Date: Mon, 24 Sep 2012 19:42:55 +0100
From: niftyguy123@hushmail.com
Subject: Willingly Corrupted - Chapter 1

	***Although this story is told as a memory, it is totally a work of
fiction.  None of the events ever occured and I have never met anyone
to whom they did happen.  This is my fantasy of what I WISH had
happened to me when I went to boarding school - unfortunately, it
never did.***

	I guess whatever the situation there is always more than one way of
looking at it... the story I'm about to tell you would, typically,
be seen as abuse of a young boy who was vulnerable and in need of
protection; for me, though -- and I was that boy -- I see it as my
first experience of falling in love.  What happened and the way I see
it now is, of course, different from what it was like when I was that
10 year old boy; I've edited and replayed certain scenes to myself
over and over and used my adult awareness to interpret what happened.
So if you find yourself disagreeing with my take on what happened to
me, that's fine -- but at least allow me to have my own take on my
first sexual affair with a  married man.  I was 10 -- he was 35.  For
me it was, and remains, the most wonderful introduction to man/boy sex
and I treasure those memories dearly.
	It all began after I was sent away to boarding school.  My parents
were moving abroad and I needed to continue my education here.  But I
was a shy and unconfident boy -- not someone who mixed easily with my
peers. After trying hard not to crumble during my first few days at a
new school, I found myself withdrawing and looking for places I could
go to alone -- just to get away from the noisy and boisterous antics
of my fellow pupils.
	It was a single sex school and all the boys lived in houses with a
house-master.  Our house-master -- my lover -- was called Mr
McDonald.  He was a married man -- with two sons of his own, aged 7
and 9 -- and he lived with his wife away from the school.  But
several night a week, he slept at school in a wing of our house.  That
is where our affair started -- and continued for several years.
	I remember vividly the first encounter with Mr McDonald (Brian, as I
later learnt to call him).  I had been crying by myself, and I had
missed the evening meal.  I was sitting alone in the library -- it
was dark -- and I guess someone had missed me.  Brian found me, face
wet with tears and desperately trying to pretend that I was OK really.
 He knelt down beside me as I sat alone and smiled up at me: "Hey,
Simon, what's wrong?  We were worried about you!"
	"Nothing, sir: I'm OK really" I mumbled between sobs.
	"Hey, hey, hey", he whispered, and put his arm around my
shoulders.  "Looks like you could use a bit of a cuddle and a talk.
Come on -- let's go up to my room: I'm sleeping here tonight, so
there's no rush."
	Little did I know where those apparently innocent remarks would
eventually lead me: to a full-blown affair -- to his cock up my tight
boy's cunt -- to his spunk all over my face and down my throat --
and to a wholesale orgy of other men using boys...  but that was a
long way ahead.
	Brian led me gently up to his room and when we were there, turned on
the fire and sat me down on the small sofa that dominated the tiny
bedsit that the school provided for him on his `duty' nights.
Then he said, "Let me make you a drink: what would you like --
orange juice? lemonade? tea?"
	"Nothing thank you, sir", I replied.
	He laughed: "Well, I'm going to have some tea, so I'm going to
make some for you too.  And I think you might be ready for some
biscuits too if you've missed your evening meal."

	Later, he came to sit next to me, pulled me close to him and put his
arm around me.
	"Feeling a bit homesick, are you?  Well, not to worry -- it's
quite normal.  And that's why I'm here -- to help you get used to
the big wide world of school!"  He laughed again -- softly.  I
remember him pulling me close and my arm sliding round his back: the
room was quiet and getting dark -- just the glow from the fire.  I
started to cry again -- I think it was the feeling or warmth and care
that made me feel so vulnerable.
	"Let it go, Simon -- let it go," he murmered -- starting to
rock me back and forth gently.  "I know it's hard being away from
home, but I'm here for you and I won't let anything bad happen to
you."
	I think after a while I must have fallen asleep -- exhausted from
crying and from the pent up misery of the previous few days.  When I
woke up, it was very quiet: one of Brian's hands was stroking my
hair, and I could just make out his other hand slowly stroking the
inside of his own thigh.  I remember the feeling I had -- I knew that
something was about to happen.  And I wanted it to.  This man had come
to me when I was miserable and lonely, and being here with him, quiet
and warm, felt wonderful.  I remember too what he was wearing that
first night: black trousers with a black leather belt and silver
buckle; a checked shirt with a plain brown tie, and a corduroy jacket.
 I remember that his trousers were made of nylon, and that they were
flat fronted and fitted him snugly.  (This is clearly a later memory
transposed onto that first encounter -- but it feels real to me --
so that's all that matters).
	I sniffed, and he realised I'd woken up.  He sat me up next to him,
continuing to stroke my hair.
	"Now, how are you feeling?  Do you want to stay here with me for a
bit, or do you want to go back to the other boys?  Just say what you
want -- either is fine with me."
 "I'd like to stay here, please, sir.", I replied.  I knew I
didn't ever want to go back to the other boys.
	"That's fine, Simon. Come and cuddle up again -- it's nice
having you next to me", Brian said.  I gladly moved closed to him
again and put my arm round him.  With one arm round my shoulders, he
started to stroke my face -- gently -- while his other hand went
back to his thigh and moved slowly up and down.  I felt his fingers
moving gently against my cheek, under my chin -- and then his thumb
starting to move slowly across my lips.  Somehow, I knew that he
wanted to put a finger into my mouth -- so I slowly parted my lips
-- and he slid his thumb inside.
	It's hard to describe just how wonderful that felt!  I guess at 10
year old, the word erotic doesn't easily spring to mind -- but now,
looking back, I know that that's exactly what it was.  He gently
pushed his thumb in and out of my mouth -- my tongue licked it, round
and round -- and I could see him rubbing not only his thigh but the
tight crotch of his trousers -- harder and more firmly now.  He slid
down in his seat a bit -- I think so he could open his legs more --
and we stayed like that for what seemed like an age.
	Eventually he took his thumb out of my mouth -- and then I saw him
slide it into his own -- slowly, all the time looking at me directly.
 He reached behind us and switched on a lamp so that I could see him
more clearly.  Then he took his jacket off and tossed it over an
armchair next to where we were sitting.  He took his thumb out of his
mouth, wet and covered in his own spit, and then, smiling at me and
gently stroking my hair, moved it back towards my own mouth.
	"Here you are Simon -- something nice for you to suck on again.
Open wide for me."
	Obediently, I did -- and he slid his thumb back into my mouth.  I
tasted his saliva in my  mouth and looked up at him as he continued to
slide it in and out, in and out.  Although I was only 10, I'd
already had a wet dream, and I know that I was getting hard in my
trousers even though I probably had no idea why.
	Brian smiled at me -- and then, removing his thumb from my mouth,
pulled me close again -- this time so that my face was against his
chest.  I could feel the warmth of him and I remember his scent so
well -- that morning's soap, and a low, lingering aftermath of some
cologne he always used.
	"There now, that's nice isn't it?", he murmered.  "Did you
like that?  It felt very nice for me."
	Knowing that he wanted me to answer affirmatively, I replied, "Yes,
thank you sir.  It was very nice."
	He laughed.  "Good boy, Simon.  I thought you'd like it.  It's
always nice, when we're upset, to have someone else next to us and
to be close to someone.  I want you to know that whenever you feel
upset, you can come to me and I will do whatever I can to make you
feel safe and warm again.  OK? You promise to do that?"
	"Yes, sir, I promise."
	"Good boy.  Now, it really is time you were getting back to your
friends, you know.  I'll come round soon and see that you're all
in bed.  I know it's not easy for you here, Simon: so just remember,
a little knock on my door is all you need whenever you feel lonely or
afraid again."
	With that he gently pulled me to my feet.  I was more or less
directly in line with his crotch as he stood up.  I can clearly
remember seeing his large mancock stiffly outlined through his
trousers, and his hand coming down to cover it.  He slid one hand into
his trouser pocket and I saw him fondling the end of his cock.  He saw
me look, and laughed.
	"That's enough for one night, Simon.  I hope you feel a bit
better now?"
	"Yes, sir -- thank you, sir", I muttered. "It was very nice
-- thank you."
	"Good boy.  Now come here and let me give you one last cuddle
before you go."  He knelt again, and put his arms around me, drawing
me into his embrace.  I felt his face buried in my hair, and I heard a
soft moan come from him. One of his hands slid down my back, stroking
it -- and he pressed himself hard against me: his cock pushed against
my tummy, and I pulled away, embarrassed.  He pulled back, smiling
again, and then bent in quickly, and kissed me softly on the forehead.

	"Good boy.  Good boy.  I think we can be really good friends.  Now
-- be off!"
	I left -- feeling comforted, unwilling to leave -- but reassured
that his man, Mr McDonald -- Brian -- was someone who would look
after me and make sure I didn't feel lonely again.
	****Hope you like the start of this story! MUCH more to come.  Let me
know if you like it!  niftyguy123@hushmail.com***