Date: Tue, 23 May 2017 21:53:15 +0100
From: Reickard Masters <succme@zoho.com>
Subject: Dura et Pulsans I:1

Dura et Pulsans I:1

"Hey, Butterballs, we want to speak to you." I cringed when I heard
Whitworth's voice calling to me, but chose to ignore it. I kept on walking
across the quad toward the exit that would lead to the path to the
hostel. I knew it had been a mistake to get myself into the picture, but
I'd been totally pissed off by the other nine and decided to do something
about it. Now I was regretting it in one way, but felt quite pleased about
it in another way. "Butterworth, you arsehole, if you don't stop now you
will be in even more shit." Whitworth's voice hit the back of my head as if
he had just slapped me there. I knew that I couldn't escape them for
long. After all we all shared the same dormitory in the hostels. Except it
was nine of them and one of me in that dorm. And now I'd antagonised them
by getting into their picture. But what the fuck? They had all been talking
about having the dorm picture taken, and I was part of the same dorm! So
what if I had stepped into the frame just as Sambo took the shot? I kept
walking but slowed down so that they would catch up. That way at least it
didn't look like I had just given in.

Moments later they did catch up to me and I was grabbed from behind and
pushed on one shoulder while being held by the opposite arm so that I had
to turn around and face the mob of nine. Well actually seven, because two
were standing either side of me now holding my arms so that I could not
escape. Whitworth began again, "You fucked up our photo and you are going
to pay for it now."

"How did I fuck up the picture?" I asked.

"By getting your ugly shitface into it, and disturbing us so that we
weren't all looking in the right direction at the right time. That's how,
arsehole," Whitworth ranted.

"But you all said it was a dorm photo and I am in the dorm, so I thought
you wanted me in it," I responded. I knew full well that they had not
thought of including me, but I wanted them to realise just how much they
cut me out of things.

"Well you weren't invited, and now it is a shit picture, which you are
going to pay for in more ways than one," Maclean said. Whitworth was the
unelected leader of the pack. Maclean was accepted as his second in
command. The rest tended to listen to them and follow their wishes. "Just
remember, when you least expect it."

"Yeah, we had to put a lot of cash into getting that picture and we will
get it back," Flynn said.

"That'll be a struggle seeing as I don't have any money," I told them.

"There are other ways of getting payback," Lawson said and then repeated,
"Don't forget; when you least expect it."

I was not sure just what they intended to do to get their payback, but it
couldn't be much worse than what they were already doing. I was largely
ignored by all nine of them except when they wanted something. That
something usually involved help with some aspect of their schoolwork; in a
constant vain hope that they would show some gratitude for the help, I
always did help them. When we went for our showers I was always pushed out
and made to wait until they had finished their own showers, and usually all
the hot water too. When we lined up for anything as a dorm group I was
always made to go to the back of the line. They held friendly conversations
in groups but never allowed me to be a part of them; if I tried to join in
I was ignored as if I were not there.

Shit, I knew I was a nerd and a geek. I couldn't help it if I needed to
wear glasses. A couple of them also wore glasses, but in my case it was
something that made me different and unacceptable, an object of
ridicule. While with the others it was quite okay. Just what the difference
was I didn't know. I know I preferred studying something in the library
over being out on the football field or the cricket pitch playing those
dumb sports. So of course when it came to the inter-dormitory football
challenge, where every dorm member had to be out on the field playing, I
was looked on as a handicap rather than a tenth man in the team, and the
chances were that I didn't even get close to the ball, let alone have a
chance to kick it. I also didn't choose my names, which seemed to give them
the excuse to make me a subject of derision. I genuinely hated my
names. What parent in their right mind would name their son Delmar Uriah?
And with the surname of Butterworth my initials spelt "DUB"; this was just
another thing with which to tease and mock me. `Uriah' invariably became
`urine' – just as original as `Rub-a-Dub-Dub'. Additionally I can't help
it if I'm brainy. Fuck! What chance did I have? My father is a professor of
Sociology and head of the faculty at the university, and my mother is a
neurologist consulting both privately and for the NHS. It is because they
are so wrapped up in their own careers that I have been bundled off to
boarding school and been subjected to a life of loneliness and exclusion,
having been allocated to the same dormitory as these other nine guys for
the past four years. Yes, four years of being left out by all of them
except when they wanted the help of my brains. It's a fucking good thing
that I have managed to keep from them my interest in some same sex
action. I think I might be queer, but not having had any actual experience
I can't say for sure. I certainly am not going to reveal that to
anyone. Not when homosexuality is not accepted and considered an
abomination by most of society. My days in the boarding hostel and
classroom were already days of misery.

One thing they were not wrong with, was their statement `when you least
expect it!' That came about on the day of our final inter-dorm football
match. We only needed to draw the game to be equal highest scorers and a
win would place us at the top of the pack. To differentiate between the two
teams playing in each match, a coin was tossed and the losers would play
without shirts on. For this final match that became our lot and we pulled
off our shirts and left them on the bench at the side of the field while we
trotted on and took our positions on the field. My lack of exercise and
sports was clearly revealed in the lack of muscular definition on my body
when compared with the others from my dorm. Nevertheless I ran around a lot
and even tried to get to the ball but always one of the other nine would
intercept it and take it away. Two minutes before full time we were level
scored with our opponents at one goal each. Winters kicked the ball hard
towards Lawson who must have been asleep or something because he did not
react in time and the ball sailed past his inactive boot heading straight
towards me. I ran forward and, more by fluke - lacking any skill - kicked
the ball off at an angle to my right and straight into the goal. The
goalie, being familiar with my sporting prowess, never expected me to do
anything like that and just watched the ball sail by. A cheer went up
amongst those spectators who were supporting our dorm, but not a sound of
congratulations came from the other nine. Whether they were dumbfounded or
just didn't care I was never going to find out, but we kept the one goal
lead for the remainder of the game and ended up overall champions. Did that
improve the way I was treated? Not a bleeding fuck! Oh they cheered as a
group, as we left the field, without acknowledging that I had scored the
winning goal; maybe because they had something far more sinister planned
for the end of the game than open celebrations.

As we walked off the field we collected our shirts off the bench and slung
them over our shoulders, heading towards the gym showers because our shower
block in the hostel would still be locked. The other team had a different
shower time in their hostel and so were heading straight back to their
dormitory. We passed through a small gap between the building of the gym
and a wooden slat fence which bordered the field. Suddenly my shirt was
yanked off my shoulder and wrapped around my head effectively blindfolding
me as two others grabbed hold of my arms. It was done so quickly that they
had to have planned who would do what. Except that if we had won the toss
and kept our shirts on I imagine that one of them would have taken his
shirt off as we walked. A few seconds after the initial surprise wore off I
opened my mouth to call out and suddenly had another shirt wrapped around
my head cutting into my mouth and gagging me.

We didn't have far to go before I heard the creek of a door and knew that
they had taken me to the Scorer's Hut. This was a split level wooden
building, shed really, that had a flap which lifted up on the lower level
for those doing the scoring for a cricket match to observe the game and
little windows with sliding plates on the upper level where others would
slide in a plate with a number on it to show the score for the
spectators. I learned later that they had managed to get a key for this
shed when Morgan had been given the key to unlock it one day and recognised
that it was at least similar to the key to his own bedroom door at home. He
had brought his spare key back with him and tried it in the lock to find
that it worked. The nine had made use of this little hidey hole to escape
from the watchful eye of prefects and staff while they enjoyed a cigarette
or shared some porn that one of them had managed to smuggle in.

Once we were inside the shed I heard the door close and the key turn making
sure I had no chance of escape. Not that they let go of me anyway. With
nothing being said the two guys holding my arms lifted them out to the side
and I felt them being pulled down with my forearms resting on someone
else's shoulders. Then my feet were kicked sideways to spread them and
other feet hooked around each of my ankles to make sure that I remained
with my legs apart. Next someone began to tickle my back. Actually it would
be more accurate to describe it as caressing. A few moments later while the
fingers were still working on my back, more fingers began to work on my
chest, circling my nipples and causing them to erect. Those fingers visited
my armpits and moved on down over my abdomen; lightly stroking all the
time. I can't say how long the caressing of my back and front went on for;
but somewhere a signal must have been given and hands started to feel up
and down my legs between where my socks were bunched at my ankles and all
the way up to where my shorts ended. In fact I'm pretty sure some fingers
went under the hem of the shorts leg at times. It is surprising, though,
how disorientated you become when blindfolded and held captive. Of course
all this feeling had another reaction which I was powerless to
prevent. Even though my briefs held my cock pointing down between my legs,
it could not stop it from engorging with blood and becoming hard. And very
uncomfortable it was too! Without warning a hand suddenly landed on my cock
and fingers curled around squeezing it. There was no way I could hide or
deny it when Whitworth said, "Just as we thought: dura et pulsans," in his
best schoolboy Latin - `Hard and throbbing'.

"I always said he was a queer." I recognised Flynn's voice.

"Well now, queer boy, you are going to start repaying us for that
photograph," Whitworth said. I felt my shorts and briefs being pulled
down. They only got them so far before Whitworth told whoever it was
holding my legs spread out to push them in again. Then my shorts and briefs
were pulled right down to my ankles. A hand grabbed my balls and squeezed
quite hard causing me to cry out with the pain, but that was muffled in the
gag that was still covering my mouth. "You are now going to do exactly what
we tell you to do, fag, or your balls might be crushed ... permanently!"
Whitworth told me, pausing and giving a couple of tugs on my balls as he
spoke to add emphasis to what he was saying. "When we take your gag off you
will not call out unless you want to be seriously injured here." Another
hard tug on my balls underlined the threat.

The backs of my knees were knocked making them bend and as they did I was
forced down into a kneeling position. The gag was taken off and something
was pressed against my mouth. "Open up and suck, fag boy!" Whitworth
ordered. I did not need to use all of my brain power to work out that I was
being forced to do something I had wanted to try out for a very long
time. "And don't even think about trying to bite it." As he finished that
sentence another hand went between my legs from behind me and grabbed and
held my balls again.

Fortunately for me they were horny teenage boys who had not had a good wank
for a few days and were as virgin as I was. None of them could have lasted
longer than a couple of minutes before shooting their loads into my
mouth. Loads which I swallowed under their orders, but would gladly have
swallowed anyway. Of course I remained hard throughout the ordeal which
they claimed was proof positive that I was gay and now had to do whatever
they wanted, when they wanted, or they would `out' me to the school. I
wondered how long it would take before one of them blabbed to another
classmate and the news would then spread like wild fire. I was told to
stand up and pull my shorts up, which I did, tucking my hard cock into my
briefs, positioning it pointing to my right side and tucking the leaking
head under the elastic of the waist band. I was then allowed to take my
blind fold off and put my shirt on. When my eyes got accustomed to the dim
light in the scorer's shed I noticed all nine were fully dressed and there
were no noticeable bulges to be seen.

"And that is just the start, Butterballs, you haven't even cleared the
interest yet," MacLean said as they pushed me out the building ahead of
them and Morgan locked it. I let them go ahead of me back to the hostel. We
had used up our time for a shower in the gym ablutions and would have to
wait our turn in the hostel block.

That evening when we went for our showers at our allotted time I was again
pushed to the side and told to face the corner, "I don't want to see you
perving on my cock!" MacDonald said. They took their time and I only just
had enough time to get soaped and rinsed off under cold water before the
water was turned off. I stood there shivering as I dried with my scrotum
scrunched up holding my balls as tight to my body as it could get them.

>From then on, every afternoon I had to go to the Scorer's Hut and once
inside I had to strip completely naked and then service whoever had had me
go there. Sometimes it was only two or three of them, but other times it
would be five or more. Weekends I would end up making more than one visit a
day and would have to either suck or wank all nine of them in the course of
the visits. During those times I was not allowed to touch my cock and every
time be watched as I tucked my hard cock away into my briefs at the end. It
was a form of torture, and always I would be reminded that there was still
a debt to pay.

The taking of the photograph had happened in the first week of term, when
they still had some pocket money to pool together, and my torture continued
on relentlessly day after day. Then one Wednesday a couple of weeks before
half term Whitworth ordered me to attend at the Scorer's Hut immediately
after classes ended, with the veiled threat that it would not be good to
disappoint him by being late. Something in his tone concerned me and I
worried about it for the rest of the day's classes. When the final bell
went I made my way to the hut and found it still locked so waited outside
the door. A few minutes later Whitworth arrived with Sambo next to him. My
heart sank because I interpreted this to mean that he had spoken to Sambo
about me and told him I was gay. How much longer would it be before he
talked to his friends and spread the word about me?

Sambo's real name was Adia Kesiena and he was the only black guy in the
whole of the school. But English schoolboys not being too worried about
politeness had quickly given him the nickname which had stuck throughout
his time at the school. Kesiena's father was the long standing High
Commissioner for Nigeria to the United Kingdom. Sambo had even been born in
the UK when his father was then the Undersecretary to the High
Commissioner, whom he succeeded before Sambo was out of nappies. Being the
oldest child and only son of the High Commissioner, Sambo wanted for
nothing. His interest in photography meant that he had a full dark room at
his home in London where he could develop and print black and white
photographs. To take the pictures he had the best Kodak camera that could
be bought in 1969 and along with that he also had a Polaroid Instant
camera. Kesiena had turned this interest into a rather lucrative
business. He found he had a willing and captive market in the borders at
the school and charged enough for one Polaroid instant picture to pay for
half a spool of negatives to fit the camera. For the other pictures, that
had to wait until he went home to develop the negatives and print the
pictures, he did not charge as much, but considering his supplies for the
dark room were all paid for by his father, any money he made on selling
photographs was simply extra jingling in his pocket. Sambo was in the year
below us and we would not normally have associated with him, but as he was
the one and only photographer in the school the others had been forced to
pay him to take the fated photograph at the beginning of term.

Once we were inside the shed, I just stood there and Whitworth snarled,
"What are you waiting for? Get your clothes off!"

"In front of him?" I asked nervously.

"Well he's not here for the hell of it. You are going to pay him to take
another photograph of us. Now get your kit off!" Whitworth said.

All the time Sambo just stood there with his camera slung around his neck
and a smile on his face.

"I told you I haven't got any money so I can't pay him." I said.

"You can and you will. You will let Sambo here take pictures of you in any
way he tells you to and then you are going to give him the best blow job
he's ever had," Whitworth said. "Now I'm not going to tell you again;
strip, boy!"

I was very unhappy about this state of events but knew that I did not have
any choice, so I began to reluctantly shed my clothes. As I was doing this
Sambo had his Kodak camera up and was clicking away at me from various
angles. Once I was fully naked he ordered me to stand sideways and hold my
cock while he clicked some more. Then I was told to get hard and take my
hand away so that he could photograph me from the side and front with my
hard-on sticking out. I also had to pull my foreskin back for some and
leave it forward for others. He switched to his polaroid camera and took
some more pictures and I watched as they slid out of the base of the
camera. Kesiena checked his watch each time and then laid the picture down
on the scorer's bench. After the allotted time for each picture he peeled
off the backing sheet and showed me them in all my hard glory, making me
very worried. There were some close-ups of just my cock but also some full
on showing my face and leaving no doubt about who it was that was posing
for the pictures. He put the pictures down and added his cameras to them,
then began to undo his fly.

"Get on your knees, Butterballs," Whitworth ordered and I meekly
obeyed. Kesiena took one step towards me and lowered his trousers first,
closely followed by his briefs revealing that not all the stories about a
black's equipment were true. No doubt there were those who sported large
appendages but Kesiena came in at only slightly larger than the average of
all the white guys I had seen. I was fascinated by his pubes, though, as
they were tightly coiled against his skin, even more tightly than the hair
on his head, but they did form a nice mat of hair that covered all the skin
surrounding his cock. His cock was another thing that intrigued me, for his
was the first circumcised cock I had seen, the result of the coming of age
ritual he had gone through when he had turned twelve some four years
previous.  The head was slightly darker than the shining skin of the
shaft. As I looked it grew longer and harder. I opened my mouth and he fed
it in. I began to suck him and flick my tongue over the head. I heard him
groan and looked up at him as I bobbed back and forth on his cock. He was
looking down intently watching his black cock pump in and out of my white
mouth. His hands came down and held my head still as he began to fuck my
face. I put my hands onto his butt cheeks and gave them a gentle squeeze,
then pulled one hand around to play with his balls. He gave several more
groans and I felt him tense up just before I felt the thud as the first
jets of his warm jism hit the back of my mouth. A couple more shots forced
me to swallow or choke and I intended to take in all that he could give
me. When he had finished his orgasm, Kesiena pulled his cock out of my
mouth and began to pull up and do up his trousers again.

"Okay, I will give you another photograph now," Kesiena told Whitworth and
then turning to me, "Thank you, white boy. You suck good." He picked up all
the pictures of me and his cameras and Whitworth let him out the door,
locking it again once Kesiena was out.

"Don't start thinking that the debt is paid now. There is still some
interest owing and also compensation for the trouble and distress you have
caused us. We'll tell you when it gets paid in full. Now I need to be
brought off too," Whitworth said. I shuffled over and began to get his cock
out of his trousers.  I really felt like I had been degraded and this upset
me enough that my cock, which had remained hard all the time I was enjoying
sucking Kesiena off, had wilted but Whitworth did eventually shoot his load
into my mouth and then I was allowed to get dressed again and we left the
shed.

That evening when we went for our showers we knew that Stone was the master
on duty and so also knew that sometime during our shower he would appear in
the shower room and we would all have to turn to face him and listen to
some `words of wisdom' from him while he perved on our naked bodies. This
evening once we were all naked in the shower room I was ordered to stand
against the wall the showers were mounted on and wank myself to hardness
and then keep myself hard until I got given permission to shower. I was
very upset because I knew they had done this purposely so that Stone would
see me with a hard-on. Which he did and after giving us his little talk he
went off and not much later the house master, Furber, suddenly appeared in
the shower room and I was still hard.  It took all my strength not to cry;
when I did feel a tear escape my eye I quickly got my face under the spray
of the shower to hide it.

That night I lay in bed a long time trying to get to sleep but it eluded me
as I cried silently with no sobs or tears, just a heavy heart. I still had
no answer as to why the other nine treated me the way they did. I thought
about running away from school but with little money and nothing else it
would not take long for me to be found and dragged back and then it would
all start again and might even be worse. I even thought about maybe ending
it all but concluded that things hadn't gotten bad enough for that. I may
not have had friends at school, but I did have friends at home and knew
that I only had to endure the rest of this year and one more before I would
be heading off to university and away from these tormentors.

Saturday lunch time I was at my usual place at the table, right at the end
and being ignored by the rest, when Flynn got up from his place and walked
around the table. As he drew near to me he bent down and whispered that I
had to go to the hut straight from lunch.  We didn't have any sporting
fixtures that day as all the teams were playing away at other schools. I
shuddered inwardly. Flynn seemed to me to be the worst of the nine with a
real mean streak in him.  I wondered what he had planned for me; and
worried even more.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you have read this far, please take the time to drop me a line about how
you like the story so far.  Write to me at succme@zoho.com

Thanks

Rick