Well, it has been around four weeks, so I guess I’d better disclaim again. Well, you know the score, so let’s leave it at that.

We have finally reached the last story in the ‘Snapshots’ series, this one focusing on maths and cross-country master Mike Thompson. I hope you like it! Feedback, as ever, will be more than welcome. Please send your comments to pinkpanther2@hotmail.co.uk and I will reply as soon as I can.



Mike Thompson had never intended to teach in a school like Hartswood Priory. In fact, when he’d graduated from university, he was quite determined that he wouldn’t. He’d been through the system and knew only too well the temptations that teaching at such a school might put in his way. He’d been targeted by the older boys at his prep school before he’d reached his tenth birthday. Of average height and slim, with blond hair and twinkling blue eyes, he’d been the cutest boy in the school. He’d done his best to keep out of the older boys’ way, staying in the company of his friends as much as he could, but it was not possible to do that all the time. After two weeks, he’d succumbed to the inevitable.

The loss of his virginity had been a painful experience and one he’d had no wish to repeat, but he had not been given the choice. Where one of their number had led, other older boys wished to follow. Eventually, he’d taken the only course of action open to him, selecting Ian Fellows, a leading member of the rugby team, as his sex-partner and protector. The arrangement had worked perfectly. Ian had treated him well and kept the other boys at bay; having the older boy’s penis inside him several times each week had seemed a small price to pay. As time had gone on, he’d found himself looking forward to the time they spent together, even to the inevitable penetrations.

At the start of the following school year, with Ian having departed for public school, he’d moved on to one of the new star rugby players and carried on in the same way, and twelve months later, on entering his penultimate year at the school, he’d simply repeated the trick. Carl Sinclair had required him to arrive for their assignations, which always took place in some rarely-used toilets, wearing gym shorts instead of underpants. He would bend over the toilet, allowing Carl to push his well-developed penis up inside his gym shorts and fuck him remorselessly.

When he finally reached his last year at prep school, he might have expected the situation to be reversed, but it was not to be. Unlike most of his contemporaries, over the previous two years he’d hardly grown at all. Four months short of his thirteenth birthday he was small for his age, still slim and still very cute, with puberty not even on the horizon. He was of little interest to his contemporaries, who all wanted younger partners. He did, however, come to the attention of the English master. Several times each week he would be taken into the stock room where he would be required to bend over a small desk. His shorts and underpants would then be lowered, and he would be ruthlessly fucked by the master’s thick eight inch penis until his rectum was filled with the man’s semen. Once it was over, he would be cursorily dispatched, making his way to the toilets with the warm, sticky fluid seeping into his briefs.

When he’d moved on to public school, the situation had been much the same. Only a handful of the new boys had yet to reach puberty, and of those he’d been by far the cutest. At least half the senior boys had pursued him, or that was how it had seemed. History had simply repeated itself. Within a week of starting at the school he’d established himself as the younger friend of rugby vice-captain David Parnell, who, like all members of the sixth form, had his own room. During the course of that year, he spent more time in David’s bed than he did in his own.

Unlike his prep school, where rugby had been the only winter sport in which they’d taken the slightest interest, his public school had a well-established cross-country team. His talents as a runner finally began to be recognised and developed, though as far as the older boys were concerned, his status as a star in the making only seemed to add to his desirability. And so a year on, and with puberty still obstinately refusing to begin, he’d found yet another older friend.

Puberty had finally started a few months later, just as he’d reached his fifteenth birthday, arriving like an express train as though aware that it was inordinately late. Over the following eighteen months, he grew rapidly, his running form suffering badly as a consequence, He was frequently lethargic and beset by niggling injuries, but by the time he’d finished his ‘O’ levels and started in the sixth form, he’d finally made it through.

Overall, he hadn’t grown that much. At five feet eight inches and weighing a little over one hundred and twenty pounds, he was still quite small, as both his parents were, though his penis had grown to an impressive seven and a half inches with girth to match. Being exceptionally fair skinned, he had still not begun shaving. He had a neat crop of golden pubes, a little hair under his arms, and some fine blond hair on his calves and forearms; apart from that he was still completely smooth, with the result that he looked more like fourteen than almost seventeen.

Almost immediately, he began to run well again, winning one race after another, which quickly elevated him to the status of one of the school’s brightest stars. Possessed of a wonderful sense of humour and not a hint of arrogance, he was liked and respected by everybody. All the boys in the cross-country team looked up to him, and the youngest ones, those who had only recently come to the school, positively worshipped him. It was a situation he was not slow to exploit. They were all slim, as young runners invariably are, mainly in the early stages puberty and at least moderately cute. Over the course of that first term he fucked every one of them.

Most of them had been at boarding school before and knew what to expect. The exception was Anthony Howland, who had been a day boy at his previous school. Of medium height but with puberty having barely begun, he was the cutest of all, his naivety and lack of sexual experience simply adding to his allure. Having made it known that Anthony was his exclusive preserve, Mike had taken his time, kissing, sucking and fingering the boy before moving on to the final step.

Finally, he coaxed the boy onto his tummy. Anthony sobbed uncontrollably when Mike penetrated him. Mike was unmoved, just as his initiator had been, fucking the boy unmercifully; not withdrawing until he had ejaculated deep inside the boy’s rectum. Despite his painful experience, the following day Anthony was back, the two boys drawn to each other like magnets. Weeks before the Christmas holidays arrived, Anthony was regularly sharing the older boy’s bed, in just the same way that Mike had done in earlier years.

By the following September, as team captain, county AAA champion and county schools’ champion, Mike’s status had been enhanced still further. He’d completed the previous season by finishing sixth in the English Schools’ Championships, running against boys a year older than himself, establishing him as by far the best runner that the school had ever produced. There was, of course, another crop of new boys in the cross-country team. Over the next few weeks, he made sure that he became intimately acquainted with them.

This time, his main interest was Paul Shannon. Like Anthony, Paul had been a day boy at his prep school and had no experience of boy-on-boy sex. The similarities ended there. Paul was an outstanding runner, and at five feet seven he was tall for his age, almost as tall as Mike himself, slim and long-legged; his husky voice and large penis testifying to his development; Mike was fascinated by him. After suitable preparations, Paul took Mike’s penis without a murmur of protest, ejaculating prodigiously as the older boy fucked him. For the rest of the year, Mike divided his attentions between Paul and Anthony, Sunday night threesomes with both boys being the highlight of his week.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

In October of the following year, it all ended as abruptly as it had begun. Never a candidate for Oxbridge, Mike had chosen Birmingham University, partly because it was a good mathematics school, but more for its outstanding reputation in athletics and cross country. For the first time in ten years he found himself in mixed company; in addition there were no younger boys to be had. So he did as he’d always intended, drawing a line under his life at boarding school and joining the ranks of the heterosexual majority. With his boyish good looks, natural charm and infectious sense of humour, girlfriends were never in short supply.

His career at university was a somewhat chequered one. He devoted himself to running and socialising at the expense of his studies; as a result he graduated with only a third class honours degree. His running career stalled too. Although he’d been an outstanding junior, when it finally came to competing at senior level he found his slight frame unable to cope with the training that the international stars did. He’d be a top-class club runner, but that was all. And so, after three years, he moved on to the university’s School of Education to undertake a teaching qualification.

He threw himself into it wholeheartedly; teaching was something he’d always wanted to do and he was in his element. However, without a good honours degree, he was unable to obtain a post in a good grammar school, the type of school in which he aspired to teach. Undaunted, he began his career at a large comprehensive school some ten miles north of Oxford.

It was a disappointment. Although he did get to teach some able and highly motivated students, overall standards at the school were depressingly low. Most of the children came from working class backgrounds, with parents including agricultural workers, well-paid car workers and members of the armed services stationed at the various bases in the area. Few of them showed much interest in what the school had to offer. Worse still, well over half of the children were bussed in from the villages surrounding the small town where the school was located, making out-of-school activities very difficult to organise. With little support from the school authorities, Mike’s dream of establishing a school cross-country team proved impossible to realise.

To add to his problems, although living in Somerstown was very pleasant, being close to Oxford University and the city centre it was extremely expensive; without subsidies from his parents he would not have been able to make ends meet. After two years it was time to move on.

He obtained a post at another comprehensive school not far from his parents’ house in Surrey. Standards at the school were generally much higher than they had been in his previous establishment. The parents were overwhelmingly supportive, their children well-motivated and keen to learn, and as they all lived within reasonable travelling distance, there was a multiplicity of extra-curricular activities. However, the frustrations continued. There were a good number of very able students, but he never got to teach any of them as Roger Boulton, the Head of Mathematics taught all the top groups himself. And although he did put a cross-country team together, the school was football (soccer) mad, all other sporting activities revolving around the needs of the football team.

Even so, he applied himself enthusiastically, quickly establishing himself as a highly effective teacher, obtaining excellent results from students of quite modest ability, and within a year his cross-country team, composed of waifs and strays that the football team didn’t want, was also doing well. He was highly regarded by colleagues, students and parents. There were other benefits too. Living at home, he was able to rebuild his finances, enjoying a lifestyle that had not been possible when he lived in Oxford. And best of all, or so he thought at the time, he met Claire, his soul-mate and first ‘serious’ girlfriend. After a year together, they were engaged to be married.

However, after two years at the school, he reached a crisis point. He approached Roger Boulton, asking to being given experience of ‘O’ level and ‘A’ level teaching, experience he desperately needed if his career was to progress. His approach was firmly rejected. He complained to the Headmaster, who though sympathetic, was unwilling to intervene. It was widely believed that Mr. Boulton, who prior to his appointment had spent twenty years teaching in grammar schools, was incapable of teaching children of average or below average ability.

When the new school year began, Mike was already considering looking for another post. His decision to do so was made when Gary Whelan, his best runner, was summarily drafted into the football team. The boy was not given a choice and he was not even informed. Gary had been in second year when Mike had started at the school, a gangly twelve year old who hadn’t even come close to making the football team. Two years on, as a result of the training he’d done, he was extremely fit and had an excellent work ethic, in marked contrast to many of the regular members of the football team. When Mike challenged the decision, he was told in no uncertain terms that the football team came first and there was no more to be said. It was a stab in the back that he could not accept.

The problem, however, remained; obtaining the type of post he wanted was as difficult as ever, his modest degree and his lack of ‘O’ level and ‘A’ level teaching experience working against him. Each week, he trawled through the Times Educational Supplement, looking for suitable vacancies. He submitted applications for posts at more than a dozen grammar schools, both state and independent, but although he was interviewed for four of them, he was not successful.

In the course of perusing the TES, he looked at the prep school vacancies as a matter of course, more out of curiosity than anything else. That was where he noticed it.

Dynamic, forward looking prep school located in rural Sussex is seeking to appoint an energetic mathematics teacher, committed the achieving the highest standards across the board. Applications from those who can make a contribution to the school’s extra-curricular activities will be especially welcome. We offer a salary well in excess of national scales. Accommodation within the school will be available for the successful candidate.

The wording of the advertisement caught his attention. ‘Committed to achieving the highest standards across the board’; he was certainly that, and as for ‘making a contribution to the school’s extra curricular activities’, well he could do that too. He noted the address. Although in Sussex, it was only a few miles from the Surrey border. Commuting would be possible, but if they were offering accommodation, he probably wouldn’t need to. However, it was close enough that he would be able to meet up with Claire in the evenings and at weekends, and to get home to see his parents whenever he wanted.

The other matter, he decided, was no longer of such concern; all that was a long time in his past. He was an experienced professional and knew how to handle such situations. There were boys at his present school that he could have seduced had he wished to do so; he hadn’t even been tempted. And although his professional life had been frustrating, his personal life was good; he was engaged to be married, and had no intention of taking a step backwards where that was concerned.

He submitted an application. He was, after all, not committing himself to anything. If he was called for interview and the school proved to be less dynamic and forward-looking than the advertisement suggested, he would simply withdraw his candidacy. Forgoing his expenses would be a small price to pay for avoiding another mistake.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

Interviews for the post were held on a bright sunny day in the middle of May. Mike arrived, along with two other candidates, a little after nine o’clock. They were welcomed to the school by deputy head John Halford.

“Hartswood Priory does not cater for the sons of the idle rich,” he told them quietly. “The parents of our boys have are mainly successful professionals; others have done well in commerce and industry. All of them have worked hard for what they have, and overwhelmingly they expect their boys to do the same. So we have to foster a culture of achievement to meet those expectations. We encourage excellence in all spheres of activity, in the classroom, on the sports field, in art, music and whatever else. We see it as our job to help the boys take responsibility and make the best of whatever abilities they have.”

Mike was impressed, not only by what John Halford had said, but by the way he’d said it. There was a warmth in his voice, a passion; he took to the man immediately. After some further discussion, they were taken to meet headmaster Gordon Chambers, whom Mike instantly recognised as the brains of the organisation. Introductions concluded, they were taken on a tour of the school, which began just as the boys were making their way out to morning break. Although Mike had put all ‘that’ firmly behind him, he could not help allowing his eyes to wander. With all the boys dressed in fashionably short shorts and many sporting quite long hair, there were, without doubt, some beautiful specimens on view.

After the tour, the three candidates met with the present mathematics specialist, Mr. Jones, who was moving to a deputy headship at a school five miles away. Mike found it most illuminating. The man was complacent and lazy, speaking disparagingly of the ‘lesser brethren’, boys who found mathematics difficult whom he obviously despised. It also appeared that he had not made any provision for boys of outstanding ability, and in such a school there would certainly be some. Mr. Jones had, to put it bluntly, done the least he could get away with. The razor-sharp Mr. Chambers had, Mike concluded, pulled the well-established trick of giving the man a glowing reference in order to get rid of him.

The discussions also enabled him to take stock of the other candidates, one a man is his late thirties, the other in his mid forties. Although they had far more experience than he did, both were rather conservative, wedded to the traditional prep school way of doing things. He considered them rather dull. More to the point, he doubted if they were what the school was looking for.

They took lunch in the refectory, alongside the boys. The atmosphere was relaxed but orderly. Even though the boys seemed lively and enthusiastic, it was clear that they were expected to behave responsibly, which they did with minimal supervision. As an environment for teaching and learning, it would have been difficult to better it. Replacing the indolent Mr. Jones would involve a great deal of work, but the potential was enormous.

The interviews began shortly afterwards, with the candidates called in alphabetical order, which put him last. After almost an hour, he was finally called in.

“One area where we are keen to improve is in the standards achieved by the weaker boys,” the headmaster said. “How would you go about that?”

I’d start by taking a step back,” Mike said, with the assurance of one on familiar territory, “getting them to do simple things well to build up their confidence. Once I’d achieved that, we’d move forwards from there. You have to make it easy to understand; it has to be fun, too,” he went on. “That applies to all the boys, not just the weaker ones. Why should I expect them to be enthusiastic about mathematics if I’m not? I need them to look forward to coming to my classes. The only way that they’re going to improve is for them to work harder, and they’re only going to do that if I create a buzz in the classroom, get them enthusiastic about what they’re doing.”

The interview continued with Mike’s passion and enthusiasm bubbling away. After twenty five minutes it concluded. He left the room on a high. Even if he didn’t get the job, he’d been given the opportunity to put forward his ideas on matters that he cared deeply about. The discussion among the appointing panel was remarkably brief. After a mere twenty minutes the chairman re-appeared in the staff room where the candidates were waiting.

“Mr. Thompson, would you come in please?” he intoned.

Mike was elated; they were going to offer him the job. As the formalities were laid out, it became clear just how good a move this would be. He would get a substantial increase in salary; in addition, he would have the use of a small but well-appointed apartment, not in the school itself, but in the gatehouse at the end of the drive. It could hardly have been better. He and Claire were saving for the deposit on a place of their own. The salary increase, together with the fact that he would be able to take most of his meals in school, would help considerably. It was simply too good an offer to turn down. In reality, he could hardly wait to get started.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

Before the end of the summer term, Mike visited the school on several occasions. He was introduced to games master Jim Cooper, with whom he made friends immediately. The situation was clear enough. Although the rugby team had first call on the talent, there would be no question of one of the cross-country runners being conscripted into the rugby team; in fact the boys at Hartswood weren’t conscripted into anything. He could live with that.

He also met Mrs. Bradshaw, the general subjects’ teacher, who had taught mathematics to the bottom groups in years one and two without any help or guidance from Mr. Jones. That would have to change, Mike decided. He and Mrs. Bradshaw would share the teaching of all the first and second year boys and he would decide what was to be taught and how. Although somewhat apprehensive, Mrs. Bradshaw was impressed by Mike’s obvious enthusiasm and agreed readily enough.

Finally, he ordered new supplies of books and materials. He asked for some extra money so that he could introduce some more up to date text books. The additional funding was approved within twenty four hours. With everything in place, he enjoyed his best summer holiday ever, including spending two weeks with Claire at a villa in Tuscany, along with another couple of their acquaintance. It was all finally coming together; he was the happiest he had ever been.

As the end of August approached, he moved into his apartment. He was pleased to be away from home again; it allowed him to assert his independence. He pottered around, making final preparations for the new term. It was enormously exciting. From being a member of a large department with few responsibilities, he had been put in complete charge. Whatever mathematics was taught in the school was down to him; it was a huge challenge.

He was introduced to the rest of his colleagues, including two other new starters, English master Andrew Farnham and religious education master Stephen Randall, both young but seasoned professionals like himself. On the Friday before term started, there was a staff meeting.

The team is now in place,” deputy head John Halford told them. “You are the people who will take this school forward over the next few years and I am confident that working together we can make the school more successful than it has ever been. I can assure you that you will have the full support of myself, the headmaster and the governors in your efforts to achieve that.”

He could hardly have spelt it out more clearly.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

Mike’s impact in the classroom was immediate. His boyish enthusiasm, coupled with his knack of making everything as simple as possible had the boys captivated; within a few days they were eating out of his hand. Teaching mainly by question and answer, even with the bottom groups, every question he posed was met by a forest of hands of boys eager to supply the answer. It was fast-paced and it was fun. After almost every class boys would come up to him to say “You’re much better than Mr. Jones, sir!” simply reinforcing Mike’s view of how poor his predecessor had been.

Mike taught one class after another on an almost permanent high. He’d always dreamed of working in an environment where the children were so receptive. However, he did meet resistance, and not all from the expected quarters. The top group in Upper Fourth, many of them in the early stages of puberty, were not used to working anywhere like as hard as Mike expected them to. They had become complacent. For prep he set them an exercise in simple algebraic factorisation. There were mutterings of discontent.

Sir, Brian Harper asked, bringing things out into the open. “Do we really need to do forty examples?”

“Do you play sport?” Mike asked.

“Yes sir, rugby and cricket,” Brian replied proudly.

“Batsman or bowler?” Mike probed.

“Batsman sir,” Brian told him.

“And if you want to improve your batting, what d’you have to do?”

“Practise, sir.”

“A lot of practice or just a little?”

“A lot, sir, if you want to be really good.”

That’s exactly right,” Mike said calmly. “And mathematics, at least this sort of mathematics, is no different; it’s a skill-based activity, just like batting. And if you want to become really good at it, you need to do a great deal of practice.”

The revolt had been headed off, but Mike hadn’t finished.

There’s another aspect to this, gentlemen,” he intoned, surveying the boys in front of him. “I’m not interested in you just doing well enough to get through Common Entrance. The only thing I’m interested in is you doing the best you possibly can, whatever that is. That does mean a great deal of hard work on everybody’s part, yours and mine, but I won’t settle for second best and neither should you.” He looked intently at the boys, who were hanging onto his every word. “There is just one final point,” he told them. “If you carry on in the way Mr. Jones apparently allowed you to, you’ll get a nasty shock when you eventually get to public school and find out how hard they expect you to work. So I’m going to make sure that you develop some good working habits before you get there. Right lads, off you go to break!”

As the boys trooped out looking suitably thoughtful, Giles Madison, whom Mike had already identified as one of the most able in the group, stayed behind.

“Thanks sir,” Giles said quietly. “I think we understand now. Nobody’s ever talked to us like that before.”

“You’re welcome,” Mike said. “You’re young adults now; it’s important that you understand why I’m expecting you to do all this work.”

“Yes sir, thanks,” Giles reiterated before heading out to join his friends.

Mike glowed inwardly; it was just the reaction he’d been hoping for.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

There were other challenges, notably from Max Hartley-Taylor in Upper Fourth, the biggest boy in the school, whose aim in life seemed to be to do the least amount of work he could get away with, and from second year Gavin McIntyre, who was incapable of sitting still for more than two minutes. Mike had dealt with all such challenges firmly but fairly. He was settling in very much as he’d hoped; he’d set down his marker. Yes, he was an excellent teacher, and yes, his classes were fun, but no, you could not mess about; you had to behave yourself and do your work. By the end of the second week, it was a message that every boy in the school understood.

In addition to the regular classes, Mike established a special class for the boys who would be going in for the Public Schools’ Scholarship exam, Giles Madison, Leo Johnstone and Ashton Hayes. Even though it was only twenty five minutes on a couple of afternoons each week, it enabled him to give the boys the extra help they were going to need, help that the lads themselves clearly welcomed. Things were going well; he’d finally found a school where he could use his talents to the full and really make a difference. Hartswood Priory was starting to feel like home.

After another week he was getting to know the boys and had found out quite a bit about how the school worked. Sex among the boys was definitely happening, but it was far from the free-for-all of his own prep school days. Several members of the rugby team, mainly boys in Upper Fourth, had younger friends, but it was all done so quietly, unless you knew what to look for, you wouldn’t have noticed it. And there was no suggestion that any of the younger boys was being coerced; they all seemed perfectly happy with the situation, having an older friend among the rugby team seemed to be something of a status symbol.

It also appeared that at least two of the masters were having sex with the boys, games master Jim Cooper with William Lawrence, a tall, pencil-slim blond lad in Lower Fourth who was, by all accounts, a star high jumper and hurdler, and music master Richard Burman with Leo Johnstone, an excellent musician, who was tall and very pretty, with blue eyes and messy, straw-coloured hair. Here again, there was not a hint of coercion. William was very quiet, but Leo never tired of telling people what a great teacher Mr. Burman was and how much help he’d given him. At one time, it would have been of great interest to him, Mike reflected, but not any more. That sort of thing was consigned to his past and that’s where it was going to stay.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

As they moved into October, it was finally time to think about starting the cross-country team. Apart from the first years, whom they considered to be too young, Jim Cooper conducted trials during gym classes, aiming to pick out boys who looked reasonably good but wouldn’t feature in future rugby teams. The exercise produced a group of eight boys, Craig Shackleton, Martin Greenhall and David Broadwood from Lower Fourth, Patrick Naylor, John Mitchell and Mark Anderson from third year and second years Jamie Barnett and Philip Harvey, known to everyone as Pip.

There’s nobody from Upper Fourth,” Jim explained. “The two best are Ashton Hayes and Jonathan Moore, but they’re both key members of the rugby team. There’s nobody else even close to them. I did mention that you were going to get a team started, but nobody seemed that keen. I didn’t push it with them; if you’re thinking of this as more of a long-term thing there didn’t seem to be much point.”

Mike readily agreed; it was a small squad but it was the right sort of number to begin with.

There are a couple of talented lads there,” Jim continued. “Craig made the final trial for the rugby team, but he’ll do much better as a runner than he would as a rugby player. He doesn’t enjoy hard physical contact, and that’s an essential part of the game. The other one’s Jamie. He isn’t a ball player, but he can run all day; he should do well.”

As he taught them all, Mike already knew the boys on Jim’s list. Seven of the eight were in the top maths groups. Of those, Craig was a very able student, and Patrick, who had only just started at the school, also seemed to have the potential to do well. At the other end of the spectrum, John struggled to keep up, although he did try hard.

The one member of the squad who wasn’t in the top maths group was Martin. The boy was far from stupid, but he was mediocre, there to make up the numbers, or that was how he saw himself. In class, he tried to make himself as inconspicuous as possible, keeping his head down and doing just what he needed to. He never put his hand up to answer questions, but Mike asked him anyway, making sure he answered as many questions as the other boys. It was a surprise that he’d agreed to join.

They met for the first time the following afternoon, running a circuit of the playing field and two laps of the adjacent woodland. The order was much as Jim had predicted. Craig was out on his own, Jamie, Martin and Patrick ran together with the other four a little way behind them. There was certainly potential there.

When training was over they returned to the changing room. The boys stripped off, heading for the showers. It was the first time that Mike had seen any of the boys naked. There were some real beauties, he observed: Craig, tall and elegant with legs that seemed to go on forever, Patrick with his collar length ash-blond hair and a quite wonderful smile and John, his short, white-blond hair giving him a very boyish look. He noticed something else too. He’d already pretty much worked out that Patrick was Brian Harper’s younger friend. Naked, the evidence of their activities was readily apparent; Patrick was being fucked.

A couple of minutes later, the runners were joined by the rugby team. He looked around with interest, taking careful note of their sexual development. Ashton Hayes and team captain Jeremy Pollard were the biggest by some margin, with Max clearly in third place. Brian was one of the next group, not exceptional, but quite big enough to have stretched Patrick’s anus as he obviously had. There were surprises too; the tall, elegant Giles was very modestly endowed, while scrum half Toby Redman, a year younger and the smallest boy in the team, was already quite well-developed.

Mike smiled to himself. Ten years earlier, he’d have been right in the thick of it all, deciding which boys he wanted to fuck, and who he’d go for first. But that was then. Things had changed and he’d changed with them. He wasn’t part of it any more; he was just an observer, on the outside looking in. He could look, maybe even admire a little. The boys were all wonderfully unselfconscious; they didn’t seem to notice. So that was it; look but don’t touch. No harm could come from that, now could it?

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

“Brian, could I have a word please,” Mike asked as the top Upper Fourth class trooped out to break.

“Yes, sir?” Brian asked expectantly, once the other boys had left the room.

First of all I want to say that I’ve been very impressed with the way your work’s improved over the past couple of weeks,” Mike said quietly. “Your last few prep exercises have been excellent, so well done for that.”

“Thanks, sir,” Brian said, smiling. “You were right about doing lots of practice; I feel much more confident now.”

Mike grinned. Brian was a good looking boy; it was no surprise that Patrick was attracted to him.

“Very good,” he said quietly. “Brian I hope you don’t mind me asking this, but I believe that you’re Patrick Naylor’s older friend?”

“Yes, sir,” Brian responded.

“I only ask because apart from teaching him, Patrick is one of my cross-country runners,” Mike said.

“Yes, I know sir,” Brian said enthusiastically. “It’s great to see him getting involved in things.”

“The thing is,” Mike continued, “after training the other day I saw him in the showers. It was rather noticeable.”

Brian blushed bright red, looking somewhat apprehensive.

Don’t worry,” Mike said reassuringly, “you’re not in any trouble. I went to boarding school from the age of eight; I know what goes on. I’m just trying to understand how things work here. It’s not all about sex, is it?”

Oh no sir,” Brian told him, smiling again. “I mean, we love doing stuff together, but Patrick really looks up to me. He always comes out to support me when we’re playing rugby, and when I’m tired after I’ve been working all day, it’s great to meet up with someone who can make me feel good again, you know, just chatting and helping me relax.”

“I see,” Mike said quietly. “And what does he get out of it?”

I look after him, sir,” Brian said confidently, “make sure nobody’s picking on him, not that anyone has. I just make sure he’s doing okay. Do you know why Patrick came here, sir?”

“Yes,” Mike said. “Mr. Halford told us, very sad.”

“Well, he seemed to be doing really well at first,” Brian said. “I guess it was because it was all so new. Then it suddenly hit him; he was missing his mum and crying a lot. I spent ages with him, you know, just listening to him talk about her and all the stuff they used to do together. After a week or so he started to get over it. He’s doing really well again now, isn’t he sir?”

Yes, he is,” Mike agreed, “and it sounds like you helped a lot. How do you feel about that?”

“Really pleased sir,” Brian said proudly. “Patrick’s great.”

“Thanks, Brian,” Mike said, smiling. “I won’t delay you any longer. Just keep looking after him, okay?”

Yes sir!” Brian responded before heading out to break.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

It was shortly after Christmas that Ashton Hayes asked if he could join in the Sunday morning training sessions. It was the one occasion the week that the cross-country runners trained and the rugby players didn’t, and so it was the only time he was available. Mike checked with Jim Cooper.

“I’ve no objection if he wants to do it,” the games master said. “He’s the best runner in the school; it’s a bit unfortunate he can’t devote more time to it. You won’t even get to see him in the summer; he’ll open the bowling for the cricket team, so he’ll be training with John Halford all the time.”

In one respect, Mike was pleased to welcome Ashton on board; it would give Craig someone to run with, someone to push him even, but he was puzzled as to why a lad who was already involved in scholarship work, the rugby team and the orchestra would want to give up an hour each Sunday morning to run with the cross-country team when he wasn’t going to race. It seemed very odd.

The Sunday morning training session went superbly. Ashton ran with Craig all the way, just as Jim had asked him to, giving the younger boy exactly the sort of work-out he needed. They wandered back into the changing room, the boys heading for the showers. As the other boys were starting to leave, Ashton and Martin were still there. The reason for Ashton’s presence was now clear enough; once they had the place to themselves, he and Martin would get together, probably in the toilets.

“I’m turning the showers off now,” Mike informed them. “Everyone else has gone. Don’t be too long; you’ll have the caretaker after you.”

After turning off the water, he strode through the now empty changing room, following his young charges out into the pale January sunshine. After cross-country training the following afternoon, Mike’s suspicions were confirmed, the evidence that Martin had been penetrated by Ashton’s large penis there for all to see.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

As winter turned into spring, the cross-country boys took part in a few low-key races to gain some experience. Much as expected, Craig did well, winning one and finishing in the top three in the others. Martin, Patrick and Jamie had all ran competently, an outstanding performance from Jamie, who was two years younger than the boys he was racing against. The other four were a little way behind, but certainly didn’t disgrace themselves.

The Common Entrance and Scholarship examinations were finally out of the way. Mike was happy that the boys were as well prepared as they could have been. He felt sure that the Common Entrance results would show a marked improvement on what the school had achieved in previous years. As for the three scholarship candidates, he was confident that Giles and Leo would have done well enough, though he suspected that Ashton, who was not quite as good as the other two, probably wouldn’t.

As they moved into the summer term, Mike’s training squad changed. Craig was a keen cricketer and on the fringe of the school team, and so he only trained with them on Sunday mornings. On the other hand, they gained Evan Williamson, a rugby player but not a cricketer, and the best runner in third year. The training itself changed too, with fewer long runs and more speed-work. It was a happy time; Mike felt fully involved in a way that had never been possible in his previous schools.

Shortly before the half term break, John Halford called Mike into his office.

“I notice that you’ve been keeping Upper Fourth very busy even though they’ve finished their exams,” John commented.

Like I’ve told them, I’m preparing them for what they’re going to face when they get to public school,” Mike responded. “I’ve got them into pretty good working habits over the past few months; it’s important that they don’t lose them.”

The reason I called you in is that the Common Entrance results have come through,” John continued. “They’re the best we’ve ever had; twenty one boys have done well enough to win places at top schools, so that includes six boys in the bottom group, where we’ve always missed out before. That’s down to you; you’ve made such a difference to those lads.”

Thanks,” Mike said, pleased that his efforts were receiving such generous recognition. “Six is okay for starters, but my target for next year is ten.”

Well, I’m pleased to see you’re not resting on your laurels,” John said, smiling. “Getting that number of boys into top schools would put us on a par with the best prep schools in the country, which is certainly where we want to be.”

I’m aiming to do a lot more with the scholarship boys next year too,” Mike said. “They’re much better prepared than this year’s group, so I’m going to put them in for ‘O’ level maths. It’ll mean a great deal of hard work, but I know they’re capable of it. I’m going to put Deon Hayes in with them; I know he’ll only be in Lower Fourth next year, but he’s outstanding, the best mathematician I’ve ever taught.”

Really?” John said, his eyes widening. “That really would be something; very few prep schools even attempt that sort of thing. The governors will be most impressed if you manage to pull it off.”

Mike left the deputy head’s office on a high. He was making his mark, just as he’d always wanted to.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

When the summer holiday finally arrived, Mike took the opportunity to get away from his life at Hartswood, spending far more time with Claire than had been possible during term time. They went to Crete for two weeks, sharing a villa with the same friends that they’d holidayed with the year before. Each evening, they sat watching the sunset, making plans. It was idyllic; Mike could not have been happier.

As the end of August approached, refreshed by the break, Mike threw himself into the task of preparing for the new school year with more enthusiasm than ever. Having been at the school for a year he knew what the challenges were and what needed to be done. With a full racing programme for the cross-country team and a group of boys to take through ‘O’ level maths, thorough preparation was essential, but he was young, fit and enthusiastic; none of it was a problem.

He got the scholarship candidates together a few days after term started. There were four of them, Justin Armstrong, Craig Shackleton, Toby Redman and Dominic Lees. They knew about the extra classes they’d have to do, but were rather taken aback when told that they would be put in for ‘O’ level maths the following summer. They seemed surprised too that Deon Hayes would be joining the class.

Mike was somewhat wary of Toby’s reaction. Toby had done very well the previous year and seemed to enjoy his classes, but while the other three boys were placid and biddable, Toby had an abrasive manner and a reputation for being difficult to handle. If he decided that attempting ‘O’ level was too big a step, or if he resented being shown up by the younger but extremely clever Deon, he could make things very awkward. In the event, he did the exact opposite. Toby, it appeared, liked challenges. It was a very positive start.

There were a few changes in the cross-country squad. David Broadwood, now in Upper Fourth, had decided not to continue; it was not unexpected. They had, however, recruited Aaron Starmer from Lower Fourth, Tom Shields and Scott Hawken from third year and Greg Newman from second year, taking the total number to eleven. But the biggest change was that Martin had improved out of all recognition. He’d trained all through the holidays, he’d grown and his voice had started to break. In training he was able to run with Craig, something he’d never previously managed. With their two oldest boys running well, they had the makings of a good team.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

They’d been back at school for just over three weeks; everything was going well. It was Wednesday afternoon, with Upper Fourth bottom group the final class of the day. This group was Mike’s other big project. Out of fifteen boys, there were four who stood no chance of making the grade in the Common Entrance exam, including new boy Teddy Larsen, who was extremely weak. If he was to achieve his target, he would need the others to perform to their absolute best. It was his job to make sure they did. The bell sounded, signalling the end of the class.

“Well done today, lads!” Mike said enthusiastically. “Put your things away, put up your chairs and make your way out quietly.”

As the other boys left the room, Martin hung back. He strolled up to Mike.

Sir could you help me with these, please?” he asked. “I don’t understand them very well.”

Mike thought it an odd request; there had been no indication during the class that Martin was finding the work difficult, but having spent over a year trying to get the boy more involved, he was not going to turn him down. In any case, the scholarship boys would not arrive for their class until half past four, leaving him an hour to kill.

Yes, sure,” he said, smiling. “Pull up a chair and we’ll go through them.”

Martin did as he was asked and they set to work. After a couple of minutes, Mike became aware that Martin’s thigh was pressed against his own. He adjusted his position slightly, but within seconds the boy was once more pressing against him. Trying to avoid Martin noticing, he glanced down to his left; the boy was sporting a very obvious erection. To his horror, Mike became aroused in an instant. Worse still, Martin had noticed and was snuggling even closer, his fingers running along Mike’s thigh. Mike was almost panic stricken.

“Martin, you shouldn’t be doing that,” he said gently.

Why not, sir?” Martin asked. “You know you like it.”

That was just the problem, Mike reflected, he did like it.

“Because it’s not right,” Mike countered, unable to think of anything else to say.

“So how’s that, sir?” Martin persisted. “Mr. Burman and Mr. Cooper both go with boys and nobody says anything about them doing it. And I really like you, sir.”

Mike was confused and on the point of becoming angry. He was being put into a situation he’d always tried to avoid; worse still, he wasn’t even sure why Martin was doing it. He looked the boy right in the eye; Martin was looking at him adoringly. His anger melted. Martin wasn’t trying to wind him up; the boy was one hundred per cent genuine. He could have ended the situation by shouting at the boy and throwing him out of the room, but that would have undone all the work he’d done with the lad over the previous year. He couldn’t do it.

I’m sorry, Martin,” he said, firmly but gently. “I don’t do that sort of thing.”

You must have done when you were at school though, sir,” Martin pleaded. “You were at boarding school; you told us. You must have done it then.”

That was ten years ago,” Mike responded, trying to hide his exasperation, “and I’ve not done it since.”

“Why not, sir?” Martin repeated.

Because when I left school I finally got into girls,” Mike explained patiently. “That’s how it is. Martin, I’m engaged to be married!”

But you still want to do it, sir,” Martin insisted. “You’ve got a hard-on; I can see it. And I’ve seen you looking at us when we’re in the showers too sir, just like Mr. Cooper does. Come on, sir! We can go in the store room; nobody will find out.”

Can’t you find one of the other boys to help you out?” Mike asked, searching desperately for a way out.

Oh, Justin gets in bed with me at night,” Martin said, sounding rather sad, “but I’m just his bit on the side; Patrick’s his boy. He only goes with me because he can’t see Patrick as often as he’d like to.”

This wasn’t entirely news; since Brian’s departure in the summer, Patrick had attached himself to Justin Armstrong, one of the brightest and nicest boys Mike had ever met. Justin’s father was a senior Anglican cleric; his son’s relationship with a younger boy would have caused him serious embarrassment had it ever come to light. But Justin doted on Patrick; they were the perfect partnership, or so it appeared. Martin was just a casual sex-partner, someone useful to have around when Patrick wasn’t available.

Come on sir,” Martin cooed. “I want to be your boy sir; you can bum me if you want, and you do, don’t you sir? Just do it this once, sir. I promise I won’t ask you to do it again if you don’t want to.”

Mike’s resistance began to crumble. Martin didn’t want to be second prize; he wanted to be someone’s first prize, and he was that someone. It was a major dilemma; he didn’t want to reject the boy, so why not do it just this once? He was certain Martin wouldn’t say anything, so afterwards he could hold the lad to his promise; things would carry on as normal and nobody would be any the wiser.

“Okay, come on,” he said quietly.

Mike ushered Martin into the store room, closing the door behind them and locking it from the inside. He checked to make sure that the door out onto the corridor was also locked. He looked around. In one corner was an exam desk, topped by a pile of exercise books. That’s what they’d use. He moved the exercise books, pulling the desk away from the wall to give them more space. As he did so, he was surprised to find an old pillow hidden behind it. He picked it up. It was a little grubby but perfectly serviceable. He placed it on top of the desk.

“I’m not sure how this got here,” he said quietly, “but it will make things a bit more comfortable for you.”

Martin moved into position, his chest resting on the pillow. Mike reached around the boy’s waist, undoing the clip at the top of the lad’s shorts and pulling down the zip.

“So d’you like having it up the bum?” he asked.

“Oh, yes sir!” Martin breathed.

Mike eased the boy’s shorts over his hips, allowing them to fall to the floor. He ran his hands over Martin’s bottom, still covered by his soft cotton briefs, and down the backs of his thighs. It brought back such memories; the boy was wonderfully firm and smooth, just like all the young runners he’d fucked. He quickly lowered Martin’s underpants, dropping onto one knee as he pushed them down to the boy’s ankles, the evidence of Justin’s penetration some ten hours earlier right in front of him.

“I’ve brought some lube, sir” Martin offered. “It’s in my shorts.”

Mike quickly retrieved the tube of KY, squeezing some onto his fingers. He pushed his index finger into Martin’s anus, driving it in till he touched the boy’s prostate.

“Ohhhh!!” Martin gasped, his slim penis twitching wildly.

A second finger joined the first. There was little resistance. Mike wasn’t surprised; Justin had grown considerably over the summer and was very well developed for a boy who was not quite thirteen. Mike allowed his fingers to slide out. He got to his feet and opened his trousers.

Martin glanced over his shoulder. He swallowed hard. Mr. Thompson was not a big man. Martin had expected the man’s penis to be in proportion, maybe around the same size as Ashton’s, but it wasn’t; it was huge, much the largest he’d seen. There was nothing to be done; he’d asked the man to fuck him; he couldn’t back out now.

Mike smeared himself with KY and shuffled into position, guiding his penis onto Martin’s sphincter. He pushed hard. After a moment’s resistance he slipped inside.

Aaarrgghhh!!” Martin groaned, his erection disappearing in an instant.

I’m a bit bigger than you expected, aren’t I?” Mike whispered, pressing steadily forward.

Oh, yes sir!” Martin whimpered, trying desperately to hold back the tears.

Slowly, inexorably, Mike advanced into Martin’s rectum, thrusting over the boy’s prostate before penetrating deeper than any of the lad’s previous partners. Mike took a moment to settle himself, savouring the velvety tightness that was gripping his penis. There was something special about a young boy’s bottom, he reflected, a quality that no girl had ever come close to matching. He held the boy around the thighs, easing back several inches. After a momentary pause, he thrust powerfully back in, eliciting another whimper from the slender lad in front of him. Very gradually, like a steam train departing from the platform, he built up the pace until he was fucking the boy with long, even thrusts.

Within a minute, Martin’s whimpers were interspersed the moans of pleasure, the boy’s penis becoming harder than ever, just as it had when Ashton had taken his virginity, the intense pain gradually overtaken by the indescribable sensations that the man was giving him.

“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it, Martin?” Mike whispered.

“Oh, yes sir!” Martin repeated, the tingling in his penis so intense he hardly knew where he was.

The man’s fingers took hold of his hard little prong, fondling him with a milking action. He bucked violently, his sphincter clamping tight around Mike’s invading penis, little jets of boy-cum squirting into the palm of the man’s hand.

“Oh, you wanted it all right!” Mike growled.

His hands returned to the boy’s legs, gripping him firmly as he redoubled his efforts. After no more than half a dozen thrusts his orgasm overtook him. He plunged his full length into Martin’s anus. His penis jerked powerfully, rope after rope of thick, creamy semen spurting deep into the lad’s bottom.

Very carefully he withdrew. Martin’ anus was wide open, twitching provocatively. The boy farted noisily, semen spluttering out and dribbling down his legs before his sphincter finally closed up.

“I think you enjoyed that, sir,” he said.

Mike didn’t respond, gently helping Martin to clean up before sending him on his way. Finally alone, Mike wandered back into his classroom and sank into his chair, a dreadful realisation sweeping over him. For four years at university he’d been deprived of the opportunity to have sex with boys, enabling him to settle quite easily into his life as a fully-fledged heterosexual, just as he’d intended. In the six years since leaving university, he had stuck strictly to his chosen path, but Martin had tempted him away, a temptation he’d found impossible to resist. And he’d made the inevitable discovery; having sex with pubescent boys was what he was born for; the sex-life he’d enjoyed over the past six years simply didn’t come close.

He sat there, surveying the wreckage. He should have told Martin that he couldn’t have sex with him because he’d be betraying his fiancée whom he loved very much. So why hadn’t he? Because his desire for sex with the boy had proved the stronger; that was the bottom line. There could be no turning back; he’d have to do it again, and not just with Martin, with other boys too. The genie, he realised, was out of the bottle; he was not going to be able to put it back in.