Date: Tue, 23 Apr 2002 12:57:49 +0100 (BST)
From: nder pants <nderpants@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: The Mastery of Table-Turning (Chapter Ten [Gay - Authoritarian]

 THE MASTERY OF TABLE-TURNING


[THE STORY SO FAR  -  Forced to indulge in an
embarrassing sixty-nine session with a favourite pupil
of his, English public schoolmaster, Alan Watson, is
on a roller-coaster of degradation enforced by some of
his pupils ever since a revealing photo taken at his
favourite pupil's eighteenth birthday clearly
illustrated his sexual arousal. In an effort to
prevent his exposure as a pervert, the thirty-year-old
schoolmaster is demeaned , degraded, humiliated for
the amusement of his eighteen-year-old students
enjoying the power they now hold over him.]


CHAPTER TEN  -  Nightmare at the Baths

I lay under the sheets that night, naked and
tumescent, my pyjamas confiscated, my underwear
severely restricted, my whole domain accessible to my
young Masters. In my mind I relived the appallingly
exquisite horrendousness of my being subjugated before
the naked and resplendent Richard after he had
lavished his spendings down my eager throat, and I had
drained my fevered outpourings down his. Drinks were
called for, and, still naked, I had to serve them as
they lounged about my house, taking possession of me
and all that was mine. I was forced to submit to their
intimate fondling and groping, in which Richard was
also compelled to indulge, and with which he
sheepishly complied. An electric thrill ran through me
whenever he was forced to touch me familiarly, and
soon I was sporting a raging erection again, unable to
conceal such shameful lust at his handling of my
erogenous parts.

The coarse comments concerning my engorged organ did
nothing to allay the reaction to such playful prodding
and stroking, and led to my total subjugation in their
eyes. I was forced to masturbate to the inevitable
conclusion in front of their full gaze. I was required
to catch my sperm in my hand and lick it all up. And I
was filmed doing it.

As they all left, after having finally allowed Richard
to dress again, I was reminded that, from henceforth,
my wearing of any manner of clothing in the house was
most strictly forbidden. As a concession, however, I
would be permitted to put a towelling robe by the
front door which I was authorized to don whilst
answering it to any caller. It was admitted that if
pre-arranged visits were made, I would be allowed to
dress normally in order to receive them, but if casual
or unexpected guests turned up, then only the
towelling robe could be worn and I should have to
explain that they had caught me preparing for a bath.
Furthermore, I had been earnestly reminded to wear the
stipulated tight red underwear on the following day.
All orders had to be carried out to the letter on pain
of further sanctions.

My mind hummed. And yet, deep down, I was intensely
excited. This worried me.

I slept fitfully and uncomfortably, a turgid organ
impeding my composure as I tossed and turned, trying
to discover some respite from my overly stimulating
nightmares. I leapt awake in strangely startled and
alarmed fashion and lay still and wide-eyed as the
slow dawn of realisation crept over me that what had
woken me was my own fingertip, grazing tentatively
against the amazingly sensitive bud of my anus.
Appalled and rigid, I wondered what had featured in my
dream to inspire such disagreeably uncustomary and
foreign behaviour. The exploratory sensation had been
most unnerving  -  something with which I was not
prepared to come to terms, and I strove to put it from
my mind.

Eating breakfast naked seemed exceedingly odd. Shaving
naked - even sitting on the lavatory, naked  - was an
unaccustomed and somehow unnerving experience. All the
time I was conscious that I had one ear on the front
door, more than half-expecting a visitor to check up
on my newly enforced nudity in the home. It was with
enormous relief that I finally repaired to my bedroom
to dress  for another day at school  -  even if I was
having to wear the ridiculous scarlet minuscule briefs
my ex-girlfriend had bought me in one coy moment.

I had barely been in school five minutes before there
was a knock on my study door. Tim, Geoff and Phil all
entered when I yelled "Come!" in my customary, and now
seemingly highly inappropriate, fashion.

"Underpants inspection in progress. Turn on the
traffic light and drop your trousers," I was ordered.

(A brief explanation - again, to use an unfortunate,
but singularly appropriate, choice of adjective - as
to what spokesman Tim Robey meant requires me to state
that all colleagues with studies, or tiny interview
rooms, have a red and green light outside it in the
corridor. Quite obviously, the green light means a
master is available for whatever reason, whilst the
red one means he is unavailable, in conference, and
therefore should not be disturbed. It is considered a
heinous crime to so much as knock on a door displaying
the red traffic light - let alone, enter - and highly
deserving of a bawling out, unless, at the very least,
the school is on fire.)

I turned the switch on my desk to red and, with a
heavy heart, blood pumping in my temples, began to
unfasten my belt. Three pairs of steely eyes watched
my every move. As I lowered my zip, gravity took
charge, and my trousers slithered down my thighs to
land with a muffled rattle of coin round my feet. I
was commanded to hitch my shirt tails right up,
exposing both nipples and armpit hair, and had to
shuffle round to model both the back and front effect
of the tight and skimpy scarlet briefs. As might be
apparent from my unwanted nomenclature, "Big Boy", I
am reasonably well endowed, and I glanced down in
horror at the grotesquely obscene bulge which
stretched them almost dangerously. I was quickly
cross-questioned as to my complete lack of sleeping
attire and as to my having obeyed all no clothing
rules after they had gone. So, passing muster, I was
permitted to redress. As soon as I had done so, and
zipped up. I saw Tim hold out a cupped hand.
Resignedly, I lowered the zip again, pulled down the
pouch front of my red briefs and,  extracting my
genitalia, I shuffled round my desk to lay it in his
hand in true, respectful and almost oblatory fashion.

Playfully, he manipulated me until I sported a full
erection and then instructed me to put myself away. Of
course, it was impossible to get my swollen member
back inside the elasticated briefs completely, much to
their amusement, and I had to head off to registration
all too conscious of the sensation of my exposed glans
rubbing against the inside of my trousers as I strode
along the corridors.

Richard was back in school and avoided looking at me
throughout what happened to be a tutor-group assembly
that day. There were one or two veiled comments that,
were I not hyper-sensitive, I might have let pass with
no further thought, but otherwise the rest of the
school day passed uneventfully until Richard came to
see me at going home time.

"Alan," he began. It was the first time he had used my
Christian name in school, even though we were in my
study. "They know we've got a private lesson tonight,
and they know it's at your place. They've given me a
message for you. They say you've got to be naked."

I looked at him with incredulity.

"I've to bring some swimmers with me as well, they've
told me," he added.

Feverishly I sought a reason behind such a bizarre
instruction.

"Look, I can make an excuse about my health, with only
having come back to school for the first time today,
and put the lesson off if you like?" he offered
tentatively.

"What's the point?" I said bitterly. "It's only
postponing the inevitable, isn't it? They`re
determined to maximise my complete and utter
degradation, and being forced to do it in front of you
increases it manifold in their eyes - and in mine
too," I grudgingly added.

I drove home with an erection. I knew I was going to
be teaching Richard with one that evening, and that my
state of excitement would be shamingly all too visible
to him. Closing my front door, I began to undress
immediately. Hanging up my suit, I moved into the
bathroom and stepped under the shower. I had just
turned it off when Geoff Talbot walked into the room.
I leapt. I was not accustomed to anybody having access
to my home whenever they felt like walking in.

"Just checking up on you, Big Boy," he said with a
crookedly sardonic smile as his eyes pored over my
nakedness. "Anyhow, good for you. You must have
stripped off straight away. Well done. Your Masters
are pleased with you."

I murmured a "thank you, Sir," then noted the cupped
hand. I moved towards his outstretched hand and
manoeuvred my damply warm scrotum into it.

"The hair's all wet," he said. "Hmmm, I'll have to
talk to the others about this. Perhaps we'd better
make you shave."

I shuddered in abhorrence at the thought.

Geoff left after a short while and I began to prepare
an evening meal for myself, taking great care near the
ceramic hob. The doorbell startled me and I hurried
into the hall and donned my robe before answering it.
It was the milkman. He looked me up and down and
grinned.

"Hullo, Mr Watson, sorry to disturb. It's twenty
pounds and seventy-two pence this week," he said
writing in his little book.

I murmured the excuse about showering to explain away
my state of deshabille as I went to get the money to
pay my milk bill. This was going to be a problem with
regular callers like him. They would come to think I
practically lived in my shower cubicle.
Absent-mindedly, I returned to my culinary endeavours
still wearing the robe. My back door suddenly opened
and there stood Dave Newman gently tut-tutting his
disapproval.

"Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear," he said slowly, shaking
his head. "Master Tim's not going to like this one
tiny little bit. When he said stark bollock naked at
all times, that's exactly what he meant; stark bollock
naked at all times."

I snatched the offending garment off and tried to
explain I had just returned from answering the front
door.

"I know all about that. Why d'you think I came round
to the back?" he said. "But you're supposed to take
the robe off again when your callers have gone."

I apologised sheepishly. It mollified him somewhat,
and he agreed to overlook my misdemeanour as it was
the first, adding that he doubted Master Tim would
have been so understanding.

"This robe's too long, too respectable, too
all-covering. There needs to be a hint of danger in
the wearing of it," Dave mused as he studied the only
garment I was allowed to protect me from prying eyes.
"You must bring it to school with you  and I'll have
it suitably adjusted for you."

"Yes, Sir," I answered meekly, as I moved towards his
cupped hand to place my genitals there.

"You're quite a hairy bloke, aren't you?" he suddenly
said, studying my nakedness.

"Not especially so, Sir, I don't think," I answered, a
little bemused, and very self-conscious of standing
close to my fully-clothed pupil, smartly dressed in
his formal school suit, white shirt and tie. It seemed
only to serve to emphasize my embarrassing and
vulnerable nudity.

He left, and after replacing my robe in the hall, I
continued preparing myself dinner. Sitting naked at
table and eating a meal is a strangely unnerving
experience. Does one use a napkin? Washing up also
presents unthought-of problems with startling
splashes, but perhaps I was being overly sensitive
since these sensations were new to me. I even felt
embarrassed watching the news on television with
nothing on. As the time for Richard's lesson
approached, my heart rate increased palpably. I began
to conceive plausible excuses in my own mind whereby I
could ring and put him off, but each and every one was
so obviously a pathetic attempt to avoid the
inevitable, that I soon became resigned to the
indignity of my fate.

As the doorbell rang I moved into the hall and wrapped
the towelling robe tightly round me, even through I
knew it was Richard and that I should have to remove
it again the moment the door closed behind him, and he
stood there in my hall looking at me. Peeling it from
me before his eyes was quite an ordeal, exaggerated
enormously by the fact that my penis immediately
sprang to attention. Richard coughed with
embarrassment and looked away.

"Come through," I murmured, turning my back on him,
showing him my bare buttocks as I led the way through
to the lounge.

"Look, I feel awful about this," he began.

"Not as awful as I do," I interjected with a rueful
grin.

"Would you feel better if I stripped off too?" he
asked suddenly.

"No!!!" I said quickly and too vehemently. My penis
bucked in excitement at the thought, and I felt myself
blush for its obvious  and blatant promiscuity.

I've got swimming trunks on. They told me to have some
with me. I could leave those on," he offered.

"Did they tell you that you must strip too?" I asked.

"No," he answered.

"Then you stay fully-clothed," I said quietly and sat
down.

Richard sat on the sofa, staring hypnotically at my
erection.

"Can I ask . . ." he began tentatively, " . . . does
this turn you on?"

I looked down at myself, then at him with a little
shrug.

"It's pointless to deny what you can already confirm
for yourself," I was forced to admit.

"But . . . why? . . . What . . . ?"

"I can't put it into words, and I'm not sure I want
to," I said, perhaps a little brusquely. "Let's just
try to get on as normal, shall we?"

What a fatuous thing to say! I could hear the fatuity
in my voice as I started to talk about the improvement
in his essay. The falseness, the fear, the foreboding.
It was the most uncomfortable private lesson of my
life. Probably it was Richard's too. I was squirming
inwardly, my penis rock hard and quivering throughout,
or so it seemed. Whenever it was at its zenith I
noticed Richard's eyes drawn to it, fascinated by it,
and this served to multiply my heightened state of
acute embarrassment. A little before the appointed
hour was up, I heard a key in my door. All four of my
tormentors entered the lounge, smugly grinning at my
predicament.

"Hallo Big Boy," Tim drawled. "Have you been working
hard?"

He leant with added emphasis on the last word, and
earned appreciative sniggers from his three cohorts.

"So, Richard. Got your swimmers?"

Richard murmured he was wearing them. My heart started
to beat uncontrollably.

"Present for you, Big Boy," he said, hurling a small
parcel in my lap.  I opened it with unaccountably
trembling fingers.

It was a pair of white swimming trunks, not
particularly skimpy, but of the clinging variety that
left little to the imagination.

"Jump into those, Big Boy. We're all going to have
some fun at the local pool."

With presentiments gathering like storm clouds in my
brain, I was allowed to hastily dress, and within a
space of five minutes from their arrival, we all piled
out of the house and into the back of Dave's brother's
van. Once inside I had to forfeit my trousers and sit
on the floor, looking guiltily askance at the effect
the tightly-fitting swim trunks had upon certain
aspects of my physique.

Determined that the effect should not pass unnoticed,
Tim extolled it in detail dwelling upon how the
garment keenly enhanced and drew attention to my manly
attributes, emphasising their shape and size most
becomingly.

"You ought to thank us, Big Boy, for giving you such a
great opportunity to reveal your outstanding assets."

"And how they stand out!" Phil Marshall sniggered, and
was silenced with a glance.

That should have been presentiment enough, but it
wasn't. I obviously wasn't thinking straight. Of
course, I had caused them to remember that I was a
very poor swimmer, reminding them of the difficulties
I had got into when thrown into the pool in my
underwear at Richard's party, and which had been the
start of all my troubles. That did not matter, I was
assured. One didn't need to be able to swim anymore.
Municipal baths had been redesigned and fashioned as
"leisure pools" nowadays with broad areas of shallow
water for safe play with water spouts and wave
machines. The fact that I was provided with a pair of
trunks did not alert me either. I did not possess a
pair, and so it seemed a perfectly reasonable action
for some to be provided for me. The humiliation of
appearing insufficiently clad for my liking in public
was enough of a cause for concern without dreaming
that there might be all sorts of hidden motives at
which I could not even begin to guess.

The public changing room was something of an ordeal to
begin with, and I was much relieved that I had been
allowed to put the trunks on in the comparative
privacy of my own home and therefore forego the
mortifying experience of stripping off even one's own
underpants in front of all age groups as one struggled
into one's swimmers. As we left the changing area,
attaching rubber bracelets with our locker key to our
wrists, we came to a compulsory shower area through
which all had to pass before reaching poolside. I
still had my towel with me which would have been
rendered useless, so Dave took it, together with my
key, to put it in my locker. We stepped into the
shower, revolving under its jets and slowly walked
through and out the other end. I stood on the edge of
the pool and took in all that surrounded me.

Suddenly, there was a very loud shriek of girlish glee
followed by two or three more. Startled by the volume,
I glanced across to see what was the cause of such
excitement, and was somewhat surprised to note they
were staring in our direction with one hand pressed
over their hysterically giggling mouths, and the other
ones all pointing at us. I looked round, and then
froze, appalled, as I saw all eyes were on me.

I stood before the populace in the pleasure pool, to
all intents, stark naked!

My swimming trunks had been rendered transparent
almost by the shower, I had just walked through. My
hands flew to cover myself, and as they did so, I was
pushed into the pool.

   *			*			*