THE HUNTING SEASON

By Pink Panther

Hi everybody! For once the planets were favourably aligned and I was able to complete a chapter within two weeks. I hope you like it! Thanks for the feedback to chapter 42, which was most encouraging. Of course, being the feedback junkie that I am, I'm always hoping for more, so please send your comments to archimedes294@hushmail.com and I'll get back to you as soon as I can.

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CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

January 1961

It was Monday morning. After breakfast, Alex sat at his desk, completing his preparations for the new term which would begin the following day. After his argument with Whitney, he'd been taking things quietly. Bradshaw had come over for maths classes on Friday morning and Sunday afternoon. On both occasions, they'd had wonderful sex, the intensity going almost off the scale. Bradshaw, he reflected, was not a boy who indulged in half-measures.

On the Saturday, Alex had waited in to see if Whitney would come over. The boy had failed to materialise. Alex was not unduly concerned. The ball was firmly in Whitney's court. With Bradshaw and Pennington to satisfy his sexual needs, there was no need for him to push things. For the moment at least, he'd wait for the teenager to make his move.

There was a possibility that Whitney would discuss the situation with his uncle. Alex considered this unlikely. To do so, the lad would have to admit that he'd been lying about his involvement for more than a year. He wasn't going to do that, now was he? No, if Whitney was going to talk to anyone, it would be Newton. Even that wasn't a certainty.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

It was Thursday. The first two days of term had gone well. Alex had seen Bradshaw after school on the Tuesday, and Pennington after football training on the Wednesday. He'd given each of them a good, hard fucking. After all, it was what they wanted. But he'd received no communication from Whitney. In class, the lad had behaved perfectly, participating as he always did and giving no hint that there might be anything amiss.

Following morning break, Alex took his class with 2-Green. He spent the first twenty minutes teaching, using his usual question and answer method. Then, confident that the lads were properly prepared, he set them an exercise to do. As always, he began to move around the room checking the boys' work.

After around ten minutes, he reached Whitney's desk. In order to reach the start of the work he'd set, he turned back a page in the lad's exercise book. There was a small piece of paper between the pages. On it was one sentence in Whitney's ultra-neat handwriting. "Do you want to see me after school?" Alex read it, and smiled. After putting a large tick on the piece of paper, he marked the teenager's work and moved on to the next desk.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

With classes over for the day, Alex sat at his desk, marking his Lower Sixth group's exercise books. Just after five past four, Whitney appeared, freshly scrubbed following his games class.

"Come and sit down," Alex said warmly. He waited for the boy to take his seat. "So," he continued quietly. "What can I do for you?"

"I wanted to say sorry for storming off last week," Michael said, looking embarrassed.

"There is absolutely no need for you to apologise," Alex said gently. "I didn't deal with the situation very well and you had every right to be upset. My question is, what would you like to happen now?"

"I just want things to carry on like they were before."

Alex winced. It was not what he wanted to hear.

"Well, we can do that for the moment, more or less," he said, choosing his words carefully. "I see Bradshaw on Sunday afternoons, and after school on Tuesdays, both times at which you are otherwise engaged, so it won't affect you at all. Pennington's a slight problem. As you know, he's already met Mr Brown and Arrowsmith. I've no doubt that Mr Brown will want to see him again. I'll have to fit that in somewhere, so there will be the odd Saturday when I have Pennington at the flat rather than you. But I'm not planning to introduce Pennington to Mr Smith, so apart from that, for the moment we can carry on as before, if you're sure that's what you want."

"Yes, sir."

"Right! As we're having this conversation, let's think a little further ahead. As I mentioned, once you start Third Year, Mr Smith will not want to see you again. He'll expect Bradshaw to fill the role that you currently perform. I'm sure that Bradshaw will be able to do that by then."

"So he can't cum yet?"

"No, but he's not far away. He'll be twelve next week. I expect him to start producing spunk somewhere around Easter time. Anyway, let's get back to what we were talking about. You seem to think that Mr Brown will be happy to keep seeing you, even after you've started Third Year. You may be right. I think it's unlikely, but I don't know him that well so it's difficult for me to say. Finally, there's me. I like boys; you know that. I don't really fancy young men. You're an early developer. You're going to become a young man sooner than most, maybe as early as September. It's hard to tell exactly. But once that happens, I won't fancy you anymore. I'm not going to lie to you. I'll need to move on. But even when we're not having sex anymore, I really hope that we can remain friends. I'll always value the times we had together. I hope you will too. And if there are things I can help you with – I'm not talking about school things that I'd help any of the boys with; other things, you know – I'll be more than happy to do that."

There was a long, awkward pause. Although Michael was less than happy with the situation, what alternatives did he have? Was he really going to give up having sex with all the younger boys that his form master had introduced him to? And if he stopped going with Mr Faulkner, he'd lose contact with Mr Brown. He definitely didn't want that.

"Okay, sir," he said finally.

"In the meantime, it at any point you want to stop having sex with me, all you have to do is tell me. If, for example, you decide to get serious about Newton, and you don't want to do this anymore, that's absolutely fine. You have to do what's right for you."

"Sir," Michael asked. "What's happening on Saturday?"

"Not much. The prep school boys don't go back till Sunday. I've invited Pennington to come over. You can join us if you want."

"Yes sir."

"I'm picking him up at two, so get to the flat for about twenty past."

"Sir, why don't you ask Mr Brown if he'd like to make up a foursome with us?"

"And how d'you reckon that would pan out?"

"Well sir, I'd fuck Pennington first. Then Mr Brown could fuck me while you were doing Pennington."

"Well, I can ask him. Obviously, I can't make any promises. He might have something else to do."

"Sir," Michael asked, lowering his voice. "Can we go into the storeroom now? I haven't cum since I fucked Newton on Tuesday."

A couple of minutes later they were ensconced in the hiding place they'd used so often before. Reaching up, Alex undid the clip at the top of Whitney's school trousers and pulled down the zip. They fell down around the teenager's ankles. Alex smiled. After his shower, Whitney had put his football shorts back on instead of his underpants. Alex knew what that meant and would be more than happy to oblige.

For the moment, he carefully skinned them down the teenager's legs. The boy's 5½-inch penis, with its sparse crop of straggly pubes and low-hanging balls, was already more developed than he really liked. He got to his feet.

"Get it out and suck me," he instructed.

Kneeling on the floor, Michael opened his teacher's fly-buttons, reaching in to extract the man's penis. Taking it into his mouth, he began to suck, expertly working his tongue over the large, shiny head.

Alex ran his fingers appreciatively through the teenager's hair, revelling in the exquisite sensations that the boy was giving him. For all that Whitney was somewhat more developed than he really liked, the lad gave the best blow-jobs he'd ever had.

"You'd better stop now," he cautioned.

Obediently, Michael let him go.

"Wonderful!" Alex breathed. "Now bend over the chair."

As the lad got into position, Alex knelt down behind. This was the one view of Whitney that he still really liked. Now 5'7" tall, the thirteen-year old's silk-smooth thighs were very long, making them appear slimmer than they had a year earlier. Alex leant forwards, his tongue homing in on the boy's hairless rosebud. Lapping at it insistently, he pushed it inside.

"Oh, sir!" Michael groaned.

Alex continued his ministrations for another couple of minutes, spurred on by Whitney's quiet moans and gasps. Finally, he pulled away.

"Oh, sir!" Michael repeated. "I want your cock!"

"Okay! Stand up then!"

As Whitney stood upright, Alex carefully pulled the boy's football shorts back up, leaving them low on the lad's hips. With his shorts back in place, Michael shuffled around to face his form master. Alex squeezed some K-Y onto the lad's fingers. Without waiting to be asked, Michael carefully smeared it over the man's rampant prong. The task completed, he got back into position.

Alex moved in close, guiding his cock up the leg of Whitney's shorts. He allowed himself a satisfied smile. Over the next few minutes he'd fuck the lad into near-oblivion. Things could hardly have worked out better.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

Alex parked the car outside his block of flats. He and Pennington got out and made their way into the building and up the stairs.

"What time will Whitney be here, sir?" Pennington asked as Alex let them into the flat.

"In about five minutes," Alex responded. "I'll put the kettle on, make us a cup of tea."

He bustled into the kitchen. Returning to the lounge, he found Pennington sitting on the sofa. Though the boy was wearing his school shorts, socks and shoes, above the waist he was once again dressed in his expensive casual clothes. Alex licked his lips. The twelve-year old was a most delightful specimen of boyhood, and so sexy! A moment later, the doorbell rang. Alex went to answer it.

"Good afternoon, sir," Michael greeted, stepping inside. "Is Mr Brown coming?"

"Yes," Alex confirmed. "He seemed more than happy with your proposed arrangement." He lowered his voice. "I suggested that rather than wait for you to finish, he should fuck you while you're screwing Pennington. I'm not sure if he will. Apparently, it's not something he's ever done."

"Thanks, sir!"

They strolled into the lounge. The sight of Pennington sitting with his legs wide apart gave Michael an immediate erection. He could hardly wait to fuck the lad again, and to have Mr Brown's prick up his bum while he was doing it would be a real bonus. As Alex disappeared into the kitchen, Michael joined the younger boy on the sofa.

"You ready for some fun?" he asked.

"I'm always ready," Pennington answered, smirking. "What about you?"

"Oh, I'm ready!"

"Are you going to fuck me again?"

"Yeah, of course!"

"Cool!"

A few seconds later, the doorbell rang again.

"Come in! Good to see you!" Alex said brightly, welcoming the young choirmaster into his flat.

"Are they both here?" Martin enquired.

"Here and raring to go, I've just made a pot of tea. Do you want some?"

"Yes, thanks. Always time for a cup of tea, especially on a cold day like this."

With cups of tea consumed, they moved to the bedroom. As planned, Martin paired off with Whitney, leaving Alex with Pennington.

"Shoes and socks off," Martin ordered, "and your sweater."

Having quickly removed the items. Michael stood waiting for what was to happen next. Martin wasted no time, undoing the buttons on the teenager's shirt and easing it off. The boy's white cotton vest (singlet) quickly followed. Sitting down on the armchair, Martin opened the metal button at the top of Whitney's jeans and pulled down the zip. Having skinned them down the teenager's legs, he sat back, allowing Whitney to pull them off. He licked his lips. In line with the recent trend among boys at his school, the lad was wearing skimpy white briefs that showed off his genitals quite beautifully. Hooking his thumbs into the waistband, the choirmaster quickly pulled them down, waiting just a moment for Whitney to remove them completely.

Martin was entranced. Although he loved fucking the younger boys, he had an alternative fantasy, and a boy like Whitney, with his long slim legs, impressively large cock and low-hanging balls, fit it perfectly. He fantasised that he was thirteen again, being roughly treated by a well-endowed, athletic-looking teenager, who would fuck him hard before filling his bottom with teen spunk.

He'd had the same fantasy about Whitney's friend Taylor, but the lad had moved away before he'd had the chance to do anything about it. But Whitney wasn't going anywhere, and when Mr White finally tired of him, which was already starting to happen, he'd be there to take advantage.

Of course, he could not tell Mr White or any of the other boys. It would not do for someone in his position to be known to take the passive role. So today he'd do exactly what was expected of him. But once he'd got Noel off his hands, he'd wangle an opportunity to invite Whitney to his flat. Once he'd got the lad there, he'd put the idea to him. He was confident that the teenager would go for it.

Taking Whitney's penis between his lips, he slowly worked his way down until he had it right down his throat. He sucked it steadily, imagining how good it would feel when it was right inside him. After a few minutes, they swapped over. Once again, it was something that he loved the younger boys to do for him, but to have it done by a tall, well-developed lad like Whitney seemed somehow inappropriate, though he had to admit that the thirteen-year old's technique was quite exceptional.

"Are we ready, Mr White?" he enquired.

"Sure!" Alex replied.

As Whitney and Pennington got onto the bed, the two teachers quickly undressed before settling back into their chairs. In front of them, the two boys were getting into it. Their foreplay, though fairly routine, was still a very exciting spectacle. A long, passionate kiss was followed by a sixty-nine, followed in turn by another kiss. Finally, Pennington got onto all fours, allowing the older boy to lick his boy-hole. The twelve-year old squeaked and whimpered, the pleasurable sensations driving him almost delirious.

"Are you ready?" Michael asked, sitting back on his heels.

"Yeah!"

"Okay, roll over onto your back."

As Pennington got himself into position, Alex looked across at Martin and grinned.

"Are you sure?" Martin mouthed.

"Absolutely!" Alex confirmed, handing him the K-Y.

Martin nervously coated his prick. Looking up, he saw Whitney guiding his penis onto Pennington's boy-hole. The teenager started to push in. Steeling himself, Martin got onto the bed. This was something he needed to do, determined to meet his host's expectations of him. He shuffled in behind.

"Oh, yeah!" Michael groaned, his teen ramrod now fully sheathed in the twelve-year old's tunnel.

"Just stay as you are for a moment," Martin ordered. Holding his cock against Whitney's rosebud, he thrust it in. "Right! Now show me what you can do!"

Michael needed no second bidding. In an instant he was pounding Pennington's arse as hard as he could go, pulling right back to impale himself on Mr Brown's penis. Martin could hardly believe what was happening. He'd had boys ride his cock numerous times, but it had never been like this. Whitney was like a wild animal, a bucking bronco, savagely fucking the helpless twelve-year old while driving back hard onto his appendage.

After barely two minutes, the chain-fuck produced the desired effect. This time, it was Whitney who was first to cum. His spunk spurting into Pennington's bottom set off the younger lad's orgasm, while his anus spasming around Mr Brown's cock caused the choirmaster to deposit his semen deep inside him. After several seconds, they carefully disengaged.

"You boys had better go to the bathroom," Alex instructed.

As Pennington and Whitney left the room, Alex retired to the armchair, still gasping for breath.

"So how was it?" Alex enquired.

"Incredible! I've never experienced anything like it! I couldn't believe Whitney would go at it like he did. I didn't have to do a thing! Did I do okay?"

"Of course you did! You came, didn't you? And right on cue too! Next time you encounter the boy Holdsworth, you should try it with him. You'll get much the same reaction. We did it when Whitney brought him here during the holidays. He loved it!"

"I'll remember that," Martin said, smiling.

Moments later, the boys returned, smiling and giggling. Alex took Pennington's hand, drawing him onto the bed.

"Are you ready for me now?" he asked.

"Yes sir!"

They snuggled up, kissing passionately, their hands roaming over each other's body. As the kiss ended, Pennington's lips closed over Alex's right nipple, sucking it until it was sore. They moved into a sixty-nine. Alex pushed his hand between the twelve-year old's legs, pushing his index finger into the boy's recently violated anus. After a couple of minutes, they broke apart.

"Get on all-fours!" Alex ordered.

Pennington obeyed without question. Diving in behind, Alex's tongue lapped insistently at the youngster's rosebud entrance, pushing inside to savour the last vestiges of Whitney's spunk. He pulled away.

"Are you ready for my cock?" he demanded.

"Yes, sir." Pennington replied meekly.

Oh, the lad was ready alright, Alex noted, sitting back on his haunches. Having coated his penis with K-Y, he quickly located Pennington's discarded briefs, moving them to where they'd be readily to hand. Kneeling over the boy, he pulled a pillow into the middle of the bed.

"Lie down," he instructed.

Pennington did as he was told without giving it a moment's thought. Alex smiled, admiring the boy lying submissively in front of him, the pillow beneath his hips, his legs spread apart.

Sitting draped across Mr Brown's lap, Michael licked his lips, his cock twitching excitedly between the man's fingers. Watching a boy being fucked while lying on his tummy invariably made him extra horny. Had Pennington taken it like this before? Michael didn't think so. The boy hadn't mentioned it. He remembered the first time it had happened to him. He could hardly wait to see the twelve-year old's reaction.

After gently pulling Pennington's legs a little further apart, Alex lowered himself between them, guiding his cock onto the youngster's boy-hole. With one determined thrust, he was in.

"Ohh sir!" Pennington protested, shocked by the unexpected pain of being penetrated in this way. "Aaargghhh!"

Alex picked up the lad's slightly soiled briefs.

"Bite on these!" he ordered, stuffing them into the youngster's mouth.

Not hesitating for a moment, Alex pushed in deeper, his large prong reaming the boy's tight, velvety tunnel.

"You've got a lovely tight little bottom!" he growled. "Now relax and enjoy it!"

With the lad pinned to the bed, he set to his task, fucking the boy remorselessly. Pennington hardly knew where he was, or what was happening to him. The intense pain was undiminished, but was gradually absorbed by unbelievable tingling sensations as the man's cock drove repeatedly over his prostate, while his own penis rubbed against the pillow.

He tried to hold back, attempting to push up off the bed to ease the pressure. But he couldn't move; Mr White was too heavy. Suddenly, the lad's breathing became harsh and ragged. Involuntary spasms swept through his body, his sphincter muscle flaring and tightening around his teacher's invading cock. A moment later, little jets of boy-cum squirted onto the pillow.

"Oh, you sexy boy!" Alex declared triumphantly. "You've cum on the pillow! Now take what I've got for you!"

A few more hard thrusts and he was there, depositing rope after rope of creamy semen in the twelve-year old's fuck-tube. For some time, Alex lay where he was, savouring his triumph. He'd been waiting to have the lad in this position. Now he'd done it, and it had been even better than he'd expected.

Finally, he eased his way out. Pennington's bum was so sore, he was scared to move. After a few seconds, he very gingerly pushed up onto all-fours. He farted noisily, spunk spluttering out and running down his legs. Without waiting to be asked, Michael hopped off Mr Brown's lap. Kneeling at the foot of the bed, he began to lick the spunk off the younger boy's thighs, working his way up until he was taking it directly from Pennington's anus until he could get no more.

"Shall I take him to the bathroom, sir?" Michael asked, turning to his form master.

"Yes, go on," Alex said warmly. "Give him a bath if he wants. There's plenty of hot water."

"You were rather rough with him," Martin commented once the boys were safely out of earshot.

"Oh, I've been waiting for that," Alex responded. "Don't worry; he'll be fine."

"He's very sexy, isn't he?" Martin added. "I'd like to fuck him like that."

"Oh, I'm sure it can be arranged," Alex assured him. "Next Sunday, will you be coming here to see Bradshaw?"

"Yes. I'll be bringing Arrowsmith again, if that's okay."

"Excellent! Those two are good for each other. And you can certainly fuck Bradshaw like that if you want to. It'll be easier for him if you do it before I do."

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

It was Monday morning. With the first week of term out of the way, Alex decided that the Carver problem could not be put off any longer. At the end of morning registration, he called the lad to his desk.

"Come and see me here at morning break," he said quietly. "We need to have a chat."

"Why, sir?" the boy queried.

"I'll explain that at break!" Alex snapped. "Don't get ideas above your station! If I ask to see you, I expect you to obey without question. Do you understand?"

"Sir," Carver muttered, looking at him resentfully.

Alex was undaunted. It would be a difficult interview, but he was not going to back down.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

At the end of third period, the bell sounded for morning break. After dismissing his fourth-year class, Alex sat at his desk, waiting for Carver, the seconds ticking slowly past. It was almost five minutes before the boy appeared, sauntering into the classroom without the slightest sense of urgency.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" the boy asked, in a rather dismissive tone.

"Yes, come here and sit down," Alex said, indicating the chair by his desk.

Alex watched as Carver took his seat. It was clear that the boy did not want to be there.

"First of all," Alex demanded, "why are you so late? You were in English, just a few yards away. What kept you? Did Mr Southall keep you back?"

"No sir," Carver admitted.

"Then what took you so long?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Not good enough! If ask to see you at morning break, I expect you to come straight here without any dilly-dallying. Is that clear?"

"Sir."

"Right! I need to talk to you about your attitude, especially your attitude to the other boys in the form. You spent the whole of last year telling the other boys that you were the best, and you were bound to finish top, not just in this form but in the whole year. Where did you get that idea from?"

"Well, sir, I comfortably finished top in the entrance exam."

"Who told you that?"

"Mummy. She gets to know everything."

Alex was incensed. He didn't care who the boy's parents were; they shouldn't have had access to that information.

"What that reflects," Alex said evenly, looking Carver straight in the eye, "is that you were at a private junior school with small classes where you were extremely well taught. You are now competing with boys who attended state primary schools who didn't have those advantages. Last year you got away with it. You're a good student, you're meticulously careful, and you work hard. That carried you through. But in the exams before Christmas, it wasn't quite enough. Now third in what is a very good form, and sixth in the whole year is nothing to be ashamed of. The only problem was that you'd told everyone you were going to be top, and you weren't. Have you any idea how foolish it is to go around telling everyone that you're better than everyone else? For one thing, it puts up the backs of the other boys. Do you know the meaning of the word schadenfreude?"

"No sir."

"I thought not. It's German. It means taking delight in the misfortunes of others. That's the feeling that you generate in many of the other lads. Back before Christmas, they were delighted that you hadn't finished top. They couldn't have cared less who'd beaten you. They were just glad that somebody had. Is that really what you want? In all probability, you'll be here for another five and half years, and these are the boys you're going to have to get along with on a day to day basis. You need to do that much better than you have up to now. Eventually, having most of the other boys despising you and wanting you to fail will wear you down."

He paused, allowing time for his words to sink in.

"Mummy always says I need to have confidence in my own ability," Carver countered.

"I quite agree," Alex said, "but that's no reason for you to go shouting it from the rooftops. There's an old saying `Actions speak louder than words.' Let your actions speak for you. Boys respect that. Now let's look at what you did after you got your exam results. Did you congratulate Grainger for finishing top?"

"No sir."

"No, I know you didn't, which shows a meanness of spirit. What you actually did was to start making excuses. You could have hardly done anything worse. What you need to do is to show some humility and give the other boys a great deal more respect. Do you understand?"

"Sir," Carver answered his lips starting to quiver.

"The other reason you shouldn't be telling people you're going to finish top is that you put unnecessary pressure on yourself," Alex said quietly. "So it's got to stop. Even if you're feeling confident, keep it to yourself, work hard and you'll be fine. Am I making myself clear?"

"Sir."

"Right, off you go," Alex instructed.

Standing up, Carver turned back to Alex.

"Sir," Carver asked. "Why do you think I'm not coming top anymore?"

"I can only speak about mathematics," Alex said. "But I saw it coming last summer. The reason Grainger and Newton have got ahead of you is that they're much more self-reliant than you are. If they get stuck on something, they don't wait for me to tell them what to do. They try to work it out for themselves, looking in the text book, talking about it, trying different things."

"Mummy says that if I get stuck, I should ask my teacher. She says that's what they're there for."

"On the whole, that's good advice. But if you want to be the best, you need to learn how to stand on your own feet. That's what Grainger and Newton do. In maths club, if you get stuck on something, you want me to show you exactly what to do, which is fine. But I never do that with those two. I'll say something like `What d'you think will happen if we do so and so?' They'll try it, and nine times out of ten, they'll say `Oh, I've got it now!' and sort the rest of it out themselves. At the moment, you're not able do that."

"Sir," Carver said, looking totally crushed.

The bell sounded for the end of break.

"Right, off you go!" Alex ordered. "Go straight to your next class, and don't let me find out you arrived late!"

As he watched the boy leave the room, he wondered how much effect his words would have.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

After eating lunch, Alex headed to the headmaster's study. In line with the prescribed practice, he knocked on the door and walked in.

"Mr Faulkner!" Mr Cope said, looking up from his desk. "What can I do for you?"

Alex quickly briefed him about the conversation that he'd had with Carver.

"I was particularly concerned that the boy said that he'd come top in the entrance exam. When I asked him how he knew, he said that his mother had told him, because she got to know everything."

"Good gracious!" Mr Cope responded. "Thanks for telling me. Don't worry, as far as I'm concerned, you've done exactly the right thing."

"Thank you, headmaster."

"The boy's father is Norman Carver," Mr Cope continued, "senior partner at Carver Woodhall, the largest firm of solicitors in the area, lots of important clients. He's a terribly sensible chap. He acts as clerk to the governors so he'd have had that information, but his wife shouldn't have seen it. I've only met her once. I thought she was dreadful, all airs and graces. And she dotes on the boy, of course. What's your opinion of the lad?"

"He's a good student, he works hard, he's meticulous and he's got an excellent memory. But he's a plodder. Very little imagination. He needs to be told everything."

"I see! When he came here, at his father's request he was put in a different form from the boys he'd been friends with at junior school."

"I'm guessing we're talking about Hartnett and Longton-Walker?"

"Precisely! Spoilt, lazy and not very bright. Had they not been drilled to pass the entrance exam, they'd never have got in here. The idea was that young Carver would make new friends in your form, but by the sound of things, that hasn't happened."

"No, headmaster. Carver has no friends at all in my form. Most of the boys despise him."

"Right! I'm going to give his father a call. He's a very busy man, of course. I suspect he doesn't know half of this."

Alex left the study, pleased that the Mr Cope had been so supportive. If Mrs Carver made a complaint, the Headmaster would back him up, just as he had before.

After a cup of coffee, Alex strolled across to the pavilion. For once, there was no need for him to get changed. The games class would be taken up with the First-Year cross-country championship. A sixth-form boy would lead the youngsters around the course, with several others acting as marshalls. Apart from some supervision before and after, Alex would have very little to do.

At twenty past two, the race began. Interested to see how the members of his football squad would perform, Alex strolled across to the gate that led onto the adjoining parkland. A couple of minutes later, the boys thundered towards him, the leaders some twenty yards behind their sixth-form guide. Bradshaw was already well placed, Alex noted, with the red-haired Thorpe also in the leading group.

Several minutes later, the runners reappeared in the distance. Behind the sixth-former, one of the first-years had broken clear. As they got closer, Alex was able to make out that the race leader was Bradshaw. Of course it was, Alex told himself. When he was playing football, Bradshaw could run for thirty minutes with hardly a break. And after a rest at half-time, he'd do it all over again. None of the other boys could do that.

Alex made his way to the finish just in time to see Bradshaw take the victory. Almost a hundred yards behind was goalkeeper Beckett, with Thorpe taking third place. Alex began to count through members of his football squad. There were twenty of them in the first twenty-nine places. Pennington came through in a mediocre thirty-fifth place. It was what Alex would have expected. Apart from anything else, the lad probably still had a sore bottom.

But there was one missing. Alex couldn't think who it was. Maybe someone was off school, he speculated. Then he saw him. It was Monk, barely inside the top hundred and looking very distressed. As the boy came out of the finishing area, Alex went across to him.

"I didn't expect to see you back there," Alex said, sounding concerned. "Are you okay?"

"Oh," Monk gasped. "I'm no good at this, sir."

"Really?" Alex queried.

It didn't make sense. Monk was slim and light, and moved beautifully. Surely, he should have been able to run better than that?

"Sir," Monk said in between gasps. "When I was three, I had bronchitis. I had to go into hospital. My chest's never been right since."

Alex was horrified.

"I'm sorry," he said gently. "I had no idea. You do remarkably well to do as much as you do."

"Please don't say anything, sir. I hate people making a fuss."

"I need to tell Bradshaw," Alex insisted. "He's been very critical of you, saying that you need to work harder. But I'll make sure he doesn't tell anyone else."

"I'd love to be able to run around the pitch like he does, sir. I just can't."

Alex found himself fighting back the tears. It had been a humbling experience.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

The following afternoon, with classes over for the day, Bradshaw breezed into Alex's classroom, ready for his Tuesday maths class. He sat down next to his mentor, getting out his books, pens and other maths equipment.

"It seems we've been a bit hard on Monk," Alex said quietly.

"What d'you mean, sir?"

"Yesterday afternoon, while you were winning the race, Monk finished ninety-seventh. He was gasping for breath and looked absolutely dreadful. When I asked him about it, he explained that when he was three he had bronchitis, bad enough for him to be taken into hospital. He's not been able to breathe properly since. Yesterday, he was still gasping five minutes after he'd finished."

"I'm sorry, sir," Bradshaw responded, looking very embarrassed. "I had no idea."

"No, I don't think he likes talking about it. He only told me because I insisted."

"I've been really horrible to him, sir. I'll have to apologise."

"I think it would be better if you didn't, certainly not in front of the other boys. He asked me not to tell anyone. I said I needed to tell you because I'd heard you having a go at him for not working hard enough. So you mustn't tell any of the other boys. Understood?"

"Sir."

"But what you should do is to show him you understand by the way you deal with him on the pitch."

"Yes sir." Bradshaw paused, looking puzzled. "Sir, how does he even play?"

"He only runs for a few seconds at a time. In between, he just walks. And he never gets back to defend, of course."

"But when we're attacking, sir, more often than not he gets himself right where we need him to be. That's amazing, isn't it, sir?"

"It is pretty remarkable," Alex admitted.

They settled down to work. Less than half an hour later, they moved to the storeroom, ready for Alex to give his protégé another good, hard fucking.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

It was Wednesday afternoon. At twenty to five, with the light almost gone, Alex took the under-12 football squad back to the pavilion. Although they'd trained for barely half an hour, it had been the best session they'd ever had. The defenders were finally starting to understand how to work together. In addition, there'd been a sense of togetherness in the squad that previously they'd never really had. In part, that was because Bradshaw had been actively working with Monk instead of criticising him.

The real test would come on the Saturday, at their first home match of the new term. The previous Saturday all they'd managed was a scrappy 2 – 1 away win against mediocre opposition. But in this latest training session, they'd looked assured and purposeful. The question was, would they be able to reproduce that when it mattered?

Right at that moment, Alex had something else to look forward to. As usual, Pennington would take his time getting his kit off and having a shower. Then, when all the other boys had gone, they'd have sex. Finally, Alex would bend the lad over one of the benches where he'd fuck him and wank him at the same time, making the twelve-year old's boy-cum spray over the bench just before he filled the youngster's bottom. As a way to end his day, he'd have found it hard to think of a better one.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

The next afternoon, having dismissed his final class, Alex settled down to do some marking while he waited for Whitney to arrive. It would, he reflected, be his third fuck in as many days, all with different boys. And why not? Having worked hard to get himself into this position, he was going to make the most of it.

Given their history together, it seemed a little unfair that the thirteen-year old would be the last of the three, but that was just the way it had worked out. It didn't really matter. Alex was more than ready. He'd fill the teenager's bottom just as he had with the two younger lads. In any case, Whitney knew what was going on and had chosen to go along with it. He hadn't had his arm twisted. Almost before he knew it, the fair-haired lad strode into the room.

"Good afternoon, sir," he said brightly.

"Good to see you," Alex said. "Did you have your cross-country championship this afternoon?"

"Yes sir."

"Hmm! I only thought about it afterwards. I thought you might have been sent home early."

"We were, sir. I went to the library in town to do some homework; came back in just after the bell went."

"So what happened in the race?"

"Newton won it. Downing was second."

"I see. That's an excellent result for Newton."

"Yes sir."

"And how did you get on?"

"I hate getting out of breath so I just trotted round. I came forty-first."

"Isn't that much better than last year?"

"Yes sir, I think so. I'm not really that bothered." He paused for a moment. "Sir, when you spoke to Carver on Monday, what did you say to him?"

"Really, Whitney!" Alex said with a note of exasperation. "What passed between me and Carver is none of your business. Think about it. If I spoke to you about matters to do with school, would you want the other boys to know what we'd talked about?"

"No sir."

"So what prompted the question?"

"Well sir, on Tuesday morning, before we came in here, Carver went up to Grainger and apologised for not congratulating him on finishing top in the exams before Christmas."

"I see."

"And Newton told me that yesterday, while they were in maths club, Carver went to ask Grainger something, and they ended up working together."

"Correct."

"Well, you must have said something, sir."

"Obviously. The details, however, are for me to know and you to wonder about."

"Sorry, sir. Sir, what are we doing on Saturday?"

"I'll be taking you to Mr Smith's establishment, if that's okay."

"Oh yes sir! I haven't seen Southcott since . . . , you know."

"Actually, that's not the plan. Mr Smith is going to introduce us to his latest recruit."

"The boy with the weird name?"

"Van Kerkstraat."

"Holdsworth took his cherry a few weeks before Christmas."

"That's the one."

"We'll still see Southcott sometimes though, won't we sir?"

"Oh, definitely. We'll probably alternate between one and the other."

"How old is he sir?"

"Van Kerkstraat? As I understand it, he's just turned eleven."

"Wow! Holdsworth says he's really nice."

"As does Mr Brown. I'm certainly looking forward to meeting him. What about you?"

"Oh yes, sir! Sir, can we go into the storeroom now?"