two little bookcases were arranged a set of Everymans volumes and
World's Classics. The walls were peppered with photographs, mostly of sports
teams grouped around trophies, apart from a portrait of a distinguished
looking lady and gentleman who were possibly his parents.

When Purdy entered Valentine was lolling back on the sofa reading a
newspaper.
"Ah, Purdy. Glad you could pop in. Shut the door old chap and come over
here."

The bluster was warm and welcoming, but Purdy didn't allow himself to relax
into familiarity. That wouldn't have been expected or condoned. He
approached to within a few feet of Valentine and remained standing.

Head of House folded his newspaper, quartered it, then dropped it on the
floor as he observed the boy in silent approval for a moment. Purdy had an
unexpected delicacy and fragility, he thought. He was somebody rare. Fine
eyes, smooth complexion and a superb proud neck. Beautiful as some boys can
be - a perfect swan in his elegance.
"How old are you?" he said at last.

"Nearly thirteen." Purdy replied swiftly.

"Good God! You'll be going up a year soon. Better hone your wits laddie, eh!
There'll be no room for baby thinking then."
His lean face and pale grey eyes were entirely engrossed in studying the
slight young junior he'd brought to his room.
"You display a fair hand at squash and you've a useful pair of feet for
soccer. Any other special interests - hobbies - enthusiasms?"

"Well, I like to write stuff  ..."

"Verse or prose?"

"Both really. And I read a lot, and I like music ..."

Valentines face lit up. "Good chap, I enjoy music too. Too many your age
care for nothing but collecting stamps these days - a silly old man's game,
you'll agree." His expression took on a more serious note as he continued.
"You'll no doubt have learned something of Sir Samuel Simpson during your
time here at Greystone."

"Yes, Valentine. Sir Samuel founded Greystone School in 1843. There's a
bronze statue of him in the quad, and he's commemorated on a plaque inside
the chapel. Today is his day. Today is Founder's Day."

"Indeed that's true, glad to know you pay attention to things. Dear old Sir
Sam was a philanthropist of exceptional dimensions. A first-class player by
anybody's reckoning, and there have always been people here who think it apt
to mark his passing in a special way.
"It's history now of course, but we boys of Greystone take a pride in
maintaining traditions.
On this date each year we celebrate Sir Samuel's beneficence. You'll know
something of that all ready I'll warrant."

"Yes, Valentine."

"Yes of course you will. Sir Samuel was extremely fond of young boys,
notorious some would say, and stemming from that a certain - erm - tradition
as developed here. On Founder's Day the senior prefects supervising the
lower school may kiss whatever boy they wish. A good looking young fellow
like you will know that too by now."

"Yes, Valentine."

"I expect you'll have had some experience of it already.

"Yes, Valentine. Fosdike and Turnbull kissed me during morning break, and
Belcher Buckingham snogged me at lunchtime."

Valentine smirked slightly. "Better not let Buckingham know you call him
'Belcher'.
But yes, well, all you smoothlegs of the first and second year are rather
attractive little things, so it's only to be expected you'll court a deal of
attention."
Purdy fell into the generous bracket of boys he found attractive himself,
not as tall as he was with an irresistible combination of auburn hair, big
doe-eyes and pale skin, all of which gave him a feisty look, and one worth
chasing.
"All of which brings me to the reason you're here, Purdy," He tapped the
space beside him of the couch. "Here, come and sit with me."

There was a firm directness in the way he talked which made argument
difficult. Seated at his side Peter felt perfectly safe, yet deliciously
vulnerable at the same time.

Valentine slid his hands down to cup his waist.
"Such a tiny waist," he said in wonder. "Look at that. I can only get my
hands around it with a little room to spare."
In a moment he was offering a glowing smile. "As Head-of-House I govern the
prefects, so it's not really out of order for me to indulge in a little of
what they've already enjoyed, is it Purdy?"

Peter gazed into the older boys eyes - hazel flecked with golden lights -
and sensed he was about to be kissed - kissed by Valentine, the
oh-so-gorgeous Head-of-House,
Ooooh!
A boy shouldn't say yes, but what boy could resist such a tall, dark and
gorgeous hunk as Valentine?

The older boy embraced him, locked his arms around him and pushed his face
forward.
Peter Purdy  forced himself to remain still as Valentine's mouth closed upon
his own, and he almost swooned as he smelt the faint scent of aftershave as
his lips pressed down.
Fosdike and Turnbull had both kissed him like dead fish when they had the
chance early in the day, while big, fat Belcher had lips that were too thick
and too wet and  - true to his nickname - he'd belched the whole time.
Valentine was so much better. Not only was he startlingly handsome but he
kissed with real passion and made a boy want to give in and respond. He made
a boy want to kiss him back and neck with him.
He didn't wait for him to stroke his tongue over his lips to cajole entry,
he parted his lips on contact to receive him.

A low groan rumbled through his chest and he became limp in the teenagers
arms as Valentine pushed his tongue into his mouth and began exploring,
kissing passionately, his lips turning and screwing while his tongue probed,
sliding along his own tongue and licking his teeth and gums.
His body felt hard and strong and his arms were a ring of steel. And oh,
Valentine was kissing him just the way boys liked to be kissed, with a
no-nonsense firm mouth and lots of little lovey-dovey caresses.

"Mmmm!" Valentine uttered a tiny moan of delight as he lifted his face.
""Mm, yes, you're quite a darling, Purdy."
His hands worked under the lads blazer and moved in a circular motion over
the back of his shirt
"You're just as I imagined you to be. Soft and sweet. Lovely! When I kiss
you it's like kissing a girl. Would you be a girl for me?"

"Oh, that's silly, Valentine."

His hand was inside his jacket, clutching at his chest and pulling the flesh
beneath his shirtfront, and Peter realised that Valentine was pressing his
thigh against his leg and pulled his lower limbs forward to intensify his
pleasure. Peter loved it when people like Valentine were assertive. It
really made him heat up.
"I don't mean become a girl, not a real one. I just mean behave like one."

"Um, I suppose I could do that. When you squeeze me I do feel a bit - you
know - helpless, like a girl."

Peter went limp in his arms and allowed him to ply his mature body against
his own.
And then he felt it - it felt like an iron bar pushing against him. It could
only have been an erection - a stiff cock. He could feel it though the older
boys clothing.
As Valentine's thighs gyrated Peter understood all too well he was being
dry-humped.

Moving slowly forward, Valentine left a trail of hot kisses along the
slender line of his throat. His tongue tasted his eyelids, his cheeks, the
gentleness of his jaw line, before finally reaching his mouth. He was
passion personified with his romantic eyes, his polite consideration mingled
with his scorching kisses. Wrapping his arms around him Peter Purdy allowed
himself to wallow in swirling sensation.

The senior boys tongue was again in his mouth, his lips crushing down, and
the hands that had been on his back had slipped down to comfort his
backside.
A few moments passed and then the hand recoiled over his hip and went in
between them.
It fumbled around.
Crumbs! What was he doing now?
And then he really felt it. Felt the bared truncheon of firm flesh spring
out from Valentines open fly.

He couldn't resist it. He reached down and wrapped his fingers around it -
thick and warm - a wondrous fully mature cock, tactile and spongy and
corrugated by thick veins.
Valentine gave no instructions, but intuitively Peter began a stroking
motion, easing his hand along the shaft and encircling the enormous head.
The older boy drew back slightly to watch the young boys hand wanking him,
his young fingers already smeared by copious precum.
Peter gripped his friends member a little more tightly and gently squeezed
and stoked the sensitive top portion.

Was he doing it right for him? He'd done some playing around with other boys
in the dormitories, but this was different. This was Valentine's
contribution, all skinned back and standing proud. A real man-cock.

But he must be enjoying it, because he was panting through a slightly gaping
mouth.
He squirmed his young body and snuggled in closer, holding the fat scrotum
in his other hand and feeling the contours of his oval eggs.
Peter slumped down and pushed his face into Valentine's lap, sticking out
his tongue to lick the end of it and gather up the precum assembling in the
flaring eye. and while one of the other boys hands cupped the back of his
head the other hand guided the tip of a bulbous cock between his lips.
Peter moved his tongue around on the shaft and sensed his lover's enjoyment.
Valentine was groaning and he could taste his seminal fluid.


Forming his lips into an 'O' he took it into his mouth and started a
rhythmic up and dawn movement with his lips.
He pulled him up until his lips encircled his plum coloured knob, then he
held him in place as he thrust upwards.
Mmmm! He had the most vaunted cock in the universe in his mouth and he was
anxious to give it the very best treatment he could manage. It would be
unbearable if Valentine said he was useless at it.
He wanted to make the Head of House groan with delight and squirm around
with pleasure, and he wouldn't be satisfied until that wonderful shaft
throbbed and all the juice from his big, fat Head of House balls flooded
into his mouth.

"Breath through your nose sweetheart, I won't take long to finish. I'm
almost there now." the senior boy urged.

Eager to please, his head bobbed up and down faster until he fancied the
thing in his mouth was swelling even more, and beginning to pulsate.
Valentine had his hands in his hair, holding his head down just in case he
succumbed to the jitters and tried to pull away at the last moment.
Then Head of House let out a yell of joy. His penis throbbed, and as a gush
of hot, salty goo erupted from the gland, and Purdy started as he felt the
hot, liquid spurts and splashs of his juicy essence as it came and came.

His eyelids fluttered as the sturdy length of boy-meat jerked and plunged.
"Aaa, uuum, gguuuumm!"
Goodness, he did loads of stuff! Wow, a monster cum!

It took a few moments before Valentine was able to extract himself properly,
but when his pole of flagging flesh departed Peter Purdy kept his mouth
closed and smiled up at him with puppy-dog eyes.
Head of House pressed a fingertip lightly on his lips. "Swallow it all down
for me." he said softly.
It sounded like a request rather than a command, but no boy ignored
Valentine's requests.
Without a quibble Peter gulped and swallowed all the creamy boy-spunk that
lay in his mouth.

"Hope you haven't made any plans for the rest of the evening." Valentine
said afterwards.

"Only a game of squash." he replied.

Head of House shook his head. "That's out, old fellow, you won't have time.
Some of the Master's want to see you in the staff common-room, and you've to
go and see matron first. You'd better scoot along there now."

***

Upstairs later that evening, Mr Cotton (Math) was standing in the staff
common-room of School-House. His surroundings were sober, but at the same
time tastefully decorated and dignified. The heavy calico curtains were
drawn, but a number of lamps shining through tinted shades bathed everything
in subdued white radiance. The walls were panelled with wood and much of the
furniture was of walnut and oak, which gave the whole an impression of
comfort combined with an air of masculine virility.
The whole of one wall was given over to a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf which
offered the works of authors as diverse as Schiller and Shakespeare and
subjects that ranged between art, history, gardening and the analytic
functions of the complex variable.

Mr Cotton looked what he was, a free-and-easy schoolmaster. His baldness in
front, framed as it was by thick crisp hair rather like shavings of dark
pewter gave him an immense professorial forehead, and as if to compensate
for his loss of hair in front he had thick eyebrows over rather sunken eyes
of a greenish colour. Firm, stocky, he wore breeches of dung-coloured
corduroy which his legs filled right out.

Standing against the window curtains he surveyed his companions critically.
Two other men were talking and smoking, Mr Bramwell (English Lit.), short,
slight, moustachioed and dapper, with a disproportionate head and long pale
face, and Mr Charlesworth (History and Social Studies), a youngish looking
man with thick curly hair, a rather square face and an absurd pert nose, not
at all handsome, but who as a saving grace had a wide smiling mouth that
gave him an air of indestructible bonhomie.

At the back of the room the figure of the Reverend Quarles sat at a small
table with a pack of cards in his hand and a bottle of scotch in front of
him.
Leader in divinity, Master of Music and Choir. He was the oldest there, a
man of sixty-plus years, a rather purple complexion doing nothing to detract
from a generous-sized body and swollen jowls. To his credit Quarles was
quite boisterous for an elderly man, never quite tight, but never quite
sober.

The Reverend did some shuffling and cutting with the cards, laid them out
and scooped them up again. "Are we playing rummy or not?"
No one answered and he muttered something about friends not being
worthwhile, but a sweep of Cotton's hand brushed his utterances aside.
"Your friends will play another time, Quarles - if they're real friends,
that is. Right now if we had a friend - in skirts - that would be really
worthwhile."

A faint tapping on the door informed them all that someone was standing
outside awaiting admittance, but no one seemed in a rush to answer it.

Mr Bramwell regarded Cotton with something of a superior attitude. He was a
middle-aged bachelor, always carefully dressed, who had a long nose that
thrust arrogantly over his delicate little moustache.
"Are you sure about this thing you've got planned? There'll be a hell've a
row if the kid takes offence and rats to the Head'."

Charlesworth at his side raised a single thick eyebrow and nodded dubiously.
"It would mean the end for all of us. We'd get not a jot of sympathy.
Everyone's so bloody politically correct these days."

"Oh for God's sake - stop twittering," seethed Cotton, "You sound like a
pair of dotty schoolgirls. I've made my enquiries and I know just how far we
can go. Trust me and let me handle matters. You're in safe hands."

Charlesworth gave a watery chuckle. "God, you sound like a grandmother - all
homespun advice and proverbial wisdom."

Cotton rolled his eyes. "God forbid. Come on, let's get on with it. I told
matron to bring him to the door and then go, so let's not leave the little
blighter shaking on the stairs."

"I take it we're to forego the cards tonight." the Reverend Quarles put in.

He was ignored, the others paying more attention to answering the door than
to answering him.

The door swung open to reveal Peter Purdy standing outside decked from head
to toe in a long red cape with an immense hood.
Mr Cotton poked his head into the hall outside, looked both ways then took
hold of him. "Come in Purdy. Hurry along now."

"I say, just like Little Red Riding Hood." muttered Charlesworth somewhat
nervously when he saw him.

"Red Riding Hood in more than one way." Cotton told him without turning away
from his young visitor.
He closed the door and quietly turned the key in the lock. "Are you in there
Purdy?" he asked jovially as he peered in under the vast hood.
Amid the shadows of the oversized headwear Purdy's small chin and sullen
mouth were seen to move up and down.

Mr Cotton slowly tugged at the string-bow beneath his chin that held the
cape in place, unfastening it studiously like some kind of maiden aunt who
habitually hoarded pieces of string and wrapping paper. In fact the cape was
a wrapper, which when undone and the hood turned back slid from his
shoulders to reveal Peter Purdy to be girded in a mere smattering of clothes
which were no more than wisps of feminine finery.

He was resplendent in black lingerie. Seamless black stockings were secured
to a lacy garter belt by elastic suspender straps, and a delicate little
black camisole that exposed his creamy shoulders lay draped down over his
chest. Lacy black bikini pants and long cocktail gloves that covered his
arms beyond the elbows seemed to be his only other attire, apart from a pair
of ankle-strap shoes with four inch heels. Mascara lengthened his dark
lashes, and a tint of bronze coloured eyeshadow became evident as he
blinked.
"Amazing!" exclaimed Charlesworth.

"Remarkable! agreed Bramwell.

"An absolute Queen of Hearts!" rumbled the Reverend Quarles who had finally
found some interest in the business of the evening.
The clothes had not created a girl, but they had created a very effeminate
looking boy, and to the men assembled in the common room it was almost as if
they were not looking at a boy at all, but a lovely girl wearing makeup that
gave her rouged cheeks and mouth-watering fuchsia pink lips.

Peter Purdy grimaced uncomfortably. He was the victim of a conspiracy, he
knew that. It was humiliating for a boy to be made to dress up in girls
underwear and he resented it, but he wasn't sure how far he could go in
defying the edicts of his tutors. Not when four of them conspired together.
Matron had been no help earlier either. She'd been quite abrupt with him
when he'd objected to putting on nylons, and threatened to lock him up all
night in a room with Appleby who'd got measles if he didn't do as he was
told.

All those in the room gave Purdy their complete undivided attention.
Goddess, was the general opinion as the lad stood scowling slightly. So
dinky and sweet, what legs - in nylons, and with a pale, pale face and cute
'Les Mis' hairstyle groomed to magnificence.

Mr Charlesworth stared at him hardest of all and unable to conceal his
enthusiasm his face seemed to split into halves like a walnut as his smile
drove from ear to ear.
Always an avid observer of young boys, their delicious legs always caused a
stir with him.
"You've got good taste, Cotton. The lad's a cracker. Matron's done a
first-rate job with him. She may be a clapped-out old crock herself, but she
can sure dress a young 'un nice and pretty when she's asked."

"When she's paid." corrected Bramwell acidly.

"Just so." Mr Cotton affirmed, then he turned his green eyes back to the
boy.
"Don't be alarmed, Purdy. Just think about it. We gentlemen here at
Greystone are stuck in the wilds far away from anything that could be called
civilisation, and there's not a fair damsel anywhere near. Such a state of
affairs builds great tension in men, so we've decided to create our own a
fair lady on Founder's Day this year."

Shrivelling with shame Peter looked bewildered. "Create one, sir?"

"You Purdy. You're a young fuzzer with the right looks, and it was noticed
when you took the female-part in the school play that you wore girl's
clothes with considerable flair. Your youthful physique and the girl's
clothes compliment each other to perfection."

Mr Charlesworth stroked his hands together in appreciation.
"Don't feel too put out by it m'boy. Throughout history young lads prior to
puberty have invariably lacked a proper category. Since they weren't strong
enough to be classed as men they were often rated as girls."

Peter stared at them all reproachfully before glancing dubiously down at his
clothing.
"I wasn't dressed like this for the school revue. I just wore a frock with a
sash."

Mr Cotton nodded. "Yes, I'm aware of that, and very sweet you looked too.
But since it's Founder's Day the masters here thought something more - erm -
risqu‚ would be more appropriate this evening, and you do wear an outfit
like that with considerable panache."

Bramwell's long nose seemed to quiver. "Quite a doll," he approved, "An
absolute corker."

"Certainly tickles my - er - fancy." added Charlesworth.

Cotton took a measured step nearer to the boy, watching closely to see if he
would flee, but Purdy remained rooted to the spot, dark eyes raking up and
down.
The man spoke haltingly, dragging words up from some deep recess in his
belly.
"We're having a little party here, nothing too crowded, all very select. But
we need the company of someone young and vivacious to make it a success."

The long dramatic face of Mr Bramwell grinned at him. "You're it, Purdy my
dear. You've got looks that draw people in like wasps to treacle."

Charlesworth guffawed through the smoke that rose up from the cigarette
between his teeth. At that moment he looked like a lanky comedian in a
pantomime.
"Wasps, yes. I wonder how many pricks he's had."

Bramwell gave him a nudge with an elbow. "Belay the damned sleaze
Charlesworth. Don't be a blockhead."

Mr Cotton took control again. "Myself and the gentlemen here will be
compiling students reports quite soon, Purdy. You are seeking a good
assessment at the end of term, aren't you?"

The boys soft eyes turned in his direction. "Well yes, but I'm pretty
competent in most subjects, so I shouldn't have a bad one."

Mr Cotton nodded wisely. "Indeed you're outstanding in some respects, but
there's more to a school report than a mere list of academic achievement.
There's an observation of character for example. You wouldn't wish to be
marked down as uncooperative, stand-offish or reclusive, would you?"

Peter's chin lifted. "I'm none of those things."

"Of course you're not. Being here this evening and dressing up in such a
fetching way certainly demonstrates that. But to confirm it I'm sure you
wouldn't mind entertaining us here briefly, would you? A Founder's Day
frolic, as it were. A touch of light cabaret to brighten our dreary
existence."

"Is that it? Is that all I have to do?"

"Do you dance or sing?"

The boy shook his head. "I can't dance in these silly shoes, I can hardly
walk in them."

"But you sing Purdy," cut in the Reverend Quarles, "Your voice is as yet
unbroke and you trill like a bird."

"I don't know any song complete, sir." Peter chaffed back with just a touch
of ill temper.

"Perhaps a recitation then." persisted Cotton. "What was that little thing
you quoted to introduce the second part of the school revue?"

Peter's mouth twisted petulantly. He just wanted to get out of that room as
fast as he could.
"It was poem called LEISURE."

"A work by William Henry Davies." put in Bramwell quickly. As Master of
English Literature he felt duty bound to unleash his knowledge.

"Leisure!" Mr Cotton repeated languidly, rolling the word in his mouth as if
he were tasting it. "Yes indeed, a most apt subject for a gathering such as
this. Do you know it by heart, Purdy?"

"Of course, I had to memorise it for the revue."

Mr Cotton waved a hand at his companions and they glided back to make a
space in the centre of the room.

Still uncertain, Peter moved forward. He found it difficult to conceal his
dismay, and also the shame he felt, shame not only for agreeing to put on
girls clothes, but also for submitting to wear them in front of the men in
the common-room. The high heeled shoes he wore made his hips swing
dreadfully.
He took up a stance in the middle of the room, feet together, hands clasped
in front, the same stance he'd been groomed to take up in the recent stage
production, then he stared at the old men, now leering with their mouths
open and nodding encouragement.
At last he conceded to unbend a little. As the words of the poem stirred in
his memory he put forward a hand in a gracious theatrical gesture, lifted
his head, and began.

"What is this life if, full of care
We have no time to stand and stare
No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows ..."

His youthful voice tinkled clear and sweet, but although the ears of his
audience listened, their eyes ranged up and down his scantily dressed
figure. The frugal items that made up his costume had been selected to show
off his petite young body to its best advantage, the transparency of the
camisole alluding to his winsome nipples, the tiny panties doing nothing to
disguise the shape of his penis or the swell of his scrotum which made a
small but prominent bulge. And all the time the men were straining to catch
a glimpse of the tightest and most perfect bottom in the school rolling
around in a pair of indecent, oh-so-skimpy pants.

"... No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance,
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich the smile her eyes began ..."

The front of men's trousers, already rudely misshapen, began to stir and
plump outward suddenly - only those of Quarles, worn by a man suffering an
elderly gentleman's affliction offered no change.
Cotton caressed himself none too furtively.

" ... A poor life this if, full of care,
We have not time to stand and stare."

Mr Cotton took the lead in a round of light applause to greet the end of the
poem.
"Bravo, Purdy. Excellent, well done! Sir Samuel would be proud of you. In
fact I'm feeling somewhat proud myself at the moment, as it happens."
Then the tutor's attitude became rather more serious.
"Many people can recite verse and anyone can dress up, but you've got
something special. Style is what you have, Purdy. Style and personality. And
lovely legs, and lovely - erm .
Now, if you'll just slip off those silly panties."

For a second Peter Purdy gaped in astonishment, but when he shunned Mr
Cotton and glanced at the others for support he found none. Bramwell and
Charlesworth were clearly anticipating the removal of his pants too, and as
for the Reverend Quarles, he knew all too well that his favourite pastime
revolved around peeping into schoolboys underwear.

Left with no alternative he rebelled, moving his head with a fierce stubborn
shake.
"Take off my pants! Oh no sir. That's indecent and I won't be bullied. If
you make me do it I'll complain at once to the headmaster."

Bramwell looked discomfited and slightly nervous and Charlesworth took a
pace back, while Quarles returned to the card-table and poured himself a
large measure of whisky.

Mr Cotton licked his lips. Only he appeared unruffled by such a threat. A
modern-day Phileas Fogg he was -  'one of those mathematically exact people
... never hurried ... calm, phlegmatic, with a clear eye.'
"No one is demanding anything." he replied. "But it being Founder's Day
you've probably had prefects kissing you all day, and goodness only knows
what other liberties you've allowed them. That may lead some tutors to make
a remark in your assessment that questions your sexuality. And bye the bye,
I shouldn't need to remind you about those rather suspect photographs you
allowed old Barnes the groundsman to take of you behind the cricket
pavilion."

Purdy felt as if he'd been ambushed. He didn't think anyone else knew about
the photographs. He hadn't let Barnes touch him, it had just been a bit of
mischievous fun, hanging his penis out from the front of his slacks while
the old buffer took a few snapshots. He remembered the incident morosely
now.

"No one will write anything beastly about that, will they?"

"No one here will be derogatory in any way if you oblige us, Purdy." Cotton
said, "Quite conversely, co-operation will earn you a first-class write-up
from one and all."

Purdy swung about and gazed at the other tutors who were all awaiting his
response with intense interest.

"First-class is guaranteed." assured Mr Charlesworth solemnly.

Reluctantly, scowling,  the boy conceded. None of them were any different to
old Barnes, he decided. He knew the tutor's liked looking at boys dicks in
the changing rooms and in the showers, but none of them had been so open
about it before.
His thumbs gripped the elastic of the garment and in one smooth motion he
pushed it down his nyloned legs and stepped away.
His uncircumcised penis hung over two plum-sized testes in a soft, hairless
scrotum. A sight some of those there would have previously sold their
mothers into slavery to see.

"Do a little promenade as far as the bookshelf." urged Mr Cotton.

Peter turned and moved gingerly forward. The high heels shoes did nothing to
aid his balance and he was very conscious of the way his fingers brushed his
bare thighs, and (ghastly) of how he was compelled to rock his hips when he
walked.
The men delighted in his apparent shyness, his sweet blushes made him seem
even more girlish. An androgynous mix of boy and girl, with narrow hips and
slender legs gracefully enhanced by an enticing hang of hairless genitals.

"This is awfully awkward as well as embarrassing." he complained.

Cotton reassured him at once. "Don't fret yourself Purdy my lad. You don't
have to try and look pretty, you ARE pretty. As pretty as a rose. A petite
body. Rather straight up and down and not womanly of course, more trim, like
a young girl, but classic beauty all the same."

When he reached the books an inexplicable touch of devilment entered Peter's
mind, just like it had when Barnes had caught him playing with himself
behind the cricket pavilion.
He'd show them, he thought. He'd REALLY show them.
He pivoted round and posed, hands on hips like a tart.
Instinctively he knew they'd like that.

"Marvellous!" whispered Mr Charlesworth to Bramwell at his side, "There's
something extraordinarily erotic in seeing a boys bits bobbing between a
pair of creamy white thighs and dark stocking tops, and Purdy has a capital
dangle. Nice knob-end too."

Bramwell agreed quietly. "Yes, good bag of nuts with it. One must agree he
has a pleasing set of equipment. Perfect little bum, buttocks as soft as
marshmallows. Flawless. Diabolical to have all that covered up with
trousers."

All the men had a desire to get nearer to him, but Mr Cotton had the
fleetest feet as well as the quickest mind, and he also had the biggest
bulge in the front of his trousers.
"Here Purdy," he said, "Be gracious enough to feel this."

Peter looked at the ominous distortion in the man's trousers as he
approached, and his face reddened.
"What!"

"Your hand, lad. Stroke it here."

His debauched intention became crystal clear to everyone present, even to
Peter Purdy.
The boys eyelashes beat up and down softly giving him the appearance of
alarmed innocence. "Sir, not here, not now, surely. What I mean is, there
are other people here."

Cotton looked him up and down, savouring his slender girlish form.
"Really Purdy, you are a trial. I'll warrant it won't be the first time
you've done indiscreet things with an audience. There would be no
restrictions in the dormitories for instance, and I'll bet you're no slouch
there."

"Sir, it isn't right and it isn't fair."

"Now, now Purdy. You love titillating all us old fogies. You wouldn't have
agreed to put on that girlie get-up if you didn't relish the chance to tease
us a little. And you can't expect to dress up like a girl and avoid being
used as one on Founder's Day.

"Mr Cotton, that's not true, it really isn't. Matron said she'd lock me up
all night with Appleby if I didn't wear it."

"Tch!" Mr Cotton tutted dismally. "You young rapscallions in the lower
school always make such a fuss about small things."

Charlesworth mopped his face with a large white handkerchief and glanced at
the obscene bulge the other man was negotiating about.
"That thing you've got isn't so small Cotten. Haven't we gone far enough? Do
you really think we should ..."

"In for a penny, in for a pound." Cotton said, cutting him short, "We may as
well make the most of the evening. Founder's Day only comes once a year."

Peter felt a hot blush rush up from neck to his cheeks.
"No one else will know, will they? If I do something wicked to please you,
it won't be mentioned anywhere else, will it?"

"No, of course not." replied Mr Cotton as he pushed forward his thighs. "Now
put your hand here and give me some attention."

The boys hand, fingernails daintily painted bronze, hesitantly reached out
and began to rub Mr Cotton's hardness through his trousers, a massive, awe
inspiring shape that made his heart thump. Then he slowly started to unzip
the man's trouser fly.

Impatient now, the Master of Math scrabbled at the fly himself, slid a hand
into the front of his trousers and levered out his fully erect penis. It was
a challenging weapon, swinging up long and thick, with its sheath of
foreskin already drawn back.
"Down, Purdy. Down on your knees. I have it on good authority that you have
a particular talent for servicing this part of a man's anatomy."

For a moment Peter just looked at the man's enormous purple-headed prodder,
but then he slowly sank down onto his knees before it as if in adoration.
Gathering up his courage he eventually wrapped his slender fingers around
its gargantuan dimensions and started to roll the sheath of his foreskin
back and forth.
He felt it swell even more in his hand and its single flaring eye seemed to
mesmerise him. Its size alone hinted at the power it could generate and the
deluge of satisfaction it could heave forth.

"That's it my lad." smiled Mr Cotton, "You've got the idea."

"Erm, I'll put the cards away." remarked Quarles.

"Lick it darling." Mr Cotton urged heatedly.

Purdy leaned forward, stuck out his tongue and began to run it all over
Cotton's cock, from the top to the base of the shaft, then over his huge
testicles and back again. Then he opened his mouth, put his tongue under the
weighty helmet at its tip and gazed up at Cotton's face for his approval.

"Put it in your mouth and suck it, sweetheart." the man whispered excitedly.

Opening his mouth wide Peter carefully enveloped it and mewled helplessly as
the stout length of flesh pushed into his mouth and over his tongue.
The tip alone was the size of an hard-boiled egg. Christ, it was a monster!
So fat and solid he could barely manage to move his lips, and if Mr Cotton
took too long finishing it promised to be a real jaw-ache.

Cotton's thoughts were all about seeking a finish. Placing his hands on the
schoolboys head he began rocking back and forth, helping the lad in his
predicament by holding the stem of his penis while sliding it in and out
between his moist, warm lips.
"A caution to you, Purdy." he panted, "No spitting out, and no spilling
stuff. That kind of behaviour will only earn you a forfeit."

The other men in the room all moved closer and watched avidly.
"Gosh, that mouth of his is no learner." gloated Charlesworth.

Mr Cotton smiled at him as he pumped his penis left and right, then straight
down the middle. "Sheer bliss, old fellow." he said.

At once the younger man began unbuttoning his own slacks.
"Sheer bliss works for me." he smirked.

Peter Purdy was having to breath slowly and deeply through his nose, just as
he'd done with Valentine earlier. Looking sideways as he struggled to cope
with the penis in his mouth he glimpsed Mr Bramwell and young Mr
Charlesworth in close colloquy, trousers undone and sex rampant, their
sexual hunger etched in their faces.
Only then did he realise he was probably going to have to suck all the cocks
in the room before he'd be allowed to leave - all four of them - one after
the other.

He was barely aware of how it ended with Mr Cotton, but it was quicker than
he'd expected. He tried to steel himself for what he knew was inevitable,
but it still took him by surprise, and his eyes widened as he heard the
tutor grunt and send a sudden liquid blast straight into his throat.
In reflex he tried to pull away. But  the tutor held him firmly, groaning
and arching his thighs forward, giving out copiously, quickly and furiously
with aggressive little spasms, doing a second blast, and then another,
making the boy cough and choke.
Peter could tell from the struggling undulations in his neck that he was
swallowing enough fertile man-juice to fill a town with babies.

As he sagged back gasping for air Mr Cotton drew away and turned to his
companions.
"Come on Bramwell. Don't stand there like a dummy. Get in there and take a
turn."

"Yes, yes," the other tutor returned sharply, "I don't need you to draw me a
map."

Purdy was immediately confronted by Mr Bramwell's penis waving in front of
his face.
It was frequently the case with Bramwell in moments of high excitement that
he allowed his synthetic well spoken tones to degenerate, if not slide
completely off the edge of the planet, which was an odd trait for a man who
was usually punctilious about speaking properly.
"Get your mouth around this, you gorgeous little knobgobbler." he urged
whilst screwing his bulbous end between the boys soft lips.

Obediently Peter Purdy opened his mouth and took in the proffered appendage.
Not as big as Cotton's, and although it was already drooling at the tip at
least he was able to accommodate it with reasonable ease.
Knowing there was no other choice he set about indulging the man with
intense concentration, rolling his mouth around the bulbous head whilst
sliding his tongue beneath the glands. His lips clamped around the shaft and
he started to move his tongue around the throbbing tip, licking under it
whilst holding it trapped in his mouth.

Swinging his eyes right he saw another fully engorged member close to his
face,
Mr Charlesworth's dick taking its turn in the queue and pulsing only inches
away from his flushed cheek.

"He's doing one hell of a good job." remarked History and Social Studies,
"Being around so much randy male dick must turn him on."

"Ummph!" Purdy gagged a little on Bramwell's penis but managed to pull back
a hand and reach out to grip the base of Charleworth's thick stalk.
Then he began sliding the hand up and down, gratuitously wanking one tutor's
length as he sucked fiercely on another.

"Yes, oh yes, aaaahhh!" sighed Bramwell as he experienced the searing heat
of semen rocketing up his glands and the oh-so blissful release as he dosed
the boy with a goodly amount.
"Gobble down all that lovely gravy my dutiful little cum-eating nymph. Your
sexy mouth feels just like a little girl's cranny, so soft and luscious - so
greedy - so eager to please. An ideal receptacle for a gentleman's seminal
juices."

The second Mr Bramwell unsheathed himself from his mouth and stepped back
Charlesworth eagerly replaced him, and as the third muscular joystick in
rapid succession became wedged in his mouth it caused Peter Purdy's heart to
flutter. Charlesworth appendage was second only to Mr Cotton's in size, but
at least it was slender enough to allow his mouth some windage.
He went to work on it with a certain amount of zeal, since despite being a
tad ugly, Mr Charlesworth was the youngest tutor in the school, and
everybody's favourite.

Bramwell looked on, his excitement hardly diminished by his recent
ejaculation.
"Let yourself go, Charlesworth, give him plenty." he called out in
degenerate glee, "The kid swallows. He eats spunk."

Purdy refused to contemplate shame any longer. Squeezing firmly with his
lips while raking his mouth back and forth, he worked Mr Charleworth's slack
foreskin like a concertina until streams of boiling lava from his balls rose
up to fill the glands.

"Wwwhhhaaaaa, wwhhhooooo!" Mr Charlesworth moaned.
And oh, he did do a lot. His semen leapt forth in shiploads of great surging
dollops, warm, and thick, like school custard. Too much for a young mouth to
manage in one sitting.
The boy coughed and spluttered slightly and ... Gulp, umph ... a small
opaque slaver escaped beyond the corner of his mouth.
With a fingertip he quickly scooped it back in as he gurgled and gargled the
rest of the great load down.
"Umoom, wuk, ooorrr! Uuum, uuum!"

"Oh I say, you do that awfully well Purdy." Charlesworth murmured heatedly,
"If all else fails you in life you could take it up as a profession."

Peter slowly eased back. Goodness! . He'd already consumed the results of
three substantial ejaculations and didn't know if he could manage any more.
But there was still old man Quarles to satisfy.
As his shell-shocked gaze turned to the clergyman a feeling of relief
permeated his mind.
He could do nothing there, for despite the Reverends most industrious
efforts with his hand his penis remained a flaccid, shapeless knoblet of
flesh and skin that refused every incitement of stimulation.

"Dear me!" Bramwell grinned when he noticed the older man's incapacity, his
black moustache lifting on one side until a white incisor gleamed.
"Shame about your trouble, Reverend. Pity to miss out on the juvenile
jollies."

He was probably the most tactless man between Greystone and Bombay, and
Quarles threw up his head and glowered at him like an affronted turkeycock.
"My virility may have been lamed Mr Bramwell, but not my virtue. If you're
casting aspersions on my integrity I'll remind you that I'm a gentleman who
is not given to any - ah - acts of dubious - ah - practise - "

"Rabbi's will take up pig farming if that's true." muttered Bramwell acidly.

"All right you two. Give it a rest." demanded Cotton.

"Yes, let's have a drink. I'm ready for one."  Mr Bramwell said to
Charlesworth.

"First-rate idea." replied the other man dragging himself away from Purdy's
gasping mouth and marching off to the scotch.

As the others congregated around the whisky bottle Mr Cotton touched Purdy
on the shoulder and fixed him with his twinkling, reckless eyes.
"Well," he said, "We've gone and done it. Yes, we've taken a jump together.
I dare say when you came here you had no idea you'd be required to please a
whole bunch of raunchy old men."

Feeling dazed, the boy was sitting slumped on the carpet, trying to swallow
away the lingering chloride flavour of semen. "No sir."

"Same here. I'd no intention of progressing that far until you arrived in
that girlie getup - and then, well ..."
He helped Purdy rise to his feet and guided him towards a brocade covered
couch at the side of the room. "Let's go over here. I haven't finished with
you yet."

Despite the boys embarrassment his penis began to distend and rise up. He
noticed it was standing out from his hairless groin and bouncing as he
moved.
Oh no, he thought, he was parading around in girl's things and getting a
hard on in front of a bunch of loopy, licentious degenerates.
The odd thing was he didn't seem to mind now, he felt curiously fresh and
vigorous.

Mr Cotton gazed down at the stiffness thrusting out from Purdy's lithe young
body. It seemed a delicate thing when compared with the Lavanthian rammer he
still carelessly allowed to dangle from his own trousers, but it was pretty
all the same. A tender bone wrapped in silk with a blushing little bell-end
straining out from its tip.
"That's the way. You're putting aside your indignation and developing
something of a playful mood. You're beginning to enjoy showing yourself
off."

The schoolteacher perched on the arm of the couch and drew Purdy forward by
the hips. Taking the lads penis in his fingers he savoured the texture of
its blood filled spongy tissue and tensed sinew for a few moments before
stroking its length a couple of times.
When Purdy merely breathed a hot little 'oh' at the caressing, Cotton felt
encouraged enough to raise up his own flaccid member and rub the two
knob-ends together.
And yes, he sensed such stimulation caused his own glands to stir again.

A glance over his shoulder relayed the fact that the others were refilling
their glasses. He was no great drinker himself. Alcohol dulled his senses
and fuddled his mind, and he resented that. He preferred to keep a clear
head, but he had taken a glass with the others earlier, and perhaps because
of that the loveliness of the boy in stockings struck him more than it did
the others.
Despite what had gone on before he was not ready to finish yet. Stirred by
events he felt the quickening of other impulses that were just as fierce,
wicked and totally irresponsible as any he'd yet indulged.
He wanted to know Purdy a little more. He wanted to REALLY know him.

His smile was warm when he gazed down at the boy.
"You coped exceptionally well, but I noticed you dribbled when Mr
Charlesworth evacuated his procreative juices into your mouth, and I warned
you at the start that would require you to pay a forfeit."

"A forfeit?"

"Yes, and since I myself have recovered rather quickly, your bottom shall
provide for it."

"My bot ..." Peter Purdy closed his mouth and stood silent, confused, trying
to think, trying to make a decision. Mr Cotton was solid, thick across both
thighs and shoulders, ugly really. His cock was thick and ugly too, and when
it was randy it was BIG.

Cotton may not have been particularly handsome but he was a mastermind. By
employing a system of slick talk, sly cajolery and pure lies he always got
what he wanted.
He put an arm around the boys bare shoulders and stroked a fingertip on his
slender neck, feeling the delicate bones beneath the skin, watching the
gentle pulse in his throat.
It was as if he was petting a kitten, and within moments he almost had Purdy
purring like a cuddly feline.
Peter seemed bewitched as the man's other hand slipped down to stroke the
apple-smooth, rounds of his bare schoolboy bottom.

"Sir, you mustn't." He smiled, dipped his eyes then looked up shyly. A smile
indicated pleasure, excitement that was indecent to make a show of, but his
experiences seemed to kindle a glow in him that enhanced his sweet looks.

"Mustn't what? Mustn't fuck your bum?"

"Not here sir. The others will see."

"Pay no attention to them, my boy. Quarles can't do anything at all and the
others have no stamina. You know what I mean - they're strictly once-a-night
types. You're ready for it though, aren't you? You're ready for a good
fuck."

"Mr Cotton, you're making me blush."

"A nice length in your bottom. It won't be the first time, will it?"

"No, sir." he confessed bashfully.

"How many times?"

"A few."

"A few? I'm sure you're being modest Purdy. I've heard stories about you.
I've heard you can be quite a honey when you're in the mood. Are you in the
mood now?"

Peter Purdy blinked demurely. How could a respectable, nice boy say 'yes' to
a question such as that?

"Get up on the couch Purdy. Get up there and push your bottom out like a
shameless little girl."

Peter knelt up on the seat of the couch, and tucking his knees beneath him
he pushed down his head and lifted his bottom. A naked bottom, vulnerable to
whatever Cotton had in mind.
Of course he knew what he had in mind, and he waited in breathless
anticipation while the math teacher readied himself.

"What's going on?" Bramwell asked, suddenly putting aside his drink and
waltzing over.

Cotton shrugged. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

The other man wasn't fooled. "Ha, I see what I see. You're going to shag the
little darling."

In spite of the debauched activity that had preceded that which was
contemplated, the boy on the couch flinched just a little as Mr Cotton's
firm fingers spread apart his soft bottom cheeks to expose the enticing pink
whorl of his anus.
Bramwell hummed with degenerate glee as he watched.
"Boy! Look at that little tease. Clean as a whistle and ready for anything."

Mr Cotton leaned over him, his eyes taking on a fierce glow as his lips
thinned.
"Is that right Purdy? Is it prepared for what a gentleman can provide?"

"Er, um, I'm not sure sir. Your thing ... It's so ... It's so enormous."

The tutor sighed in mock disbelief. "Oh, come now Purdy, you've been at
Greystone a whole year. Surely you've developed some quality of endurance."

Despite himself Purdy's stomach gave a little lurch of excitement. The size
of Cotton's penis took his breath away when he realised that the Math
Masters main interest was sticking it up his backside.
"Your willy is so huge, and my bum-hole is such a tiny thing, but I suppose
it'll be okay if you use plenty of lubricant."

At once Cotton turned to the choirmaster standing at the other side of the
room and stretched out his hand.
"Pass me that bottle from over there Mr Quarles. No, no, my dear fellow, not
the scotch - the baby oil on the console by the wall."

Moments later Peter felt a greasy slosh of oil, then something blunt - he
knew it was the broad head of Cotton's penis - intimately prodded his hole,
pushing and pressing, screwing slightly to make it open up and give way.

Slowly the fat tip nosed forward, bullying its way in and expanding its
route. Purdy's young anal muscles clamped around it and he whimpered as he
felt himself being stretched, but Mr Cotton was quite insensitive to his
feelings. Relentlessly he drove his length into the groaning schoolboy's
narrow passage.
"Oooch, ooooh! Wait sir, just let me get used to it for a moment."

Genially Mr Cotton paused for a moment and waited until he felt the lad
humping against him in response, slowly opening up and accepting more and
more.
And then there was more. A thick wodge of gristle-like sinew invaded the
young lads anus, irresistible, going further and deeper. It was huge, and
for a moment Purdy feared it would split him, it was none too soon that his
anatomy adjusted enough to cope with it.
"Ahhh, sir - ooooh!"

Leaving Quarles to struggle with his wreckage of manhood the other two
tutors gathered close to Mr Cotton to observe his mastery of yet another
subject, and gamely Charlesworth opened Purdy's bum cheeks to gain a better
view.
"Tight as a drum." he remarked licentiously. "Even tighter than his mouth,
I'll wager."

"Stretches like a rubber band though." answered the Math Master between
clenched teeth.

Transfixed by Cotton's mighty weapon Peter felt helpless. Its girth spread
him wider than he'd thought was possible, whilst its length impaled him so
deep he fancied he could feel it in his belly.
The man's meat was ramming like some kind of machine, his thick pulsating
shaft sliding in and out of Purdy's tight boy pussy - pulling almost right
out, but then driving forward again to scrunch him against the back of the
couch while stuffing his bouncy little backside to the limit.
Whimpering constantly, he then gasped. "Ugh, uff, Oh my! Oh my poor bum!"

"A gentleman could get used to this." Mr Cotton sighed as he forced Purdy's
legs further apart in order to elevate his beautiful bottom.
The tightness of the boys little rosette squeezed his thick rod fitfully,
and he bellowed his joy as he climaxed with another of his tumultuous
ejaculations, this time letting it heave out deep inside the lads body in
throbbing spasms.

"What a remarkable demonstration," Bramwell husked, "But now, slip out and
move over Cotton. Make some room."

"You want a turn with him?"

"Of course I do. I've recovered my where-with-all and I don't intend missing
the chance to shag this darling little shirt-lifter."

Bramwell had already prepared himself with oil and now he turned Purdy over,
placed his hands around  his waist and sat him down on the couch. Then he
pushed him back, raised one of his legs and put it on his shoulder before
swinging his penis in between his buttocks.

The boys backside had hardly resumed normality after Mr Cotton's departure
before Bramwell started using a gentle pressure to push his own member past
the ravaged anal ring and into his rectum.
Purdy shoved his bottom out and accepted him. "Ghhh!" letting out a cry as
the man's thrusting shaft slid slowly in

"There you are Purdy. A boy like you can manage two men in a row, can't
you?"

"Um, yes. I suppose so." the boy replied.
He clenched his lower muscles tight - he didn't know why, perhaps he meant
to try and limit the depth of invasion, but all it did was provide some
additional friction to Bramwell's well-oiled boner as it slotted into his
backside.

"OOOhh, ugh! So smooth - a velvet journey." approved the tutor as he buried
his cock to the hilt.

With his buttocks parted once more Purdy's world came to revolve around the
sensation in his rectum. A fullness, full of something hot, fast and
throbbing. Bramwell's penis wasn't as big as Mr Cotton's, but it was plenty
big enough to fill his colon and make him squirm with the friction of its
wild manoeuvres. Pumping, screwing, and then quite abruptly grazing back and
forth over the tiny swell of his prostate.
"Yaaah, ooh!" Purdy wilted and his senses swam in wonder. "Ooooh!"

Wrapped his legs around the man's middle he thrust himself onto him, and
Bramwell showed slight amazement as he felt the lad's rectal muscles grip
his penis with something akin to gratitude.
Squinting and grimacing, Peter Purdy began to squeeze out little pants
between clenching teeth.
"Oh yes, that's it - go on sir - dick me like that, I love it."

Hating to refuse such a plea the tutor began employing considerable effort,
ploughing in and out using his entire length, and shoving forward until his
thighs slapped on the boys buttocks.

But he was soon puffing and groaning himself.
Being slightly smaller than Cotter allowed greater agility to Bramwell's
movements and lent additional ferocity to his ramming. He grabbed Purdy's
schoolboy hips and heaved forward and Purdy pushed out with his backside as
he pushed in.
"God, you randy little tart, Purdy. TAKE THAT, AND THAT, AND THAT ... "

He shortened his strokes, but made each lunge faster. His eyes squeezed shut
as he pumped furiously, selfishly, as he slid his slippery length vigorously
in and out of the boys well-used bum.
"Oooh, ahh, ohh, oooh. Here I go again. Cumming! .... Aaah ... Giving you
the lot ... Oooooh!"

Bramwell almost shrieked, and his fucking took on a new level of urgency as
he felt ribbons of juice spurting.
"Incredible!" he moaned as he worked himself into a lather, "The best bit of
arse I've had for ages."

Excited to a high pitch Peter almost regretted Bramwell extracting himself.
Then he noticed Mr Charlesworth slumped on the couch at his side, laying
right back and jerking his penis with a pumping fist.

Cotton was done for, so was Bramwell now, but Charlesworth wasn't, and nor
was he. After having his prostate tickled so gloriously he was ready for
more of the same.
"Are you ready for me now, Mr Charlesworth?" he asked.

The tutor gave a limp smile. "I don't think I've ever been more ready." he
said, "Come here and be a good girl for me. I've always wanted to do it with
a boy wearing nylons, and you're such a darling. You fill the bill
oh-so-nicely."

Coy no longer. Now hot with desire himself, Purdy quickly clambered up.
Charlesworth coaxed him backwards until he was astride his thighs, then he
held his robust phallus up and aimed it at the well used puckered whorl
between the boys buttocks.
With a little help from the tutors guiding hand Purdy sat down, squeezing
his bottom down over the end of it and impaling himself.

"Oooofff, yoww!" He slid down with a slight wince of discomfort. Right down,
all the way. It was like settling onto the tip of an iron bar, but once in
position he began to raise and lower himself, bobbing up and down to make
Charlesworth gasp and groan.

Charlesworth was passionate, and once he'd become established he hauled on
Purdy's hips with great relish.
Mr Cotton was numbingly big, Bramwell a little too quick and furious, but
like Goldilocks in the nursery story Purdy had finally found the thing that
suited him best. He could appreciate the wondrous girth of Mr Charlesworth's
dick moving in his anal tract and feel the fabulous fat knob going deep.
Just what a boy needed after a day of being constantly snogged and
touched-up. No wonder Charlesworth was everyone's favourite.

"Mm, yes. You fit like a glove, and I bet it feels nice for you too, eh?"
the man said.

"Sir, it - it's ..."

"It's big, I know. But you can manage. It's just a shame you have to do most
of the work."

Extremely excited he started bucking upwards each time the boy came down,
and with the tutor's ample prodder pumping rhythmically in and out of his
anus Purdy glowed with pleasure. Mr Charlesworth was using him as he longed
to be used, going deeper with each shove until his buttocks were bouncing on
his thighs.

Then he was pulled down and laid on his back, made to stretch out on top of
the randy schoolteacher, wearing stockings and high-heels and with a randy
thick penis still pumping deep in his backside.
Mr Charlesworth's hands were everywhere, on his stomach, gripping his
thighs, and especially on his chest, beneath the camisole his fingers
twisted and teased his small nipples and squeezed and pulled his breasts
just as if they belonged to a real girl.
Pleased with the way Purdy writhed with his caresses he put his tongue in
the boys ear, and Purdy responded by turning his head sideways so that the
teacher could kiss his mouth.

He didn't even look up when Mr Quarles, frustrated at being a mere
wallflower all evening, cupped one hand around his balls and another around
his cock.
"How beautiful." Quarles croaked, his podgy hand seizing the throbbing
shaft, squeezing stand stroking up and down the straining length.
He cupped his other hand over his scrotum pulling and rolling his
marble-sized testes in their fleshy silk-like sac.
Then Quarles head went down.
The choirmasters wet mouth became clamped around Purdy's erection and began
moving in a way he had become extremely practised at himself. The old man's
lips were wet and blubbery and seemed incapable of providing the kind of
pressure required for pleasure, but they did give pleasure. Smooth and
slick, they still managed to massage his boyish morsel with immense skill.

"I'm going to cum soon." Charlesworth wheezed in Purdy's schoolboy ear.

"That's okay sir." he told him, "Do it when you're ready. Give me a good bum
full."

"Mmmm, ahhh!" An exclamation also hissed out between Charlesworth teeth and
he began to increase the tempo until he was unloading all the seminal cream
he could muster.

Charlesworth's handsome balls emptying a hefty load into his bowels provided
all the additional stimulation Purdy needed. Ecstatic, he groaned.
"Oh Mr Quarles - Mr Charlesworth - ooh, oooph, ooooph, oh fuck, oh fuck,
ooooohhh!"

He himself spurted a boyish amount into the attentive ministers bobbing
mouth and the urgency of his emission caused his anus to pulsate around the
Charlesworth's penis, which made the final fevered thrusting even more
torrid.

Just at that moment, when his insides were accepting yet another deluge of
man-juice Mr Quarles rose up and wagged his penis over his face.
For a brief span of time the elderly man's body had regrouped and was able
to put out a stand of an erection that resembled something he had not known
for years. The expression on his face betrayed his utter delight.
No longer in thimble-town and with the return of sensations of youthful
vigour and unholy desire his fingers bashed and mashed furiously, drawing
into his weary glands the blood and secretions that for so long had deserted
them.

Purdy hurriedly closed his eyes as the Reverend aimed the tip of his
resurrected penis at his face.
It was none too soon, for in a matter of seconds a thick rope of hot
ejaculate hosed over his cheeks and eyelashes, while another glutinous
string followed at once to splosh over his nose.

The reverend blinked rapidly in surprise at the extent of his emission.
"Oh my goodness, that's rather ... Ooh that's nice ..." he gasped.

Gobbets of cum were dripping everywhere, and Quarles used the end of his
sated cock to smear them all into a sticky film that covered young Purdy's
face.
"Oh yes, yes! Oh my word!"

***

Afterwards Peter Purdy felt quite exhausted and took his time washing off
the face make-up. He then showered, and feeling too done-in to dress he made
his way down to the dormitory with nothing more than a towel wrapped about
his loins.
Despite the copious use of baby oil that evening his bum-hole was feeling
raw and sore and very stretched.

He was greeted by the sight of his two roommates Worpleston and Cadbury,
naked and engaged in a passionate sixty-nine on one of the beds. Worpleston
was on top with Cadbury sucking like blazes underneath.

With a wrye grin Worpleston slipped his mouth off Cadbury's erection and
glanced up unabashed as he heard him enter the room.
"Want to join us, Purdy?" he asked with a salacious grin, "If you're keen we
could figure a way to fit you in."

"Scrap that idea," he replied woefully, "I've had just about as much as I
can take for one day."

He slumped on his bed, lay on his back and stared up at the ceiling, but his
ears couldn't escape the noise of the raunchy movement so close by, nor
could they dismiss the constant slurping noises and muffled moans of joy.
They all intrigued him. It became enticing.
He thought for a moment about sticking his head under a pillow to try and
blot it out, but his curiosity was too strong. Unable to curb it he glanced
over at them just in time to see Worpleston's hips dip against Cadbury's
face and a light of sheer joy illuminate his eyes.

"Ahhhh!" Worpleston gasped, and he heard Cadbury's desperate drowning noises
rising up from the other end of the bed as he accepted a mouthful.

Stirred once more into an erotic frame of mind Purdy slipped from his own
bed and padded over to join them. Cadbury had his legs hanging over the end
of his mattress, and he was able to drop on his knees between his thighs.

Having just given the boy on the bottom a late night feast Worpleston had
Cadbury's solid monument to boyhood clasped in his fist having disengaged
his mouth while he caught his breath. The skin was rolled down and the fat
tip glistened with spittle and oozing excitement.
Obviously it wouldn't be long before Cadbury unloaded too, he was already
breathing heavily and his belly was trembling.

Worpleston obligingly tilted Cadbury's cock in his direction, allowing Purdy
to thrust out his tongue and boldly stroke it up and down its entire length
before swinging it around like a wriggley, wet worm, over the watering crest
and all around the sensitive lower ridge of the swollen helmet.

Having recovered from his recent spell of ecstasy Worpleston's mouth joined
his own, and
two pairs of velveteen boy-lips slid together around the slavering crest.

"I can tell Cadbury's going to do a good one." Peter whispered as his lips,
slick with precum, met Worpleston's in brief, hot kisses over the tip of the
drooling cock.

"Yes, he is." his friend agreed, "He always does lots. It'll be enough to
share."

Whilst Worpleston pumped furiously with his fist, they both sucked and
licked Cadbury's watering prong in a joint attack, and when the supine boys
tense stand throbbed and his hips heaved, their noses nubbing together as
they each vied to catch his leaping juice between their lips.
Cadbury orgasmed commendably, threw out out creamy boy cum in several rapid
pulses that looked like melted ice-cream as it oozed everywhere.

Worpelston glanced at the clock on his bedside locker.
"Lummy! It's getting late. Founder's Day is practically over."

Peter Purdy wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.
"I'm glad. I've had enough of it for this year. Thank goodness we can get
back to doing normal schoolboy stuff again."